Chapter 6
Aaiden closes the folder with a snap that sends my blood pressure spiking. “The intel is too thin. We need to postpone the operation until we have more information.”
I stare at him across the glossy surface of the war room table, my fingers digging into the polished wood until my nails threaten to break. “You promised me this mission. You said if I was patient and waited until my side was healed, that you would let me do this.”
Caleb shifts in his chair, red-brown hair falling across his forehead as he leans forward. “The contact who provided the locations went dark yesterday. We need confirmation we’re not compromised before we move.”
“Bullshit!” I straighten, releasing the edge of the table. “We’ve moved on less before.”
Aaiden remains unfazed. “Not with Tony. He’s expecting us.”
“He’s always expecting us.” My palm slams onto the table, rattling a water glass. “That’s the point.”
“Jade,” Aaiden says sharply. “The situation has changed.”
“Then when?” I demand.
“When we have actionable intelligence.” His finger drums on the surface of the leather folder. “I won’t send you in on bad intel.”
“Then don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I snarl and spin toward the door, unable to look at him for another second.
Behind me, Caleb calls my name, but I’m already moving, shoving through the heavy door and into the corridor beyond.
The hallway stretches before me, all gleaming wood and old money. My boots leave scuff marks on the polished floor as I stalk toward the east wing, fists clenched at my sides.
A maid flattens herself against the wall as I pass, dirty laundry clutched to her chest. I don’t acknowledge her, too busy wrestling with the urge to put my fist through one of the manor’s antique mirrors.
My phone buzzes as I reach the grand staircase. I leave it in my pocket, taking the steps two at a time. The vibration comes again, insistent, as I reach the upper landing.
With an irritated grunt, I pull it out, ready to silence it, when the name on the screen gives me pause.
Kevin.
One of my personal contacts, a former dock worker with connections to Tony’s smuggling operation. Someone I cultivated on my own, outside of Rockford resources.
I swipe the notification open, my pulse accelerating as I read the message.
Kevin: Got a line on Tony. New safe house confirmed. You still interested?
My fingers blur over the screen.
Jade: Where?
The response comes almost right away.
Kevin: Not over text. Meet me at the loading docks, Warehouse 17.
Suspicion prickles at the back of my neck. That’s right next door to where we suspect Tony has been running his business from.
Jade: Tell me the address. I’ll handle it.
Three dots appear as Kevin types, disappear, and reappear.
Kevin: In person only. Too risky otherwise. You coming or not?
I stare at the screen. It’s probably a trap, but it’s also an excuse to do a little reconnaissance on my own. And if I happen to kill a bunch of Tony’s people, well, that’s just a bonus.
My fingers move before I can second-guess myself.
Jade: What time?
Kevin: One hour. Come alone.
I pocket the phone and continue down the hallway toward my room, blood thrumming with renewed purpose. For the first time in weeks, I feel something other than the helpless rage that’s become my constant companion.
In my room, I lock the door and move to the closet, pulling out the small kit of weapons I’ve managed to collect since Aaiden confiscated my originals. Nothing fancy, just a switchblade, a garotte wire, and a compact Glock I lifted from one of the security team’s lockers during training.
Not enough for a full assault, but plenty for reconnaissance.
Outside my window, the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon. An hour isn’t much time to plan my escape from Rockford Manor.
Good thing I know the security here so well.
The guard station outside the east wing is empty when I slip past during a shift change. It’s three minutes of vulnerability in Rockford Manor’s otherwise perfect security.
I freeze as footsteps echo down the adjacent corridor, counting breaths until they fade. The garage access door is twenty feet ahead, its keypad glowing green in the dim light.
I cross the distance in silent strides, careful to stay in the camera blind spots Caleb once showed me during training. The keypad accepts my code with a soft beep, and the door unlocks.
Cold air cuts through my clothes as I enter the garage, carrying the scent of motor oil and expensive leather. Motion sensors trigger subdued lighting that illuminates rows of gleaming vehicles.
What I need is in the security office to my right. The night guard should be upstairs getting his assignment, leaving me a ninety-second window. I move fast, slipping into the small room where keys hang on a labeled board. Twenty-seven sets, each corresponding to the car beneath.
My fingers close around a set marked A6. The navy Audi is less flashy than most, with darkened windows and a recent oil change.
Perfect.
The garage cameras run on a separate circuit from the manor’s main security system.
I slide under the desk where the monitoring equipment hums, locating the junction box from memory.
Two snips of the wire cutters I brought disable the feeds for the next fifteen minutes until the system auto-reboots.
With the keys in hand, I move toward the Audi, crouching low between vehicles to avoid being seen through the windows. The car unlocks with a muted chirp that sounds thunderous in the silent garage.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather cold through my black jeans.
The GPS tracker is integrated into the dash, but I know its weakness.
Three quick taps on the navigation screen while holding the reset button, followed by a specific sequence of climate control buttons, and the screen blinks, goes black, then reboots in maintenance mode.
I select System Diagnostic, followed by Disable Location Services. The car is now invisible to Rockford tracking.
