Badass in Disguise (Shadow) novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57

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Taking a sip of orange juice, I leaned toward Ethan. “You know,” I said casually, “the bald guy two tables behind you has been watching you since we sat down. His right hand keeps drifting toward his jacket–inside holster, I’d guess.”

Ethan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Instead of turning to look, he simply checked his watch.

“Perhaps he admires my tie,” he replied smoothly. “Tom Ford does excellent work.”

I smiled, appreciating his composure. “Oh, absolutely. Though I think he’s more interested in what’s under your jacket than what’s around your neck.” I dabbed my lips with a napkin. “What’s on your

agenda today?”

Connor, seated nearby pretending to read financial news, kept glancing our way with confusion. His

forehead vein pulsed every time Ethan smiled in my direction.

“Actually,” Ethan said, cutting his steak with precision, “I have a business meeting scheduled. Nothing particularly entertaining, I’m afraid.”

“Business in Venezuela? How fascinating.” I lowered my voice. “The man to your left just received a

text. Now three more of them are watching us.”

“International commerce knows no borders, Miss Morgan. Especially in emerging markets.”

“Sounds intriguing. Mind if I tag along? I’ve always been curious about how deals get done in places

like this.”

Connor’s head snapped up, silently pleading with Ethan to refuse.

“These aren’t the sort of meetings covered in high school business classes,” Ethan warned. “They can get… complicated.”

‘I’m good with complicated,” I replied steadily. “Besides, it might be safer for me to stick with you than to wander around alone. Those guys from Apex seem unusually interested in me.”

“You know their name,” Ethan observed casually. “Apex Tactical Group.”

I shrugged, realizing my slip. “I overheard your assistant mention it earlier.”

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Chapter 57

“It might be dangerous.”

“I trust you’ll keep me safe,” I said with just enough vulnerability to appeal to his protective

instincts.

Back in the suite, Connor didn’t wait for the door to close before objecting.

“Sir, bringing a high school student to meet with Ian is completely inappropriate,” he hissed. “These aren’t the kind of people who-”

“I’m well aware of who they are, Connor,” Ethan interrupted. “I’ve changed the meeting location. We’ll meet at Ian’s compound instead. It’s neutral ground, relatively speaking.”

Connor looked incredulous. “That’s even worse! At least at headquarters there are rules, protocols. At

his compound-”

“It’s decided,” Ethan said firmly, glancing toward the bathroom where I was supposedly refreshing myself. “She’s not what she appears to be, Connor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not certain yet. But I intend to find out.”

The hotel entrance buzzed with activity when we descended thirty minutes later. A convoy of black SUVS and armored vehicles lined the driveway, with nearly seventy security personnel establishing a

perimeter.

“Expecting trouble?” I asked, eyeing the impressive display.

“In Venezuela? Always,” Ethan replied.

As we approached the lead vehicle, I spotted an Apex operative across the street. He spoke urgently into a radio, eyes locked on me. What caught my attention wasn’t his surveillance but his body language. While he clearly viewed me as a target, he seemed genuinely wary of Ethan, maintaining extra distance and positioning himself with clear escape routes.

Interesting. Apex was a top–tier mercenary outfit–they didn’t show fear easily.

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The landscape changed dramatically as we drove. Modern buildings gave way to dilapidated structures, makeshift roadblocks, and increasingly sparse population centers. After two hours, we were traveling through what looked like a war zone–buildings pockmarked with bullet holes and

small groups of armed men watching our convoy with predatory interest.

“Scenic route?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Venezuela has been through difficult times,” Ethan replied. “Failed economic policies, corruption,

international sanctions. The infrastructure collapses, and people adapt however they can.”

The convoy eventually turned onto a dirt road leading to an abandoned industrial complex beside a

river. Rusted equipment and crumbling structures created a maze of potential ambush points.

Armed guards surrounded our vehicle as it stopped. They wore no uniforms, but their weapons and

stance identified them as professional soldiers–not local militia or cartel muscle.

“They’ll need to search us,” Connor explained as Ethan helped me out. “Standard procedure.”

One guard approached Connor, performing a thorough pat–down before removing a Desert Eagle handgun from his shoulder holster.

The guard moved toward Ethan next, but a sharp command from inside halted him. He hesitated, then stepped aside. When he reached me, his eyes quickly scanned my form before he too stepped

away without searching me.

Connor selected fifteen of our security detail to accompany us inside, leaving the rest to secure the perimeter. As we walked toward the main building, I mentally mapped escape routes–an old habit from my previous life.

Inside, the decrepit exterior gave way to a surprisingly well–appointed interior. We were led to an open–air terrace overlooking the river.

A man rose from a cushioned chair, arms spread wide. “Mr. Haxton! Welcome, welcome to my humble

abode!”

I froze, recognition hitting me like a physical blow. I knew that face–the distinctive scar running from his left temple to jaw. Ian Matthews, arms dealer extraordinaire.

“Ian,” Ethan acknowledged with a polite nod. “Thank you for accommodating the change of venue.”

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