Chapter 26 #2
“You can have the next mile, then I’ll take you again.”
“If you can catch me.”
“If I can’t, I’ll wait until the motel room and take you there.”
There’s a faint eep over the radio, and I grin to myself. But Raven bends low over her tank, and makes it difficult for me to pass her. It takes me two miles, not one, and then she’s back in the lead three bends later.
She flips me the bird as she overtakes. “Told you I was better.”
“Better bike.”
“You’re not wrong, but that sounds like a bullshit excuse.”
I concede that one. “You are better,” I say. “Why haven’t you gone pro?”
“Women don’t race, Declan,” she replies. “I’d never be taken seriously.”
“You’re good enough,” I argue. “Why don’t you try?”
“It’s not about being good enough. It’s about team backing and getting a competitive bike. Who’s going to put their money on a woman?”
“Their loss,” I grind out.
“Don’t sulk, Romeo. I’m happy riding here, with you, and robbing banks with Kurt.”
It’s an untimely reminder that I’m here to do a job. “Are you really?” I ask. “Robbing banks, I mean. That make you happy?”
“No,” she says after a while. “But the crew makes me happy. And a girl has to eat, you know?”
“You could do so much more.”
“Yeah?” she replies, tone sharp. “Dropped out of college to follow a guy to LA, and you know how that worked out. Kurt found me when I got here, and one thing led to another. I do riding jobs, because I’m good at them. You want me to what, work in McDonalds?”
“Of course not—”
“And you’re so whiter than white. How did you end up riding with Briggs?”
And just like that, I’m forced to lie again. “Like I said, it was through a contact on a past job.”
“Sure it was,” she says like she doesn’t believe me. “Yet you go all tight when I ask about it, and that tells me all I need to know.”
“What’s that, exactly?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual, while my stomach clenches.
“That you did some dodgy shit you want to forget. So don’t preach to me, Hale.”
“You’re right,” I say. And she is. That was Maddox coming through, not Hale.
She makes it harder than ever to remember who I’m supposed to be, because I don’t want to be who I’m not with her.
“Forget I said anything. What you’re doing is what suits you, and I’m full of admiration for you.
” All true. Doesn’t mean I still have to figure out how Raven ends up not being in prison, and not hating me when the rest of her crew are.
There don’t seem to be any answers to that. Not if I want to keep my job.
Maybe I don’t anymore.
But how is resigning a solution? It’s not. I still need to live, to earn, and I can’t become Hale for real. Not with the FBI watching my every move.
The thought still digs its claws in.
We stop for gas in Santa Maria, then get lunch at an all-day breakfast place that suits me just fine.
“Four more hours to San Fran,” Raven says, looking at the map on her phone. “Be ready for a bed by then. Where are we staying?”
“Wherever we like, I guess. Wait until we’re tired, find somewhere that looks okay, and hope the cockroach count is low.”
“That’s romantic, Romeo.”
“Then maybe you’ll stop calling me that.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t like it?”
“I don’t mind it, but Romeo and Hellcat?” I give an exaggerated wince. “It sounds like a really bad cartoon.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Fair point, but that’s on you. You’re the one who gave me that pet name.”
“And when it suits you so well, I’m sticking with it.”
“Yeah? I called you Romeo first.”
She might’ve at that. “You also said it didn’t fit.”
“That was before you went in for the tie-me-up and ravage me all night long. And before all those towel-drops.”
I take that with a wry twist of my lips. “Words you’ll be paying for at whatever motel we reach.”
She leans back in her chair and gives me a look. “Consequences for light teasing now?”
“With how much fun it is to spank you? Consequences for everything.”
“Sadist,” she mutters.
But she doesn’t object.
By the time we stop at a motel, road-weary and aching, all we really want is a shower and a bed. If there had been the spirit for more, the dingy state of the room saps it. Raven climbs into bed with a sigh, curls up in my arms, pushing her ass back, and that’s enough for me.
“Seems I’m not used to so many hours on the bike. I ache all over.”
“Want me to kiss anything better?”
“Good night, Romeo.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Are you going to stop calling me ‘hellcat’?”
“How can I? It’s your name.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
I stroke her hair until she falls asleep, then lie there in the dark, listening to her breathing. This woman is the most precious thing I’ve ever held in my arms, and I still don’t have any idea how I’m going to do my job and save her.
