209: Trailing Giada

Clancy’s POV

I drove into the underground parking lot slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh, twitching.

Through the black tint, I caught her.

Red sedan. Matte finish. California plates.

Giada.

She slipped out of the driver’s seat like smoke, hips cocked in confidence, chin high.

Red hoodie, tight jeans, sneakers white as sin.

No one that smooth was ever clean.

She didn’t even look around before heading for the elevator. Brave. Or stupid.

I leaned back with a sigh.

All that trailing, all that shadow-play, and all she did was swing by a mall.

On the surface, that’s what it looked like.

But I’d been watching how she drove, cutting corners, doubling back, slipping into lanes like water through cracks.

That wasn’t some spoiled assistant cruising on her boss' money.

That was trained instinct. Maneuver and misdirect.

The kind of moves that lose tails and scramble patterns.

She was good.

But I was better.

I waited a minute longer.

Let her vanish upstairs.

Then I moved.