Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
ALPHABET
THIRTY-SIX HOURS EARLIER…
LOCATION: SUBURBAN SAFE HOUSE
“Explain it to me again,” Lunchbox said from where he stood by the now cleaned counter and sink. Breakfast was done and we’d gone over the intelligence that I’d been able to run through the night before.
O’Rourke gave me enough information to pierce the veil of secrecy these guys were operating under.
I wasn’t sure whether to be more amused or irritated at the simplicity of their plan.
Covert only worked as long as no one knew what to look for.
Once you pulled apart one string, the rest began to gradually unravel.
Finding the right thread to pull had been the key.
Not that I planned on thanking O’Rourke. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. That dick was part of the reason we were in this particular fight.
“From the top…” Lunchbox continued and I didn’t sigh. Too much coffee, too little sleep, and worry for Bones had me on edge. Or it had… until our morning play with Gracie. She made everything better.
“Do you have a specific issue you want to review?” Voodoo asked before I could kick it off. “Or do you really want a repeat of what we already discussed?”
Not an unfair question.
Lunchbox shifted his gaze to where Gracie sat with her hands wrapped around the fresh cup of coffee.
“He wants to know why you guys are letting me run part of this solo.” Oh, she definitely got it. “Or at least participating in the op.”
“Actually,” Lunchbox said through a tight jaw where he wasn’t quite grinding his teeth. “What I want to know is why we’re trusting O’Rourke to be your backup.”
“We’re not trusting him.” I kept my voice flat, even, unemotional. Goblin leaned against my leg, where he’d pretty much planted himself since we started the briefing. “I don’t like him any more than you do. I am trusting Gracie.”
For her part, she tilted her head to glance between us. After the first part of the briefing, she hadn’t said much. Instead, she seemed to be mulling it over.
“If Gracie isn’t up to it,” I said, raising a hand to stave off any response from her at the moment. “Example only, I told her.” Then I refocused on Lunchbox. “If she isn’t up for it, or if we find too many holes, then we don’t do it.”
“What is she supposed to do if O’Rourke flips on her?” The only reason he wasn’t pissing me off at the moment was I was right there with him.
“She can tase him. She can scream and out him to the security there…or we’ll shoot him.
” Voodoo shrugged. “Currently, O’Rourke thinks he can win her over.
If we give a little in his direction, he’s going to think he can get a lot.
That makes him play a little nicer. I want him there as a meat shield. ”
“And we’re damn certain he hasn’t told us everything,” I finished.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lunchbox blew out a long breath. Then like us, he focused on Gracie. “What do you think of the plan?”
“I think I need to get my hair and nails done.” She glanced down at her hands. “This manicure is more than a month old and if we want me to blend in as arm candy, then I need a little help.”
“Gracie, you would look like a billion dollars in a burlap sack.” And I meant it. She was—everything.
Her nose wrinkled up adorably as she made a face. “You do not get to make the fashion choices.”
Grinning, I made a mock obeisance bow by rolling my hand and dipping my chin.
“Firecracker.” Voodoo didn’t raise his voice or snap a command, but it was enough to snare all of our attention. “Are you up for this?”
“Weirdly,” she said slowly. “I think so. Not I know so, I think so. But only because I don’t think you’d make this suggestion or even use me in this plan like this if you weren’t dead certain it would work.”
She had a point. Lips pursed, Lunchbox shook his head. “I still don’t like it. I’d rather just shoot him.”
“Me too,” I said in chorus with Voodoo, then continued, “However, we can’t—yet. Not ever, just not right now. He’s useful and we want to get Bones back.”
Rising, Gracie carried her empty cup over to the counter where Lunchbox stood.
After setting the cup aside, she pressed her hands to his chest. It was damn hard to hold onto stoic when she looked at me like that, so I wasn’t remotely surprised when some of the rigid tension in his shoulders relaxed.
“I can do this,” she said. “I also know, if anything happens, you guys will be there. But if anyone cuts anything off of him…I want to pick the first part. That’s my deal.”
“Bloodthirsty.” Lunchbox said with a faint chuckle. “I like it.” He wrapped his arms around her, then shot a look at Voodoo and then me. I nodded. So did Voodoo.
She could do this and we would make sure she was fine.
