Chapter 16 #4
Beckett could easily visualize Hayes’ scowl of disapproval.
Hayes would have had an opinion on this course of action for sure.
For one thing, Beckett was alone. For another, stairwells were notoriously difficult to navigate quietly.
Every sound bounced off cement and metal, so it was virtually impossible to keep silent.
If covert movements in a stairwell had been the final test in bootcamp, then most of Beckett’s teammates in C.U.N.T.
’s would have become barbers. They were all skilled at using hair clippers—but shit at being sneaky.
Beckett rarely had to use his stealth skills, but he kept them tucked away and pulled them out for occasions such as this.
After all, he’d graduated first in his class for SERE training (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape).
He might not be a goddamned SEAL, but he could keep up with the best of ‘em. Cocksure of his extraordinary skills even while toting around a goddamned dog, he went to the door of the stairwell. Opening it cautiously, he entered the stairwell and closed the door slowly and carefully behind him before stopping to listen. Fortunately, Giorgio wasn’t concerned about making noise, his dress shoes clacking loudly on the metal steps.
Beckett began his descent, keeping his ears peeled for a door opening or closing, to indicate which floor Giorgio was heading to.
Suddenly, Giorgio’s footsteps left the metal stairs and hit solid cement, which meant he was at the bottom of the stairs.
Beckett had been correct, there was definitely a basement level.
He stopped and waited patiently, listening to Gorgio go through a door, still muttering to someone—or himself—before rapidly completing his own descent.
When he got to the bottom floor, Beckett pressed his back against the wall, finding himself suddenly exposed by the large window in the exit door.
Luckily, no one was in sight, and Beckett crouched down as he ran to the door.
Slowly rising to his feet, he peeked around the edge of the glass.
Most might rush to look through the window, but that would be a mistake.
The human eye could detect any sudden movement even in the densest foliage.
Slow, deliberate movements, on the other hand, weren’t always noticed and were quite often ignored.
Canvassing the area on the opposite side of the glass revealed nothing of interest. This exit opened onto an area with several parking spaces and a large concrete wall.
Beckett was guessing it was a far back corner of the basement.
With a sigh, he turned the door handle and dared to open it slightly.
The coast was clear, as far as he could tell, and he slowly eased through the door.
His attempts to be extremely quiet had been a total waste of time. Easing around the door and entering the parking garage, Beckett was immediately bombarded with sounds of construction equipment.
Fuck, the sound of an incessant jackhammer was enough to make him want to gouge out his eyeballs with a rusty fork. Nickel whined in agreement. Beckett concentrated on moving slowly along the wall and around the corner to get a look at the general parking area of the garage.
This late in the day, only a few cars remained.
The armored truck he’d seen earlier was parked about ten spaces down with its back doors facing Beckett.
Giorgio was walking next to a heavyset man—the driver, Beckett assumed—as they headed in his direction.
Beckett pressed himself against the wall.
This corner was dark enough there was a decent chance that they wouldn’t spot him.
Both men stopped as they reached the back of the truck, and the driver stood on the bumper to reach the handle in the middle of the back doors.
He used a key to unlock the doors and opened them for Giorgio to see inside.
From where Beckett was standing, he couldn’t see much.
It was only as the driver pulled the door all the way open for Giorgio to enter the back that he caught the light bouncing off something made of metal.
The object looked square and long, but Beckett couldn’t quite—
And then he figured it out. A cage. There was a goddamned cage inside the armored truck.
“Armored not to protect what’s in it—but to make sure it won’t get out,” Beckett realised with sudden shock.
Giorgio stepped out of the back, spoke briefly to the driver, and then nodded.
Both moved towards the driver’s door, and Giorgio pointed to something on his phone as they walked.
Beckett couldn’t hear him because of the construction noises.
He contemplated getting closer just as his earpiece cut on.
“Then it’s settled—Lara will take care of the details and email us. Silvio, Callum, you head back to New York and lay low until—” It sounded as if Matthew was wrapping up the meeting and preparing to leave.
“On my way back,” Beckett murmured into his mic. “Trip ‘em if you have to,” he hastily advised Hayes, enjoying a brief mental picture of Hayes biting back his smile.
Checking to make sure Giorgio and the driver were still busy near the driver’s door, Beckett pulled out the GPS tracker he kept in his wallet.
Quickly, he threw it into the back of the armoured vehicle.
He gave himself a mental high-five as the little piece of metal landed in the right hand corner of truck bed.
Moving quickly and silently, Beckett edged over to the door to the stairwell and snuck back in.
Quietly and carefully, he hastily climbed the steps two at a time, halting several times to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
When he reached the lobby, he headed for the hallway leading back to the meeting room.
He paused before opening the door, ruffling his hair to look as if he’d been standing outside for awhile, and shaking himself to get back into the role of bodyguard.
He’d yet to come up with a reasonable explanation for his lengthy absence, but hopefully, by the time he made it back to Scarface and his crew, he’d have thought of something.
Except as he opened the door to re-enter the hallway, he didn’t come face-to-face with Scarface.
Instead, he faced the best example of a mob boss who could double as a Ken doll that he’d ever seen.
He’d wager that the guy’s face contained more microplastics than the Atlantic Ocean.
He might have actually said something to that effect if, a second later, there hadn’t been a Glock pressed between his eyes.
He was mildly impressed by the rapidity of the guy’s draw.
“Hello works too, you know!” Beckett smiled brightly as he looked past the barrel of the gun and straight at the man holding it.
“Who are you?” The guy pressed the gun harder against Beckett’s forehead. That was definitely going to leave a mark.
Beckett was in awe of his ability to look angry with such a severely limited range of motion in his facial muscles. Definitely proof that a little plastic went a long way.
“Donovan,” Beckett stated simply.
“Part of my security team,” Matthew said, from behind the man. “Donovan and Hughes are my newest hires—to replace Tyson,” he explained, and sighed like he was tired of repeating himself.
“Security team?” Ken-doll mob boss asked with a healthy dose of skepticism, still pressing the gun barrel firmly against Beckett’s forehead. “What good’s a security team that doesn’t stay in position?” He turned his head to look at Matthew expectantly.
Beckett saw an odd kind of similarity in the two men.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but—his uncle, he decided.
This must be the infamous Rosario Tyrant.
Beckett wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe a short, stout man with a funny mustache, like the little guy in the video game.
Definitely not this plastic Lothario. Although, upon closer inspection, Beckett thought all those the surgical enhancements made him look evil enough.
“Nickel needed a tinkle,” Beckett shrugged, keeping his tone even and flat.
“Nickel?” Evil Rosario asked, his manicured right eyebrow merely twitched, unable to move more than that. Beckett told himself that now wasn’t a good time to laugh at the guy.
Beckett nodded down towards the dog in his pouch. “Nickel,” he announced, as if making a formal introduction.
Responding to his name, Nickel poked his head out from the pouch at the front of Beckett’s chest.
“Ah!” Evil Rosario shouted with horror, yanking the gun away from Beckett’s forehead as he stumbled backwards, acting as if he’d just come face-to-face with a rabid raccoon rather than an adorable little dog.
“What the fuck is that?!” he yelled angrily at Matthew.
“My dog,” Matthew replied impatiently. “Now, can we please get out of the hallway? Some of us still have business to attend to.”