Saturday. London, United Kingdom.
VALENTINO KEPT HER HEAD low while shoveling food into her mouth.
She was just another patron at the little café that routinely served the club crowd in this part of London. Fliers and stickers for Club Ibiza were still stuck to the corkboard by the register.
With one hand she scooped up another mouthful, hardly tasting the dish she'd ordered while scrolling her phone with the other.
She'd half expected to cut and run from today's meet, so she hadn't used good equipment. Right now all the camera and audio feeds were uploading. In moments it would be off the machine she'd left behind and on her private, secure server for review later.
A uniformed cop passed the front windows. She followed him with her eyes, but didn't pay him much mind. After a pair had come in to ask the woman at the counter a few questions and left without once looking at Valentino, she'd breathed a sigh of relief.