POV: Dante
I reach the corner in less than ten minutes.
I wasn't elegant: I left the tower with my car keys and a quick order for Sebastian.
"Track the cameras near a San Martín bakery, four stops before the Aurora neighborhood," I told him. "If you see anything strange, let me know."
He didn't ask any more questions. He knows that when I use that tone, it's not just because I'm feeling dizzy.
I turn the corner and see her.
She's leaning against the wall, backpack slung over one shoulder, cell phone in her hand. From a distance, she just looks tired. Up close, not so much.
Her scent hits me before I can rationalize anything.
Heat, nerves, that sweet, tense note of pre-heat. Stronger than in the tower. Mixed with bus smoke, freshly baked bread, and another male scent that isn't mine.
I clench my jaw.
I brake next to the sidewalk. I roll down the window.
"Get in," I say.
