Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
ALPHABET
The sun beat down on the tarmac as our little charter touched ground, heat shimmering off the concrete like a mirage.
Bones was already scanning the horizon, Voodoo quietly muttering into a phone headset, as he locked down vehicles, backup, and supplies.
Lunchbox handled the flight and the landing with his kind of calm competence.
Goblin dozed next to me, head tucked against my left foot with his tail flicking lazily, so patient with all of us.
Grace sat next to me, a digital tablet open where she was scanning news from a few different countries.
The fact she could read as well as converse in multiple languages let me assign a task for her.
I ran a hand over my face. Time had blurred since New Jersey.
Days, nights, late nights, early mornings…
and somewhere along the line, Miami had become the next logical step.
Yakov Dvorak—our closest lead to one of the names Sinclair had butchered in his interrogations—was here.
Somewhere. We were going to have a little chat with him.
I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself, “And Sinclair really was an idiot.”
Bones glanced at me, one brow raised. “You think?”
“I know,” I said, flat and honest. “I mean, the guy couldn’t remember his own name, let alone match accents to last names. British Spanish? German South African? He was barely coherent.”
Voodoo snorted without looking up. “You’re being charitable.”
I grinned, though the tension in my chest didn’t ease. I’d call it professional courtesy, but that prick didn’t deserve anything resembling it.
Lunchbox shook his head, eyes on the runway as he taxied toward the hangers. “You’re enjoying the chaos more than you’re letting on.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Maybe I am. Doesn’t mean I’m not ready to put a bullet in Yakov’s—” I caught myself, though Grace’s amused eyes said she’d heard that last unspoken syllable. “—have a conversation with him.”
She snorted and leaned in to brush a kiss against my cheek. “Conversation first. Bullet later?”
Delight flared under the tension coiled in my gut.
I’d never imagined a Gracie in my life—never mind woven into all of ours.
But she fit, seamlessly. Her personality, her ferocious spirit, that unshakeable determination—hell, even the sensual way she melted for us when she wanted to.
I couldn’t have pictured any of this before her.
Now I couldn’t imagine a world without her.
Miami’s heat pressed against the cabin walls, and the air conditioning fought valiantly to keep the sweat at bay. I could already feel the temperature climbing inside as Lunchbox taxied us to our rental slot.
“You think he knows we’re coming?” Voodoo asked, tilting his head toward me.
“Maybe,” I said finally. “Maybe not. Depends on who’s been in his circle recently. But he’s careful. Calculated. He won’t act before he has to. Or how much information on the FBI ‘sting’ at the Delaware port has been shared.”
“It’s not in the news,” Grace said. “Not here or overseas. I’ve been watching for it over the past few days. Nothing.”
I leaned back in my seat, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. “Then hopefully, we’re ahead of this curve.”
Whether we were or not, we’d get him. Then he’d talk. The only real questions were how long it would take and how much force we’d have to apply. Miami wasn’t going to be clean or easy. Nothing ever was. But we were ready.
The chances of our target sitting somewhere, thinking he was untouchable were high.
That also meant we had some time to close the trap on him.
The fact he was a possible link to the Madrina outfit, the Kirov Syndicate, or both.
If both, then he was the elusive one Sinclair couldn’t, or wouldn’t, remember.
“Don’t mind me, I’m hoping Mr. Dvorak is as on point as Sinclair. Easier conversation that way.”
Voodoo twisted to look at me. “You’re hoping he’s incompetent, just so we can get in, talk, and get out?”
“Absolutely,” I said with a shrug. “I’m here for efficiency.”
Lunchbox leaned back, eyes closing briefly. “Efficiency, style, and chaos. That’s our motto, Alphabet. Don’t forget it.”
“I thought your motto was ‘we improvise,’” Grace said, shutting off her tablet.
Bones snorted. “No, that’s just our style.”
The banter eased the tension in my shoulders and the ghost of a cramp in my thigh. I rubbed at it slowly, to help with stretching it. Too many hours locked in the same position was increasing the discomfort.
“Cars are here. Might need to pick up some other gear, but I’ve had our safe house cleared and stocked.” Voodoo was already unbuckling his seat belt as Lunchbox began shutting down the engines after the wheel chocks were in place.
We split once baggage and gear were loaded. Miami humidity hit like a wet towel the second we stepped outside the air-conditioned cocoon, and by the time Goblin hopped into the backseat of the black SUV Bones was driving with Grace. Neither of which looked any happier about the weather than I was.
