“You really don’t have to do that, you know,” a familiar deep voice says. It’s a good voice, the kind that rolls through you—a little dangerous like thunder in the distance, but bringing with it a warning of what’s to come. When I turn, the lights behind him cast him in shadow, but I still know what—or rather, who—I’m dealing with. The man who keeps bumping into me at bars and restaurants across Hudson City while I’m on jobs and who has started to make a game out of riling me up. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was stalking me or something, but fortunately, I’m a Maven, and I do know
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