CHAPTER 12 #2
I grab the Glock from the center console, checking the chamber before sliding it into the holster at my waist. I pull my t-shirt down to conceal the weapon. I grab the encrypted drive and slip it into my front pocket.
We step out of the car.
The wind on the roof of the parking garage is sharp and cold. Gemma pulls the heavy tactical jacket tightly around herself, burying her hands in the pockets. She looks exhausted, but she keeps her head up, her eyes scanning the concrete expanse.
"Which one are we acquiring?" she asks, nodding toward the scattered cars.
I scan the vehicles. I need something common. Something that blends into highway traffic. A silver sedan, a dark blue crossover.
My eyes land on a dark gray Subaru Forester parked near the elevator doors. It’s a late model, reliable, and entirely unremarkable.
"The gray one," I say, walking toward it.
Gemma follows me. "Do you know how to hotwire a modern car? They have electronic immobilizers now. You can't just cross two wires like in the movies."
"I am aware of how modern ignition systems work, Gemma."
I stop at the driver’s side door of the Subaru. I glance around the roof. We are completely alone.
I pull the combat knife from my pocket. I don't use the blade. I use the heavy steel pommel at the base of the handle. I strike the bottom corner of the driver’s side window, exactly where the tempered glass is weakest.
The window shatters instantly, the glass webbing into a thousand tiny pieces before collapsing inward with a soft crash.
I reach through the hole, unlock the door, and pull it open.
"Get in," I tell her, brushing the broken glass off the driver’s seat.
She walks around the front of the car, opening the passenger door. She climbs in carefully, wincing as she settles into the seat.
I sit in the driver’s seat. I reach under the steering column, pulling the plastic panel loose.
Gemma leans over, watching me. "You’re actually going to hotwire it."
"I am going to bypass the ignition relay," I correct her, pulling a small, specialized electronic diagnostic tool from my pocket. It’s a device designed specifically for vehicle theft, used by high-end retrieval teams. I plug it into the OBD-II port under the dashboard.
The small screen on the device lights up, running a rapid sequence of codes.
"That’s cheating," she says, watching the screen.
"It’s efficient."
The device beeps twice. The dashboard lights of the Subaru flicker on. I press the push-to-start button, and the engine turns over smoothly.
I unplug the device and drop it back into my pocket.
"Impressive," she murmurs, leaning back against the headrest.
"Put your seatbelt on."
I put the car in gear and drive toward the exit ramp. The cold wind blows steadily through the shattered driver’s side window, but it’s a necessary discomfort. We are in a clean vehicle. We have a full tank of gas.
We navigate down through the concrete structure, pay the lost-ticket fee at the automated gate using cash I keep in my tactical bag, and merge back onto the highway.
We drive for another hour in relative silence.
The adrenaline of the car theft fades, leaving behind the heavy, grinding reality of the long drive ahead. I keep the heater running high to compensate for the broken window, ensuring Gemma doesn't get cold.
I glance at her.
She is staring out the window, her expression distant. She is chewing on her lower lip again.
"Stop that," I say quietly.
She blinks, turning her head. "Stop what?"
"Biting your lip. You’re going to make it bleed."
She lets out a soft sigh, dropping her head back against the seat. "Sorry. It’s a nervous habit. My brain is just... loud right now."
"What is it calculating?"
"Everything." She turns her body slightly toward me, resting her arm carefully over her injured side. "The hack. The routing numbers. The fact that we are driving to a secret farmhouse. The fact that you..."
She trails off, her dark eyes searching my face.
"The fact that I what?" I prompt, keeping my voice perfectly level.
"The fact that you said a world without me was unacceptable," she finishes, the words rushing out of her mouth as if she needed to say them before she lost her nerve.
The interior of the car suddenly feels incredibly small.
I don't look away from the road. I knew the conversation was coming. You cannot drop a psychological bomb like that in the middle of a firefight and expect a woman like Gemma to just ignore it.
"I meant it," I say simply.
"I know you did." She swallows hard. "That’s what terrifies me."
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I am not going to hurt you, Gemma."
"I know that!" she says, her voice rising slightly with frustration. "I’m not afraid of you hurting me, Callum. I’m afraid of..." She stops, letting out a frustrated breath. "I’m afraid of what happens when this is over."
I finally turn my head to look at her.
"When the drive is wiped," she continues, her voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. "When the syndicate is bankrupt. When the bounty is gone. What happens to us?"
It is the most dangerous question she could possibly ask.
I have lived my entire life in the present tense. I survive the current minute, the current hour, the current contract. I do not plan for the future, because men in my line of work rarely have one.
But looking at her, sitting in the passenger seat of a stolen car, wearing my jacket, I realize that for the first time in eight years, I actually want a tomorrow.
"We survive today," I tell her, my voice low and absolute. "We bankrupt the syndicate tomorrow. And then..."
I reach across the console.
This time, I don't grab her wrist. I slide my hand over hers, lacing my fingers through hers. Her skin is warm. Her grip is tight.
"And then," I finish, holding her hand firmly against the center console, "we figure out the rest."
She stares at our joined hands for a long time.
Slowly, the tension bleeds out of her shoulders. She doesn't pull away. She leans her head back against the seat, her thumb tracing the scarred knuckle of my index finger.
"Okay," she whispers.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
But for the first time since this nightmare began, the silence doesn't feel like a tactical necessity.
It feels like a promise.