Chapter 4 #3
Tires screeched in the street behind him, and he looked there, found SUVs barreling at them.
He pivoted back to her—still standing there.
“Go go go!” Tugging down his ball cap even more, he caught her arm, hurrying her toward the interdicting limo, then turned back as if to deal with Brick.
But the guy was gone, as planned, sprinting between buildings.
“Hey! Stop!” Owen took off after him. Bolted toward the alley.
Saw people glancing after Brick, then to him.
“Move-move-move!” He careened into the wall and used it to redirect his momentum.
Darted into the shadowy darkness. Banked left at a concrete wall.
In his periphery, he noted Brick duck into a side door, which Owen shot past. He came out the other side, looking around.
“Where’d he go?” he growled to the ambivalent pedestrians. With a shout, he pivoted and glanced back into the alley. Drew around and threw a punch in the air for obvious display, knowing he was likely being monitored by the royals.
He huffed and rubbed where Brick had punched him. “Think he nearly broke my jaw,” he complained aloud.
“Had to make it realistic,” Brick snickered in the comms. “Besides, I owed you for that kidney strike.”
Ignoring the complaint, Owen stalked back to the café to retrieve his drink and lunch.
“They have eyes on you, Apollo,” Pike reported. “Nice and steady.”
That warning of being watched churned through him and made it really hard to keep his focus ahead. By the time he returned to the café, his food and drink were gone. “You kidding me?” Nursing his bruised jaw, he sagged in defeat and headed off.
“Tails sticking close,” Pike comm’d. “You know what to do.”
Owen headed to the designated hotel, where he’d been booked with a multiple-night stay. He made his way up to the room. Inside, he went to the small bathroom and checked the bruise swelling across his jaw. Then he ordered room service, turned on the TV, then subvocalized, “Going dark.”
“Good work out there,” the chief said. “See you on the other side. Go dark.”
After flushing the comms device down the toilet, Owen lowered himself to the edge of the bed and waited for the food.
Yeah, it’d gone to plan out there, but now it was all on him.
On the royals playing into an anticipated timeline of events.
Following the logic and obsessive control Faruq was known for.
Absently, he touched the advanced tech implant that would afford limited comms with the team, and only on their activation.
So don’t screw up. The many reminders that this wasn’t just about his life but Leighton’s rang in his head.
What if the royals didn’t play into the trap?
Could Pike be wrong? As much as Owen didn’t like OTG or its chief, the guy had a reputation for a reason.
What if the royals showed up and he was brought to her?
Would Leighton recognize him? Or had her attention at the party been his imagination?
Three raps sent his heart into overdrive and pulled him from the bed. The person on the other side of the door announced, “Room service.”
I don’t believe it—the plan worked! He hesitated, then headed to the door.
Since he wasn’t supposed to be an operator but an average American who had interrupted an attack, he peered through the peephole, half expecting to get shot in the eye.
Instead, he saw a guy with a dome-covered plate in hand.
The guy might have a tray, but he could’ve picked that up from outside any door.
Was this it? Would the Saudis hit him here? What choice did he have? This part was crucial to the endgame. He flicked the lock and opened the door.
The man rushed into him. “Inside, inside,” he husked, forcing Owen backwards. The tray of food clattered onto the small entry table even as the guy kicked the door shut and locked it.
“What is—”
Dark eyes met his.
Owen gaped. “Dillon?”
Black hair shorn, frame a little lighter than usual, Dillon gave a dull nod. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” Owen balked, his mind clamoring over what it’d look like if the Saudis found them both here. “You have to get out. Leave! You could blow everything.”
Dillon’s brow furrowed. “Blow what?”
“I’m on an op.”
Something ominous flashed in Dillon’s eyes as he looked around the hotel room and frowned. “Omen. Are you freaking kidding me? You know they’re connected to what happened to my dad!”
Chagrined that he was working with Omen after the Scions had decided they were bad news, Owen faltered, but more at the venom in his Scion brother’s tone. “I’m—”
“Forget it.” Dillon went to the backpack on the chair. Tore into it.
“What’re you doing?” Owen reached him in two long strides. “Aren’t you listening? You can’t be here. You have to—”
“You have a phone on you? Credit card?”
