The bell above the diner door jingles as I step inside, shaking snow from my jacket. The warmth hits me immediately, along with the smell of bacon and coffee. Hardison is already at a corner booth, laptop open and various tech scattered across the table.

"Took you long enough," he says without looking up.

"Traffic. You get anything?" I slide into the booth across from him, keeping my back to the wall - old habits die hard.

"Our boy Velasquez is definitely in town. I've got him making a pickup at the docks tonight."

Parker appears beside me, sliding into the booth with a half-eaten donut in her hand. "I scouted the warehouse yesterday. Three entrance points, minimal security, but the loading dock has motion sensors."

I nod, processing the information. "So we hit during the pickup. Take the drugs, plant the evidence that Velasquez is working alone, leave an anonymous tip for the cops."

"That's the plan," Hardison confirms, finally looking up from his screen. "But I'm picking up some weird chatter. NYPD has been making moves on Montoya's other operations all week. Almost like someone's feeding them information."

"Coincidence?" Parker asks, mouth full of donut.

"In this business? Never," I say, scanning the diner. Something feels off. Maybe it's just New York making me jumpy. Or maybe it's the fact that we're three people taking on a cartel operation without backup.

Hardison's phone buzzes. He checks it quickly and frowns. "Nana just texted. Taneesha's court date got moved up. We've got 48 hours to make this happen."

I lean forward, elbows on the table. "Then we don't waste any time. Let's go over the plan again. Parker, you're in first through the ventilation system..."

As we huddle over the laptop, mapping out our approach, I can't shake the feeling we're being watched. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of a man across the street - dark coat, observing the diner too casually. My hand tightens around my coffee cup. This job just got a lot more complicated.