I gave myself a couple of minutes to stretch before I climbed into the passenger seat. Bones adjusted the mirrors, flipped the A/C to blast, and muttered, “Miami. Damned frying pan.”
“I was already missing Montana,” I said, buckling in.
His grin was sharp. “Same.”
Static crackled in my earpiece as Lunchbox’s voice came online. “Everybody green?”
I tapped my mic. “Yep. We’re rolling.”
Voodoo chimed in next from their SUV. “On your six. Firecracker, you good?”
“I’m perfect,” she said, leaning forward between the seats. “Are we heading to the safe house first or…?”
“My Miami contact confirmed Dvorak was at a warehouse in Little River this morning. Left fifteen minutes before wheels down,” Voodoo answered.
We pulled out of the private side of the airport, weaving into traffic. Miami had its own pulse—cars darting, horns blaring, palm trees whipping in the wind. So alive it was almost distracting.
Bones grunted. “Good timing. For once.”
“We need to check traffic cams,” Lunchbox said, tone shifting into mission mode. “You’re up, Alphabet.”
I already had my laptop open and attached to the wifi available in the vehicle.
Honestly, the ability to be online everywhere made my job so much fucking easier.
I flicked through the feeds, fingers flying, hacking into the city’s real-time camera loop under multiple spoofed addresses.
Dvorak wasn’t careful. He was arrogant. He moved like he wasn’t afraid of being followed.
“Got him,” I said. “Silver BMW, custom plate. Heading east. Looks like he’s heading to the Marina District. Or one of the hotels in that area.”
“Good to know he’s stupid,” Voodoo muttered.
Grace leaned in, eyebrows rising. “Is he stupid? Or is he arrogant? How could he even know we would be looking?”
“Arrogant. Someone in his position should assume someone is always looking.” Bones shook his head. He wasn’t wrong. Anyone in a position of power who handled the kind of things Dvorak did was practically waving a red flag to get attention with his custom plates.
Nose wrinkling, Grace leaned back in her seat. “So we’re heading to a marina?”
I marked the route on our shared map. “ETA for us, twenty minutes with traffic.”
Grace touched my arm, a soft brush grounding me. “What if he changes his route?”
Blowing out a breath, I headed back to monitor the reports coming in from the bot I’d released. “Tracking his license plate right now, any deviations, including not exiting near the marina and I’ll have the updates.”
Bones navigated over to the fast lane like a Nascar pro. “How do we want to handle him? Bag and tag? Surveillance? Intimidation?”
Amusement speared me at Bones’ list. All were viable.
“Conversation,” Grace said sweetly.
I shot her a look. “Conversation first.”
Her smile widened and while sunglasses hid her eyes, I’d bet they were glowing. “Bullet later.”
Voodoo laughed. “You sweet talker.”
The warmth of that settled in my chest—quick and bright, like a spark in dry tinder. I scanned the traffic feed again. “Okay. Dvorak just parked. Marina District. South pier.”
“Tourist side or private docks?” Bones asked.
“Private.”
Voodoo whistled. “Expensive taste. Means he thinks he’s safe.”
“He’s not.” I shifted screens to look for cameras at the marina. I wanted to know where Dvorak was going. Specifically.
The Marina District glittered like money dipped in sunshine. Private yachts, sleek hulls, polished rails. Everything gleamed with the quiet smugness of the wealthy who thought they were invisible.
Bones pulled into a lot two blocks away, tucked the SUV between a pair of oversized pickup trucks. Voodoo and Lunchbox parked opposite us.
Salt wind hit the second our doors opened, humid and warm enough that even Goblin huffed.
I did a quick scan of the marina feeds from my phone, linking them to my laptop.
And there he was.
“Target visual,” I murmured, angling the screen so Grace could see. “White-and-graphite yacht, private slip F-12. Dvorak’s on deck.”
Bones followed my gaze. “What’s he doing?”
“Pretending he’s on vacation,” I answered as Voodoo and Lunchbox joined us. “Drink in hand. Shirt unbuttoned. Absolute prick energy.”
Grace squinted at the feed. “That yacht is—something else.”
“Understatement,” Lunchbox muttered.
“We need him off the boat. Or isolated on it.” Bones was already tracking angles, exits, and choke points.
Grace tilted her head. “I could distract him.”
Bones gave her a long, slow look. The kind that said absolutely not, what the hell are you thinking without a single word.
She blinked back at him. “What? This is definitely bikini weather. And he’s on a boat. Approaching directly would be a challenge, right?”
I didn’t argue with her. Because she wasn’t wrong. If anyone could convince him it was Gracie, the Bones whisperer.