Chapter Forty-Seven
Asher
Rain streaks across the windshield as I turn onto Eastlake. Patting my pocket to check for the weight of Raine’s new passport for the tenth time, I check the rearview mirror.
Nothing amiss. No cars I’ve seen multiple times. I keep my speed just under the limit, signal every lane change, don’t get too close to the car in front of me at stoplights. Nothing that would get me noticed.
After another quarter mile, I pass the rental car return I used the night I flew into town.
My arrivals are always clean. I travel light.
A briefcase and a small leather duffel. A businessman in town for a single night.
One-way rental from the airport, dropped off at least a mile from whatever safe house I’m planning to use for the duration.
Driving gloves—always. No prints that way.
After a quick change of my hat and jacket in a public bathroom, I hoof it the rest of the way to the safe house or hotel.
Traffic cameras are kryptonite for those who depend on shadows to keep themselves alive. But I do my best to confuse them.
The lot comes into view on my left, and the back of my neck prickles with a warning I don’t like. Something’s…off.
I don’t change speed. Don’t stare too long in any direction. But I scan the street, the sidewalks, and the buildings with a practiced eye.
Two identical SUVs idle in the rental lot, along with three black sedans.
All with Oregon plates. Last week, when I returned the SUV I’d rented at the airport, it was the only car here.
This particular rental return is the quietest in the whole damn city.
What are the odds that the lot would suddenly be full?
At the end of the block, a man in khaki pants and a dark blue shirt leans against the side of another black sedan. Forgettable in every way except for his boots and the way he’s holding himself perfectly still.
No phone in his hand. No fidgeting. Until he cocks his head. His lips move.
Fuck. He’s on comms with someone.
I pass him, averting my gaze to check the passenger-side mirror. On the other side of the street, a block down, there’s another sedan and another guy in khakis.
Could be coincidence. But in my world, coincidences can get you killed.
I take a winding route through downtown, my gloved hands tight on the steering wheel, and my gaze sweeping from mirror to mirror, cataloging every car and person I see.
After ten minutes, I pull into the public garage I used to pick up this car two weeks ago, and find a spot on the second level between a dented compact and a pickup truck.
No one follows. It’s utterly silent except for the quiet pings of the engine cooling.
I’ve almost convinced myself I’m being paranoid, until a reddish glow catches my eye. A brand new security camera is mounted in the far corner.
One of my local contacts recommended this particular garage because its cameras have been broken for the past year.
They tracked Mason to the rental car drop-off. They won’t have the safe house. I’ve been careful. But they’re closing in.
The guy I paid to leave me this car answers on the second ring. “Is tonight’s game at home or away?” I ask.
“You want tickets? I can get ‘em for you.” He’s calm. No edge to his voice. If he’d been compromised, he’d have told me everything was sold out.
“Any idea why there are fresh eyes in the garage you swore would never get them?”
His pause is an answer of its own.
“I was there yesterday,” he says. “Nothing had changed.”
“Well, it has now. This location’s blown. I need to know why. Answer’s worth five grand. Seven if you get it for me in under an hour.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The call drops, and I start the engine, pull out of the space, and head to the parking lot with the blue Chevy I haven’t so much as looked at since I got to town.
The camera in the corner is still broken, thank fuck, so if those SUVs and the new eyes in the parking garage are GSD’s doing, they haven’t gotten close enough for me to panic. Yet.
But they will.
I transfer the cooler full of groceries to the trunk of the Chevy, then slide back behind the wheel of the gray sedan.
The safe house is only two blocks away, but I turn it into a ten-minute fishing expedition looking for anything out of place.
By the time I pull into the garage, I’m convinced of three things.
GSD doesn’t know we’re here.
They know Mason Locke was only half a mile away.
It’s time to move. Tonight.