The engine purrs to life with a gentle rumble, the vibrations traveling through the seat. I ease out of the parking spot, headlights still off, guided only by the ambient glow from emergency exit signs. The garage door rises automatically as I approach, and I slip out with the Audi.
I hit the gas once I clear the sensor range, tires squealing on the pavement as I accelerate down the long driveway. The gates loom ahead, but I don’t slow. The night guard recognizes the car but not the driver, and the gates part seconds before I would have crashed through them.
Freedom tastes like adrenaline and possibility.
Rain begins to fall as I hit the winding roads leading from Skyhaven down toward the city, covering the city in premature night. I push the Audi faster, taking turns with reckless speed, and merge onto the highway toward Brickwell.
I settle into the drive, relaxing my death grip on the steering wheel. On a Sunday night, traffic is light, with a scattering of cars and the occasional truck. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious.
Until I spot the black sedan in my review mirror.
It appears two car lengths behind me, keeping pace. Not too close, not too far. When I change lanes, it follows after an exact three-second delay.
Professional.
Deliberate.
I accelerate, and it matches my speed. I take the next exit, leaving the highway at Rockhaven, and it follows, still maintaining that perfect spacing.
Not just one car now. A second vehicle appears ahead of me at the stoplight, the dark SUV pulling out as my light turns green, setting a pace five miles below the speed limit. Boxing me in.
“Fuck,” I mutter, nails digging into the steering wheel.
I cut hard left onto a narrow street, tires skidding across wet pavement. The black sedan follows, executing the turn with the same controlled precision. The second car continues straight to circle around and cut me off at the next major intersection.
I recognize the pattern because it was trained into me, and Caleb’s instructions ring through my mind.
If you’re being tailed, identify the pattern before you react. A single tail will mirror your movements. Multiple tails will alternate positions to maintain constant visual contact.
I hang a sudden right into an alley barely wider than my car. The brick walls scrape my side mirrors as I speed through, bursting out onto a wider street. A quick check of my mirrors shows the sedan was forced to fall back, but new headlights appear ahead, turning toward me.
They’re fucking herding me.
My phone vibrates in the cup holder, and Aaiden’s name flashes.
I let it ring as I slam the gas pedal and shoot through an amber light as it turns red. Water sprays from beneath my tires as I cut across three lanes to make a hard left, then another right. The rain pounds harder now, reducing visibility, the wipers struggling to keep up.
I check my mirrors.
The headlights are still there. Different cars now, locking into formation. As if they knew which routes I’d take.
I disabled the GPS tracker on the Audi, but they’re still tracking me somehow.
My side aches from the sudden twists and turns, the scar on my side pulling tight. I take another sharp turn, ducking into an underground parking garage. I circle down one level and back up a different exit ramp, emerging onto a parallel street.
For three seconds, I think I’ve lost them.
Then new headlights reappear in my mirrors. Same distance. Different car.
The phone buzzes again. Aaiden.
I jab the answer button. “What?”
“Where are you?”
“Ask the men you have tailing me.”
“Go home, Jade.”
I end the call without answering. The old loading dock is less than five minutes away, and my contact might have information about Tony’s final holdouts. I need to get there.
I punch the gas, shooting through the rain-slick streets. The car fishtails around a corner and straightens as I fight the wheel.
When my phone rings again, I silence it.
The trailing vehicles maintain their distance, neither closing in nor falling back. They’ve switched from trying to turn me back to escorting me, and my gut clenches.
The loading dock appears ahead, the security lights illuminating the cracked concrete. I scan the area, and what I see makes my blood run cold.
Aaiden stands beside his sleek black Mercedes, posture relaxed but tracking my approach. The rain doesn’t touch him, his suit immaculate under a black umbrella. He looks as if he’s been waiting for hours, not minutes.
I slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop thirty feet away. The cars that were tailing me drive past, disappearing into the night as if they were never there.
While I’d been making my big escape, Aaiden had already been three steps ahead, beating me here.
I exit my car, the rain soaking through my clothes as I stalk toward him. “How the hell did you know where I was going?”
Aaiden doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls out his phone, taps the screen twice, and holds it out to me.
I take it, and a zing of awareness shoots up my arm from where our fingers brush.
A high-definition image fills the display of a man’s body, laid out on a cement floor.
His hands are bound behind his back, and his head is turned to the left, eyes open.
Blood pools under him from the deep slash across his throat.
My stomach drops as I recognize my contact. My lead. Gone before I even got there.
“What happened?”
“Our reconnaissance team found him in the safe house we thought Tony was using. He had your name in his wallet, but his phone was missing. When Sebastian saw you sneaking around, he figured something was up and checked your text history.”
Anger sizzles through me at the invasion of privacy, but not surprise. Never surprise.
“Jade, you have to see that this was a trap. Tony tried to lure you out of the manor, and it worked.”
The phone goes to sleep in my hand, the image of Kevin disappearing. “I already knew it was a trap.”
Aaiden stiffens. “Then why are you here?”
I meet his incredulous gaze. “You promised me I would get to kill someone today, and I aim to do just that.”