Maybe the only workable solution is to resign.
But then I’d be a criminal if I went through with the heist, and the FBI would throw the fucking book at me.
Or not do the heist, then have to explain myself to Raven, and not get paid.
It’s not like I have thousands in the bank to fall back on.
I’d need an income, and what other job would let me ride around all day with Raven? None of them, that’s what.
There are no solutions that I can see, and I’m running out of time. Two more weeks until the heist, and then Mercer’s going to want answers.
When sleep finally comes, my dreams are disturbing, and I wake the following morning feeling like I haven’t slept at all.
“Shitty motel,” Raven mutters as we eat bacon sandwiches for breakfast by the side of our bikes. “We’re not coming back here, right?”
“We’ll find somewhere else next time. Maybe a decent hotel in the city.”
We’re closer to San Jose than San Francisco, still an hour out of the city proper, but this is the area Raven wants to run.
We part ways with a kiss, and I head north alone.
I stay on the 101 as it runs past Pacific Heights, only a few blocks away from the house Mercer has given me the code for, and I’m there by ten o’clock.
It’s a small place, wedged between a larger house and an apartment block, cream timber build with a red door that shouts budget family more than it does FBI-owned.
A ‘For Sale’ sign gives it justification for being empty, and a ramp runs off the road into a garage that I don’t have the key for, but the coded entry on the front door is modern.
I type in the six-digit number Mercer gave me, and it clicks open.
Inside, the house is basic but functional. Two bedrooms and a living area, with simple furniture. I do my checks, locating the wall safe and the medical supplies Mercer told me were there, so I know where they are if I need them in a rush.
The garage isn’t a garage at all, but a converted basement, the external door sealed from inside.
Concrete walls and floors. A simple home gym: mats, a vaulting horse, free weights in one corner.
A dartboard. Along one wall there’s a selection of weapons in a glass case—pistols and a submachine gun, with enough rounds to keep any prepper happy.
I don’t really care. All I need is somewhere I can head if things go badly on the heist. I doubt I’ll see this place again, but at least it gives me options.
My phone vibrates when I’m heading for the door, and I half expect it to be Raven.
It’s not. It’s a number I’ve memorized. It will never be stored in my phone, and I shouldn’t even see it on my display unless the shit’s hit the fan.
I swipe to answer with a knot clenching in my stomach. “Declan.”
“We’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended—”
“You’re clear, go ahead.”
The line clicks, then Mercer picks up. “Declan? We’ve got a problem.”
I exhale slowly. At least she said ‘we’ and not ‘you.’ “What is it?”
“Meridian Pacific is on a watch list.”
“What kind of watch list?”
“Good question. The analysts did some digging, and it hit an access denial even I can’t get around.” She pauses. “You know what that means.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “NSA. CIA.”
“Right. So that leaves me two choices. One. I call them and tell them we have an op running, and risk them hitting me with a ‘stand down.’ You’re out, and this is over. Two. I don’t make that call, and you run the chance of crashing into something we don’t know is there. It’s up to you, Declan.”
“Uh-huh.” I click my tongue, standing in that dismal house, looking at the cheap IKEA furniture. But there’s nothing to consider. “I’m not ready to quit.” It’s not even an option; if I do, the whole crew will be pulled on the Palm Springs job alone, and Raven will never forgive me.
“No, and neither am I,” Mercer says. “I knew you’d be willing to take the risk.
” She pauses. “Whoever has an interest won’t see Renner coming.
We have a chance to be heroes here. Get into that vault, find out what he wants, and make damn sure he doesn’t get it.
Whatever happens, you have to walk out of the vault with whatever package Renner has his eye on.
Then I can make that call, and deliver it to them wrapped in a pink bow. ”
Shit. “Understood.”
“Good luck, Declan.”
“Thanks… and Mercer?”
“Yeah?”
“No more Saturday calls. I’ve got your number if I need you.”
She gives me a dry laugh. “It’s not like you made them anyway, is it? Do me a favor and don’t get killed, Declan.”
“I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t. I just hate paperwork, and this one just got very messy.”
The line goes dead.
I carefully wipe the call record from my phone, and slide it back into my pocket.
Messy doesn’t even begin to describe it.
If she only knew.