The jet was waiting at Centennial Airport and I hadn't agreed to any of this.
"A delivery conflict," Cole had said at Treeline the day before. Casual. The voice he used when he was engineering something. "Your Huila shipment is rerouting through Aspen. A logistics issue. If you want to inspect it before it clears customs, I can have you there and back in a day."
"Aspen doesn't have a customs facility."
"The bonded warehouse does."
"Since when do you know about my bonded warehouse?"
"Since June."
He'd said it with the ghost of that new almost-smile — the one that knew I'd catch the lie and was counting on me catching it — and I'd stood behind my counter with a portafilter in my hand and known that this was not about a coffee shipment.
