Chapter 29 29
A black van rolled forward from a shaded corner of the park.
The man opened the back door and climbed in.
“I got the picture, boss,” he said as he sat down, lowering his hood.
A figure in the front seat didn’t turn, only nodded.
“Good,” the driver said, voice rough. “This deal is one in a million.”
The door slammed shut.
The van pulled away slowly, blending into traffic like it had never been there.
The van rolled to a stop in front of a half-abandoned warehouse. Rusted doors. Broken windows.
The man in black stepped out, clutching the small camera like it was treasure.
Inside, the lights flickered on one by one.
A long wooden table sat in the middle. And on it—photo after photo of Blair and Maverick.
Blair buying groceries. Blair walking to work. Blair picking Mave from school. Mave laughing, holding her hand, hugging her legs.
Dozens of pictures.
The man swallowed, arranging the newest photos carefully on the table. “One in a million,” he whispered.
Footsteps echoed from the back.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, slowly.
Tall. Neatly dressed. Expensive shoes. But his face…
Hard and cold with a deadly smile.
The man in black straightened. “Sir, I got the pictures. All clear. Mother and child. They look close.”
The boss walked closer, studying the photos without touching them. His fingers hovered just above Maverick’s face.
“Nice try,” he said quietly.
The man in black blinked. “Sir?”
The boss finally met his eyes—smiling, but deadly calm.
“You really thought you could fool me with half-blurred photos? Follow her properly next time. I want every detail. Every routine. Where she works. Who she talks to. How long she stays at the park.”
He picked up the photo of Blair holding Maverick’s hand—her head thrown back laughing, Mave pointing at birds.
“She has no idea,” the boss murmured. “No idea what’s coming.”
Then he crushed the photo in his fist.
“Do better,” he said, dropping the crumpled picture at the man’s feet. “This deal is bigger than you think.”
The man in black nodded shakily.
“Yes, boss. I’ll follow her again tomorrow.”
The boss turned, heading back into the shadows.
“Good,” he said. “Because if Lucas Brooks finds her before I do…”
He paused, taking one last look at the scattered photos.
“…everything falls apart.”
The man in black nodded eagerly.
“Yes, sir.”
The taller man scanned the images one by one, eyes narrowing with interest.
“Blair Rivers…” he muttered. “Finally.”
—————
Blair pushed open her apartment door, exhausted beyond words. Her hair was messed from running around the park, her heart still sore from Maverick’s little meltdown.
She dropped her keys in the bowl near the door and leaned against the wall for a second, letting out a long breath.
“Maverick, go wash your hands before dinner,” she called gently.
“Okay, mommy!”
She rubbed her eyes.
Her chest still hurt.
One day. Just one day without chaos, she begged silently.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She frowned, checking the caller ID.
An unknown number.
She hesitated… then answered.
“Hello?”
A calm male voice flowed through the phone.
“Good evening, Miss Rivers. We need two large cups of coffee delivered… urgently.”
Blair blinked, confused.
“Um… who is this?”
The voice chuckled gently.
We’re calling from the company down on LûXúRy Street. We heard you make excellent coffee. Could you prepare a few orders for us? We’ll pay immediately — with a tip.”
Blair blinked, confused.
“Uh… LûXúRy Street? You need it now?”
“Yes, right away please,” the man insisted. “We’ll send a driver. Just text when you’re done.”
Blair frowned.
“Alright… sure. I’ll make them now.”
“Perfect,” the caller said, voice almost too smooth. “And don’t worry — you’ll be well compensated.”
The line went dead.
Blair sighed, tying her apron back around her waist.
“Work is work,” she muttered. “And at least someone appreciates my coffee.”
Some minutes later the door bell rang.
Blair balanced the tray carefully and opened the door.
A man in dark sunglasses stood there, tall, stiff… almost too formal for someone who came to pick up coffee.
“Miss Rivers?” he asked.
Blair nodded slowly. “Yes… I’m Blair.”
He gave a short, polite smile — the type that never touched the eyes.
“I’m the driver sent to collect your order,” he said, voice smooth. “For the company on Luxury Street.”
Blair blinked.
“Oh— right. I just finished making the coffees.”
She stepped back. “Let me get the tray. They should still be warm.”
But the man didn’t move from the doorway.
“No need for a tray,” he said, lifting his gloved hand slightly. “Just hand them to me.”
“Bare… hands?” Blair hesitated. “They’re hot.”
He didn’t smile this time.
“Please,” he insisted gently, stretching out his hands again. “It’ll be faster. My boss doesn’t like delays.”
She forced a polite smile.
“Alright. Just… be careful. They’re fresh.”
She handed him the first cup. He held it too tightly, like he had never touched a coffee cup in his life.
Then the second one.
He accepted both, nodded once, and stepped back.
“Thank you, Miss Rivers,” he said, turning away. “Have a good evening.”
As he walked back to the car, he pulled out a tiny earpiece and whispered, barely moving his lips:
“Nice, boss. I got her fingerprints. It’s a match… the same ones from five years ago. Young master is going to be very, very happy with the news.”
A second voice crackled through the earpiece—older, colder.
“Slow down,” the voice warned. “You know what happens when we rush. He’s dangerous when we mess things up.”
The driver swallowed and shut the van door.
“Understood.”
“So… what next, boss?”
The voice answered:
“Too many things.
Just watch your back.
And don’t fumble anything.
Not this time.”
Dave closed the van door, casting one last look at Blair’s building.
Inside the warehouse—
Dave handed over the small sealed packet — the one he had just collected from Blair’s coffee cup — to a man in a white lab coat who did not look like he belonged anywhere near sunshine.
The specialist lifted it gently with tweezers, his glasses sliding down his nose.
“Handle it with care,” Dave muttered nervously.
The man didn’t answer. He just nodded once and slipped the packet into a sterile metal tray like it was gold.
Dave turned back to his boss.
“So… what next, boss?” he whispered.
The older man didn’t take his eyes off the photos pinned to the board — Blair at the park, Blair holding Maverick’s hand, Blair turning toward the ice cream stand.
“Too many things, Dave,” he said quietly. “Just watch your back.”
Dave swallowed. “And… the young master? Should we tell him yet?”
The boss shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Not yet. Slow down. You know he gets dangerous when we fumble things up.”
Dave nodded quickly.
The specialist cleared his throat.
“All I need now is a few hours. Once I run the comparison…” he tapped the metal tray, “we’ll know for sure.”
Dave tried to laugh but it came out shaky.
“So we’re really doing this… after all these years.”
His boss smirked and patted him on the shoulder.
“Relax, Dave. If this DNA matches…”
He looked at Blair’s photo again — her smile faint, Maverick hugging her leg.
“…then everything changes.”
The specialist slid the tray into a humming machine.