Chapter One Abby

Imight have only been acting as a waitress…but I still needed to wipe some fucking tables down.

It didn't matter, I thought with a smile. I was getting good at this pretending thing.

I wiped the last coffee ring off the table, my hands moving almost on their own, as if being a waitress at this little San Francisco cafe was my real job.

The morning rush at Red Lantern Coffee Tea had come and gone, leaving behind only the scent of jasmine tea and the chatter from the TV mounted on the wall. And absolutely no new information to send back to Quantico.

I glanced up at the screen where a news anchor was talking about some restaurant that had burned down. But the more I watched, the less it looked like an accident. I shook my head; something about the scene didn't sit right with me.

"Hey Lou," I called to my boss as I untied my apron in the back. "I'm gonna head out for the afternoon, okay?"

"Sure thing, Abby," he said without looking up from the espresso machine he was cleaning. "Don't forget to lock up tight. It's been rough around here lately."

I held back a smile. He was right, of course–San Francisco was dangerous. I'd just always been able to defend myself.

"You got it," I replied, grabbing my jacket and bag. As I stepped outside, the sounds of Chinatown wrapped around me like a familiar blanket—English and Mandarin mingling together, just like when I was a kid hanging out with my best friend, whose dad still worked with mine on the force.

Back then, Mei had taught me the language, sharing her culture as we shared secrets and dreams.

But time had pulled us in different directions, leaving only occasional visits with Dad's partner Hank Yu, who was more family than friend now. Hank had been his partner before he retired, and sometimes when I saw him, it was like I could still hear their stories of stakeouts and close calls.

But that had been a long time ago. I was here now and I had a job to do. Being a young woman in the FBI on a reconnaissance mission meant that I absolutely had to prove myself.

If I didn't, I would be stuck on desk duty for the rest of my career.

Next door, Grant Avenue Florals spilled out onto the sidewalk, a riot of colors and scents that made me pause. I leaned over to breathe in the fragrance of roses and chrysanthemums, letting my eyes drift shut for just a moment.

For a second, it was nice to forget this was my job, and just lean into the idea that this was my life.

"Which one's your favorite?" A voice broke through my daydream, smooth and unexpected.

Startled, I opened my eyes to meet the gaze of a man who could only be described as stunning. As if his voice alone wasn't doing enough things to me.

Tall, with muscles visible even under his simple white tee and jeans, he had this air about him that screamed both danger and charm. His smile was easy, but the scrape on his forearm hinted at a story I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Okay, I definitely wanted to know.

Dark ink coiled itself around his arm muscles line vines, ending under the sleeve of his white shirt.

I took a second to look him up and down. I didn't know that much about fashion, but that shirt was Tom Ford for sure. The dark jeans looked tailored. The shoes…bespoke, for sure. I'd never seen anything like them before.

And he wore a large blue Patek Phillipe watch.

This was quiet luxury…after it had been amplified by a giant fucking megaphone.

This man wasn't just sexy, he was rich rich.

He raised his eyebrows, looking at me and waiting.

"Sorry, right, my favorite," I said. I had to stop staring at him. "I don't know much about flowers. I guess the pink?"

"Those are nice," he said, picking up a bouquet with pink lilies nestled among other blooms. "They're yours if you want them."

"Wait, seriously?" I asked, then cocked my head as I regarded him suspiciously. "Do you even work here?"

I could tell he was trying to hold back a smile. "Something like that." There was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "You're Abby, right? From the coffee shop?"

"Guilty." I allowed a small smile, though my gut twisted with a mix of attraction and danger.

"Take the flowers," he said, handing me the bouquet.

I took it despite myself. "Honestly, I'm worried I won't be able to keep them alive."

"You'll do fine," he replied, his tone nice, even. "If you need any pointers, just let me know."

"Right," I said.

"Be careful with them, though," he cautioned, gesturing to the pink bouquet in my arms. "They're beautiful but poisonous."

"Thanks for the heads up," I replied. Of course he would know. As I turned to leave, our gazes locked briefly, and I felt an unspoken challenge pass between us.

This man was gorgeous and I most definitely needed to get laid.

…maybe next time.

I made my way down the street, the weight of his gaze lingering on my back like a promise or a threat. Chinatown was only thirty minutes away from the Tenderloin by foot and it was a nice enough day that I wanted the walk.

I liked San Francisco, too. I liked the weather and the hills and the storefronts. I had only been there for a few months, but I could already see myself getting used to it.

Once I was back in my shitty little Tenderloin apartment–thanks, the government–I navigated the deadbolts with practiced ease, securing myself within the modest space.

The flowers found a temporary home in an old kettle filled with water, a makeshift vase that seemed oddly fitting for my transient life. I settled onto the couch, a sigh escaping me as I tried to shake off the encounter.

My phone buzzed, an unwelcome intrusion that pulled me back to reality. It was Tyler, his message cloaked in the mundane but heavy with implications. "What's up?" it read, masquerading as a casual check-in.

I rolled my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was deal with him. I knew I couldn't just ignore him, though.

"Fine," I typed back quickly, my fingers steady despite the adrenaline spike. "Just got home. What do you need?"

"You know better. Not over the phone."

Fucking. Asshole.

I hated him so much. It had been such a long day, and I just wanted to stay home and maybe have a bath.

"Meet me in an hour," Tyler's response popped up almost immediately. "The usual spot. We need to talk."

"That serious?" I asked aloud, though I obviously didn't type that back to him. I glanced at my phone for as long as I thought I was allowed, then picked it up again. "Okay. Everything okay?"

"We need to talk about the recent incident."

The recent incident. He meant the explosions—the ones that had been ripping through the city like pages torn from a book, each one a mystery waiting to be unraveled. I stared at the words, steeling myself. This was why I was here, living a double life, wading through the murky waters of organized crime for answers that seemed as elusive as shadows at dusk.

And Tyler was my handler. He was probably going to assign some work to me–or tell me to get a grip and definitely stay out of it.

"Understood," I replied, locking the phone and setting it aside. The flowers in the kettle caught my eye, their innocence a sharp contrast to the dark reality of my job. But even the lilies' hidden toxicity served as a reminder—there was danger lurking beneath every surface, and it was my duty to root it out.

Fuck, they were pretty. Just like that man was.

I hadn't even gotten his name.

"Okay, Abby," I said aloud to the empty apartment. "Get a grip. He was probably just being nice."

I didn't have a lot of time to think about it as I stood up and put my hair up in a tight bun. It was time to switch girls, from the girl enchanted by the unexpected kindness of the hottest man she had ever seen to the agent hunting down leads amidst the chaos.

Shit was about to go down.

And I had never been more fucking ready.