“Right…” Voodoo glanced at me. “Let’s get moving…”
VOODOO
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER…
LOCATION: ARCADIA MUSEUM OF CULTURAL HISTORY
I’d seen a lot of fronts in my time—strip malls that covered bunkers, churches that funneled weapons, even a suburban daycare that ran a listening post out of the nursery. But this? A high-tech, freshly minted museum in the middle of the city… this was almost elegant.
From the outside, the Arcadia Museum of Cultural History looked clean, expensive, and just off enough to draw attention but not scrutiny.
New concrete, shining glass, and some overly abstract modern sculpture of a phoenix in the courtyard.
Not subtle. Not trying to be. That’s the trick with these kinds of operations—don’t hide.
Just fit in loud enough that no one wants to look closer.
I’d parked a block away, took a slow circuit on foot, no gear that would get flagged by their facial rec.
Black jeans, battered jacket, camera hanging off my neck like any other out-of-towner soaking in the sights before the museum closed for a private event.
Baseball cap and sunglasses helped sell the tourist angle.
Private events happened every third night, apparently. According to the schedule, that frequency wasn’t listed online. But the frequency showed up in their power usage logs. Dumb move.
People lied. Data didn’t.
There were four main entrances: public, staff, deliveries, and fire exits.
Two side alleys. One underground tunnel that wasn’t on city records but definitely existed—thermal scan had picked it up when we did the drive-by recon.
That one would need more investigation. Probably part of the emergency egress or a VIP escape route.
Whatever it was, they cared enough to keep it quiet.
The loading docks though? Perfect. Isolated. Cameras easy to loop—primitive system there, not even cloud synced. Big mistake. Alphabet had been incensed by the setup. It was almost funny. Still, the wobbly security might just be a cover. Distract by appearing unimpressive. It was a choice.
Trucks came in twice a week for exhibit rotation, and if we believed that I would be investing in a bridge that was already located in Arizona. The delivery manifests and weight scans didn’t match—not even close. They had been moving cargo in and out that didn’t get logged.
My kind of backdoor.
I took a stroll past the public lobby, made note of the security guards.
Overdressed, undertrained. They scanned people’s tickets like TSA LARPing agents and didn’t notice half the tells they should’ve.
One of them kept scratching his wrist where a wrist tattoo was clearly trying to peek out from beneath his uniform. Real pros they had here.
The museum looked new, but too much of it was smoke and mirrors.
Corners of the facade still smelled like freshly cured resin.
But other sections—like the west wing—felt older, hidden beneath cosmetic upgrades.
Reinforced walls. Vibration sensors tucked under the molding near the display cases.
High-end tech, but only in select zones.
This place was built to look like a museum. And maybe some of it was—but the rest? Storage. Staging. Something deeper.
Every piece of information confirmed our supposition. This was most likely where they were holding Bones.
I finished my loop, ended up back near the side alley that fed toward the loading dock. Looked like a blind corner—no camera angle covered it fully. That was intentional. Could make for a clean extraction route if we had to go loud. Not preferred, but good to know.
It was well past sundown by the time I finished my last circuit of the area and headed back to the parked van.
My gear bag was still where I left it, tucked in the hidden compartment beneath the false floor.
Slid it out, ran a quick check—drones, thermal imager, EMP disruptor, snake cam.
Good. Grabbed the burner phone and sent the signal to Alphabet.
“Ingredients acquired along with the recipe. Heading back now.”
I took one last look back at the museum, then slipped into the driver’s seat. The engine purred low as I pulled away, merging into the flow of evening traffic.
Bones was in there. I could feel it. And if I was right about the setup, getting in would be easier than getting out.
And we were sending Gracie in, but if everything went according to plan—we would take all the fire while she got out.
LUNCHBOX
FIVE HOURS EARLIER…
LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION NOT FAR FROM THE VENUE
She stepped out of the guest room and it hit me like a goddamn bomb going off.
Grace was already huge in spirit—fierce, fast with her mouth, quicker with her mind—but the heels made her 5’2” frame feel like 6’2”, and the dress?
That strapless blue number looked like it had been airbrushed on.
Seamless, molded to her like a second skin.
She looked dangerous, the kind of dangerous that didn’t need a weapon.
The kind of dangerous men underestimated, but never made the same mistake twice.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just stared. Blinking like a jackass.
"Well?" she asked, raising a single brow, lips painted just enough to be taken seriously.