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sabotage her company, because that’s what the client paid her to do to her competitors.
    Kiya pulled an envelope from her shoulder bag and set it on the table. Her client mentioned a coming storm, which in San Diego, didn’t mean much, and Kiya offered an appropriately meaningless response. A moment later, the client slid her hand across the table, fingered the envelope to feel for its content, and eased it to her side. They chatted about the weather again, then the woman opened the envelope and peeked at the thumb drive and password pills.
    A tight smile of relief. “Thanks. Walk with me for minute?”
    The request surprised her. Another job already? “Sure.” Kiya left a five on the table for the waitress, strapped the canvas case over her shoulder, and slipped out of the booth. Her client followed her outside. A breeze blew in from the ocean, keeping the hot air from being insufferable. Instinctively, Kiya headed to the end of the building and turned up the alley. The brick-walled space was empty.
    The woman caught up to her and walked shoulder to shoulder. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Do you ever do any strong arm work?”
    A tingle played on the back of her neck. What the hell did her client have in mind? Did she even want to know? “Not usually. What do you need? A shakedown?” Her criminal-enterprise experience—‌and sociopathic nature—‌qualified her to do enforcer work, but she preferred not to interact closely with people. Even for money. After being sold into marriage at the age of seven and passed between old brothers like an opium pipe, she wanted as little close contact with men as possible.
    “I need something more direct,” the client said. “But if you’re not interested, it would be foolish to tell you about it.” Her mouth closed in a stern line.
    The woman knew better than to give her any unnecessary information, because Kiya could—‌and would—‌use it to take her down if things ever got ugly between them. “Then we’re done here. See you next time.” Kiya turned and strode away.
    “Wait.”
    She stopped. The urgency in her client’s tone put Kiya at an advantage. Slowly, she turned back. “Yes?”
    “I’ll double what I just paid you. And no one gets hurt. I need access to a secure building, and it’s easier if you have the guy with the password.”
    They wanted her to extract it?
“I don’t do torture.” Kiya shook her head and turned away.
    “No, it’s not like that. I need you to grab him, drug him, and bring him along.”
    “That’s crazy. If he’s drugged, how does he provide the password?”
    “It’s in his palm. So you can either cut off his hand or take him along.”
    A radio-frequency implant. Intriguing. “Why not use the password pill I just acquired for you?”
    “It’s not ready. I just like to see what my competitors are up to.”
    “Double?” The money enticed her as well. It would be enough to pay for the revenge she had in mind for the father who’d sold her two decades ago. “What’s the target?”
    “Three small implants. And if that goes well, I have another sabotage job for you soon.”
    The industry was keeping her busy. “I want half up front.”
    The client turned her head. “So you’re in?”
    “I’m in.”

Chapter 5
    Wednesday, July 9, 4:05 p.m.
    Dallas pulled into the Palm View condos on Bayard Street, and a sense of belonging washed over her. She loved the pale stucco, arched windows, and blooming flower boxes. Stepping out of the rental car, she took a deep breath. The air was better here too, but she couldn’t pinpoint the difference. Why did she stay in dry, ugly Phoenix? Stacie was there, but clinging to a location she hated for a childhood friend seemed, well, childish. She would have to talk to Dr. Harper about it.
    She looked around the parking lot for River. The agent was supposed to meet her here. Maybe she was inside. Dallas headed upstairs to unit seven. She’d received the information that morning