“No. I—”
“Bullspit. They wouldn’t put you on an op—”
“I don’t,” Owen ground out. “I’m here, waiting for Saudis to come kidnap me.”
Dillon slowed, his gaze rising to him, then sliding toward the door with more than a little anger. “You serious—No, you’re flippin’ stupid! Saudis? They’ll gut you, Apollo. They aren’t anything to play around with. What’s the op?”
“I’m not telling you anything until I know what you are doing here!”
“Chasing leads. This guy I’m tracking, who was the last person to see my dad alive, is here.” He gave Owen a look. “You seriously working for Omen? Thought you hated contract—”
“Dillon,” Owen said, weary with arguing. “Get out of here. You cannot screw this up.”
Two knocks stilled them both. “Room service for Mr. Apollo.”
“Food’s already here,” Dillon said, indicating to the tray he’d brought in, then he darted to the door.
“What are—”
“It’s one guy,” Dillon said. “We can take him.”
“No!” Owen hissed. “If that’s the Saudis, you cannot intervene.” He gripped his head “You can’t be here. You’re going to screw everything up. Whatever you need, take it and go—out the window!”
“Nice to see you too.”
“Says the guy foraging for a credit card.”
Dillon smirked. “Fair.” He ducked into the bathroom and cocked his head toward the door, telling Owen to get on with it.
More knocks. “Mr. Apollo, forgot your drink. Leaving it by the door.”
Double-checking through the peephole, he saw exactly what the guy said.
He opened the door, called a thank-you, and retrieved the drink.
Why am I exposing myself here? He ducked back inside and locked the door.
“You have to find a way out so nobody will see you,” he called to Dillon as he set the drink on the credenza, then grabbed his ruck.
When no answer came, he noticed the bathroom door ajar.
Eased it open. Empty. No Dillon. “What the…?” He looked over his shoulder and noticed the silver metal food tray lid had been removed.
Burger gone. His gaze hit the balcony just in time to see a shadow vanish.
“Twice in one day,” he muttered, mourning the stolen burger. At least the fries were still here.
Now that he wasn’t fighting for op-sec, he regretted making Dillon leave.
Had to admit it’d been good to see the guy who’d been on the lam, searching for his dad the last two years.
And still alive. A miracle in and of itself, considering the hard-driving mentality inherent in the thick skull that had just left.
The Scions hadn’t been sure he still numbered among the living after the long radio silence following his run-in with McKenna in Armenia. Crazy.
Man, had to let someone know he’d seen Dillon. But he was on his own now too, so no phone. No contact. Screw that up and it could mean Leighton’s death.
Alone with his thoughts, he sat on the bed and ate the fries. As the time fell off the clock, his doubts grew louder. More persistent. What if this part of the plan didn’t work? What if the guards who followed him decided he wasn’t worth the effort?
Stretched out on the bed an hour later, he couldn’t help but wonder—what if Pike and Navas were wrong? What if all this had been for naught? How long would it take before he knew if this was a no-go?
That would majorly tick him off since he’d suggested to Pike that they just take her from the street. But the innocents and the high number of guards trailing them had been enough justification from Command to kill the idea.
Yawning, he shook his head. Now here he was, hours later, wondering if it wasn’t already screwed up. TV droning, darkness falling, he swiped a hand over his mouth. Yawned again. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
God, pretty sure I could pull this off, if you give me a chance.
He thought of Leighton. Her terror when Brick had grabbed her, which reminded him of Soph’s party when he’d seen that fear on her resting expression.
Had she been afraid this whole time? Thinking about her, wondering about her months in captivity…
Another yawn and he closed his eyes, letting himself imagine what their first encounter would be like.
Would she hug him, relieved to see a friendly face?
Which would be bad—so how did he stave that off?
Not that he’d mind if she was in his arms…
Two taps to his temple twitched him awake.
“Do not move,” warned a deep, ominous voice.
Awareness flared through Owen—when had he fallen asleep?
He froze every muscle as his eyes barely made out the large handgun pressed to his temple and the dark form looming over him.
“Easy,” he muttered, heart ricocheting, blinking away the fog of sleep.
Shocked this had worked. Thrilled this had worked.
“You will come with us or you will die. Which one do you want?”
Yeah, real hard decision. “I’ll come.”