Chapter 62: Monica
The flight from Los Angeles to Miami took just over four hours. Ron managed to catch some solid sleep onboard, and when he opened his eyes, they were just about to land.
But the first person to greet him wasn't the undercover beauty he'd been expecting.
Instead, it was a chubby guy who looked oddly like a bloated version of Nicolas Cage. Years of comfortable domestic life had clearly taken their toll on this once-notorious arms dealer.
Apparently, marriage wasn't just the grave of love—it was also the crematorium of a man's looks.
"I only bought a piece of gear from you, and you decided to hand-deliver it? Don't tell me all your guys ran off," Ron teased, giving Yuri a quick hug.
"Of course not. I'm just trying to keep a low profile lately," Yuri replied while keeping an eye on Ron's expression. "I think a particularly troublesome Interpol agent's caught my scent. Tell you what—this time, the equipment's on the house. In exchange, think you could get that big boss of yours to write me a pardon?"
Ron gave him a solid punch to the chest. "So this is why you're suddenly being so generous. You were just waiting for this moment, weren't you? Should I consider this a political donation then? Though the amount seems a little stingy—you know how expensive his appetite is."
Yuri winced, gasping as he recovered from the blow. "I know, I know. That's why this little gift isn't all I've got. I've also prepared a sum about equal to all the 'taxes' you've helped yourself to from me over the years. I'm just not sure where to send it."
"I'll give you a number," Ron said, texting him. "It's for a water purification company. Tell them my name, ask to be connected to the CEO, and tell him what you just told me. He'll know what to do."
Just as they shared a knowing smirk over their less-than-legal exchange, a sleek, roaring Porsche pulled up beside them. The door swung open, and out stepped a woman with an untamed, electric presence.
"You're Ron?" she asked bluntly, walking straight up to him and offering a hand while giving Yuri a suspicious once-over. "You were supposed to come alone, weren't you?"
Ron jabbed Yuri in the side with his elbow—only to find the guy frozen, eyes locked on the woman like he was hypnotized.
"Well, excuse my friend. He's apparently never seen someone like you before," Ron joked. "You've kind of stunned him—like Medusa from Greek mythology."
"HEY!" Ron shouted in Yuri's ear, finally snapping him out of it. Then he turned back to the woman. "Thankfully, your petrification spell didn't fully work.
Name's Ron Lee Cooper."
"Monica," she replied coolly, giving Ron's hand the lightest of touches. "And flattery won't get you anywhere with me~"
She said it like a warning, but the twinkle in her eye betrayed a flicker of amusement. Ron could tell—his words had landed, at least a little.
"He's one of us," Ron assured her. "Totally trustworthy. So—where to?"
"Follow me," Monica said. "I'll take you to a safehouse first. Then we'll talk strategy—how to get you close to Carter."
With that, she turned and got back into her car.
Ron had to fight off the pull of her mesmerizing eyes just to get into Yuri's vehicle.
"Hey, man," Ron said once inside. "What was that back there? You froze. That's not like you. I thought you were supposed to be the poster boy for family values?
What, thinking of cheating now?"
As Yuri started the car, he muttered to himself, "Believe it or not, when I saw her just now… I felt like I've known her for a long time. Like waking from a really long dream…"
"You're not about to tell me you dreamed you were a flaming skeleton in a leather jacket, riding a Harley and falling in love with Monica, are you?" Ron rolled his eyes.
Yuri's face went pale. "How did you know?!"
Ron looked at him sideways. "Would you believe me if I said I can steal dreams? Come on, man, you're too old to be reading comic books all day."
"Where's my gear?"
"In the trunk," Yuri replied, regaining his composure. "Besides what you asked for, I tossed in a few extras I thought you'd like. Consider it a gift. Along with this car, by the way. I'll drop off somewhere discreet—I'm not interested in getting involved in your mission."
He took a breath and added, "The car's chassis, doors, and windows are all reinforced with custom bulletproof materials. It can handle standard handgun fire. Even the tires are run-flats—puncture-proof. You're welcome. Think of this as an early investment from a businessman who knows talent when he sees it."
At a red light, Yuri suddenly pulled out a pistol and pressed it into Ron's chest. "Unregistered. Black market. Totally off the grid. Use it however you want."
Then he slipped out of the car without another word.
Ron climbed into the driver's seat, shifted gears, and continued trailing Monica's car. She eventually led him to a run-down, abandoned factory.
Ron didn't get out right away. Instead, he circled the building once in the car, making sure there weren't any surprises waiting for him. Only after confirming it was clear did he park beside Monica and step out.
"You don't trust me very much, do you?" Monica asked with a sly smile.
But Ron, who had seen more faces than a poker dealer, could tell she wasn't just teasing—she was annoyed. Still, he had no intention of apologizing.
"Of course not," he said calmly. "You're a triple agent. Even if the boss says you're one of us, I've still got to wonder which side you're really on. Sorry—just occupational habit. No offense."
Despite the apology, there was no sincerity on Ron's face. In fact, he looked every bit the charming rogue as he strode toward her and wrapped her in a sudden hug—borderline harassment in any other context.
But Monica didn't flinch. She stood her ground, smiling with amusement as Ron's hands casually wandered across her curves, pretending to "check" for bugs or weapons. Her expression only grew more intrigued.
"Well?" she whispered sultrily in his ear, breath warm. "Find anything? A weapon, a bug, maybe a reason to keep touching me? Or… shall we go somewhere a bit more private for a more thorough inspection?"
"If you don't mind," Ron replied, leaning in even closer, "I'd love to have a deeper conversation with someone as beautiful as you. I once heard there's a British intel agency that hides tracking devices in a very personal place on women. You know what I mean?"
Just as their faces nearly touched, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and whispered, "Three o'clock. We've got company."
Monica responded without breaking character. "Probably just some hobo looking to fish. There's a wild lake nearby." Her voice was affectionate, like a lover murmuring sweet nothings.
From a distance, they looked like a passionate couple tangled in an embrace.
A scruffy man, looking very much like a homeless wanderer, let out a creepy chuckle and whistled as he passed by. He gave them a couple of curious glances but didn't stop.
Ron noted that although the man didn't carry a fishing rod, he had a large bucket and a length of string—probably rigged with a hook at the end. Just as Monica said: a low-budget fisherman with no real gear. Not unusual around here.
Still, Ron kept one hand near his waist, just in case.