It occurred to her that it might have been a trick. This was the case with every lead she followed---a girl has to be careful, after all---but it wasn't until this evening that she'd experienced genuine doubt in the credibility of her informant. Clandestine dealings on a pier at midnight seemed almost too cliché to be legitimate, but still, she couldn't let anything go uninvestigated. Not after what happened. After ten minutes of waiting she flicked out the kickstand of the black Yamaha and dismounted to lean against it, staring up at the edge of the pier with intensity shining in those pale eyes. Though this was another mission of stealth, she dared not go without the motorbike, which was the only thing of real value that she'd acquired since her escape. In certain scenarios it made her stand out, but in this urban environment it was the perfect tool for blending in. A chill from the water's edge swept by and Annick London zipped up her bomber jacket further. Soon the noise passed and it was replaced by another: the quiet hum of a car engine and fierce whispers from above. Annick London gripped the revolver at her waist and listened closely.