15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I jolt awake, and my body isn't happy about it.
My head falls back to the pillow.
The pillow?
Not Curren’s chest.
I knew he was leaving, but there’s a hole in my gut that wasn’t there before.
I pat my hand over the bedside table until I feel my vibrating phone. “What?” I ask, still groggy and confused about the call.
“What happened to staying vigilant?”
“Didn’t realize that meant not sleeping.”
“I assumed you’d already be awake.”
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I check the time. “It’s 4 am.”
“You need to leave.”
Sure, I really should be awake, but the urgency in Issak’s voice is pissing me off. I’m not a rookie. I know what the fuck I’m doing. “I’m not taking the tube.”
There’s a long exhale. “It’s reliable.”
“I. Am. Not. Taking. The. Tube… It doesn’t start running till five, anyway.”
“Shit,” I faintly hear Issak swear. “You have two hours!”
“I’ve got a hire car booked for thirty minutes. I’ll walk part of the way. Calm the fuck down.”
“It’s London!”
“It’s 4 am!” I yell back at him. “Taking into consideration that it is London, I’ll still have forty minutes after getting to wherever the fuck I’m supposed to be.”
“You haven’t read my last email.”
“Do you ever sleep?”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“Why didn’t Anders call?”
“He’s in Zagreb.”
“Do they not have telephones in Croatia?”
Issak sighs, “Just listen, and make sure whomever you took to bed last night doesn’t hear.”
“They’ve already left.”
“Delightful… You need to get to Silvertown station. Make sure the driver drops you off at least two stations before, then take the tube the rest of the way. That's nonnegotiable.”
Grunting into the phone, I let him know I heard, but also that I’m not happy about it. “Who the fuck booked this hotel, anyway?”
“I did—” Issak inhales sharply like people do when they let something slip out when they weren’t supposed to. “Is it not up to your standards?”
“How long has the job been at Silvertown?”
“How about I get someone else for the next high-profile meetup?”
“Fine by me.”
“You don’t sound like your usual people-pleasing self.”
“What gave it away?” I balance my phone on my cheek and stretch out my arms.
“There are literally thousands of people who would kill for your job.”
“Forward me the list and I’ll help you narrow down the candidates.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“You’re wasting the precious little time I have left.”
“Do you plan on answering any of my questions?”
“Did Anders approve this job?”
Switching the call to the loudspeaker, I lay my phone on the bedside table and flick on the lamp.
With Issak rambling about my multiple levels of insolence, I tense all my muscles in turn—highlighting every single bruise and tear that spans my body.
Rolling onto my back, I stretch out my arms and legs.
My ankles and wrists crack as I rotate them, and so do my hips when I sit up.
As I walk to the door, I hum like I’m actually listening, and turn on the lights. The room feels empty, and all signs of Curren are gone, apart from the smell of him still clinging to me.
“Are you gonna tell me what I missed in the email?” I cut Issak off.
“Are you going to show me some fucking respect?”
“When you’ve earned it. And right now, you need me. So unless you feel like taking the trip to East London yourself, I suggest you forward the fucking details so I can wash the smell of sex off me before actually getting my hands dirty.”
“You need to go in calm. This is bigger than you realize.”
“For the love of Christ, I know how to do my job. Just tell me what I need to know, then fuck off till it’s done.”
“Do you have a pen?” I can hear his tension through the speaker.
I quickstep to the desk. “Just tell me.”
“There’s a locker at Silvertown station. The code is—”
“What’s in the locker?”
“Things you’ll need.”
“What things?”
“Jude!”
“Anders never leaves me suspect surprises in random lockers.”
“It’s a bribe.”
“Who the fuck am I bribing?”
“The night guard of Hayward and Sons’ scrap and auto recycling. It’s just across from the abandoned grain silo.”
“Are you telling me I had to cancel my holiday for a goddamn informant meeting? Any dumb fuck could have done this shit.”
“Jude—”
“No! You painted this like a job only I could do. A takedown. A fugitive handover.”
“We needed a local.”
“Half the fucking organization is local.”
“An East London local.”
“Fuck you. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“He went to the same juvie as yo—”
He fucked up.
Issak’s deafening regret roars through the receiver.
The silence stretches, but I can hear the heaviness of his breathing.
I lean on the bedside with both hands. “Something smells.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I want back up.”
“There’s no time.” The sudden timidness to his voice makes me smirk.
“So you do it.”
“It’s a simple in and out. It—it won’t take more than ten minutes.”
“I want backup.”
“Look,” Issak says bluntly and with a lot more backbone. “We almost lost him. The guy didn’t want to talk to any cops or agents. When he started muttering about young offenders, we had no other choice.”
“This is sounding a lot less like a simple intel mission by the second. If this guy is so concerned, why the fuck am I meeting him at his job where there’ll be cameras?”
“You aren’t.”
“Issak. I swear to god, if you say—”
“Millenium Mills.”
The urge to punch my phone is so strong that I can feel my knuckles turning white from how tight I’m gripping the table. “I’m not James-fucking-Bond. I’m not invincible. I don’t have weapons built into my suit. And I sure as hell don’t go alone to meet people in giant abandoned warehouses.”
“You do if you want to keep your job.”
I know he’s baiting me, and my resignation is on the tip of my tongue, ready to call his bluff. I’ve got enough money saved and I can work as private security anywhere in the world. But just like it’s always done, my hero complex pulls me back in. “I want an extra month’s leave.”
“Who the fuck do you think you—” Just as quickly as he erupted, Issak cuts himself off, and calmly agrees. “Fine. I’ll have it approved by lunch. Now write down this code.”
My body is stiff, my mind is frustrated, and my heart is longing for this shit to be over.
Gripping the hotel’s monogrammed pen, I press into the paper so hard that the combination of letters will be dented into the wood.
R — E — P — O — O — R — T