17. Shadow
Shadow
This is a mistake.
The thought hits me the second Jade steps out of the stolen van and starts walking toward Tyler’s apartment building, and I can’t shake it no matter how many times I tell myself the plan is solid and we’ve covered every contingency and she’s going to be fine.
But my gut says otherwise, and I’ve learned over the years to trust my gut because it’s kept me alive in situations where logic said I should be dead.
It’s Thursday night, ten PM, and we’re parked two blocks from Tyler’s place in a neighborhood that smells like garbage and desperation and broken dreams.
The sort of neighborhood where people mind their own business because they’ve got their own shit to hide, which makes it perfect for what we’re doing, but also makes it dangerous because nobody’s going to help if things go wrong.
I’m behind the wheel of a van I stole this morning from a strip mall parking lot, watching Jade in the side mirror as she walks away from us.
She’s wearing dark jeans and a black jacket with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she looks like she belongs in this neighborhood, like just another girl heading home after a long shift at whatever shitty job pays the bills.
Hawk’s positioned on a rooftop across the street with binoculars and a clear view of the building’s entrance and exits.
Razor’s in the alley behind the fire escape with his bike ready to move if we need a fast extraction. Everything’s in place according to the plan we’ve gone over a dozen times.
But none of that stops my hands from gripping tight on the steering wheel or my jaw from clenching hard enough to make my teeth ache.
Last night I was inside her, and now she’s walking into danger while all I can do is sit here in a stolen van and listen through an earpiece and hope to hell nothing goes wrong.
Jade’s got a Bluetooth in her ear that’s connected to all three of our phones, and her phone’s in her pocket with the line open so we can hear everything that happens. Every footstep, every breath, every word. It’s supposed to make me feel better, like I’m right there with her.
It doesn’t.
“I’m approaching the building,” she says quietly, and her voice comes through crystal clear in my earpiece.
“Copy,” I respond, watching her in the side mirror as she crosses the street. “Front entrance or back?”
“Back door. Less chance of running into neighbors who might recognize me.”
Smart. She’s thinking tactically, staying calm, doing exactly what we planned during all those hours of preparation.
But I can hear the slight tremor in her voice that tells me she’s scared, even if she’s trying not to show it.
Hawk’s voice crackles in my ear. “Visual on target approaching building from the west. No sign of hostiles in the immediate area.”
“Copy,” I say, and then to Jade: “You’re clear. Proceed.”
She reaches the back entrance, and I hear the sound of a door handle turning, old hinges creaking. “I’m inside. The hallway’s clear, and the lights are out on the first floor.”
Her footsteps echo in what must be a stairwell, each step making my heart beat harder against my ribs. I can hear her breathing through the connection, steady but faster than normal. She’s scared, but she’s not panicking, which is good because panic gets people killed.
“Second floor,” she says quietly, and her voice has dropped to barely a whisper now.
More footsteps, slower now, more careful. The sound of a door creaking somewhere, probably another apartment. Music playing faintly through walls. Someone’s TV turned up too loud.
Normal sounds that feel surreal given what we’re doing.
“I’m at his door,” Jade says, and I hear her take a deep breath. “Getting the key now.”
The sound of rustling, a fake plant being moved, ceramic scraping against metal. Then a key slid into a lock with a quiet click.
“I’m in.”
The apartment door closes behind her with a soft thud, and suddenly everything feels too quiet except for her breathing in my ear.
“Talk to me,” I say, needing to hear her voice. “What do you see?”
“It’s trashed.” Her voice is barely audible now, like she’s afraid Tyler might somehow hear her even though we confirmed he’s supposed to be at the clubhouse. “Furniture knocked over, couch cushions slashed, holes punched in the walls. He’s been here recently, and he was pissed about something.”
My stomach tightens because angry Tyler is unpredictable Tyler, and unpredictable is the last thing we need right now. “Can you get to the bedroom?”
“Yeah. Going now.”
I hear her moving through the apartment, careful footsteps trying to stay quiet even though there’s nobody there. The sound of a door opening with a creak that makes me wince.
“I’m in the bedroom. Checking under the bed now.”
Rustling sounds. Something sliding across floor.
“Found it,” she says, and I can hear the relief flooding through her voice. “Lockbox is exactly where I said it would be. Entering the combination now.”
Clicks of a combination lock being turned. Three numbers, pause, another three numbers. The box opens with a metallic snap.
“Got it,” Jade says. “Laptop’s here, and it looks intact. Powering it on now.”
I exhale for what feels like the first time in five minutes and force myself to loosen my grip on the steering wheel before I break something. “Good. Start the copy as soon as it boots up.”
“Starting now. Flash drive’s in.”
The van’s quiet except for her breathing in my ear and the distant sounds of the city around us.
Traffic’s a few blocks over where the main street runs.
A siren somewhere in the distance, probably headed to some other disaster.
Dogs barking. Normal city sounds at night that feel wrong because nothing about this situation is normal.
I watch the building in the side mirror, checking for movement, for any sign that something’s off.
The windows are mostly dark except for a few apartments where people are still awake.
Second floor, third window from the left, that’s Tyler’s place, and I can see a faint glow that must be from the laptop screen.
“How long?” Jade asks, and there’s tension creeping into her voice now.
I glance at the laptop open on the passenger seat, tracking the file transfer through the program Razor set up this afternoon. Progress bar showing eighteen percent complete. “Says twelve minutes for the full copy of all the files.”
“Twelve minutes,” she repeats, and I can hear her swallow hard. “Okay. I can do twelve minutes.”
“You’re doing great,” I tell her, and I mean it even though my own nerves are shot, and we’re only five minutes into this operation. She sounds calm and focused despite the fact that she’s alone in her abusive ex’s trashed apartment, stealing evidence that could get her killed if she’s caught.
Hawk’s voice comes through the connection. “Movement on the street. Car pulling up about half a block south of the building.”
My heart stops. “What kind of car?”
“Black sedan. Tinted windows. Two occupants in the front seat that I can see. Could be nothing, just someone coming home.”
“Could be something,” I counter, because in this neighborhood, nothing is ever just nothing. “Jade, you hear that?”
“I heard.” Her breathing picks up slightly, and I can hear the fear underneath the control. “Keep me updated on what they’re doing.”
“Car’s parking,” Hawk reports. “Two men getting out. Can’t see faces from this angle, but they’re both wearing leather cuts.”
Fuck.
“Jade, we might have club members in the area,” I say, keeping my voice level even though my pulse is racing. “Stay quiet and stay low.”
“Copy.”
I’m gripping the steering wheel again, knuckles white, watching the building like I can see through walls if I just stare hard enough.
“They’re walking,” Hawk continues. “Headed in the direction of the building, but they just stopped. One of them’s lighting a cigarette.”
I breathe again, but not much. “Just smoking?”
“Looks like it. They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying from up here.”
“Keep eyes on them.”
“Copy.”
Jade’s quiet except for her breathing and the faint hum of the laptop running in the background. I can hear occasional sounds of her shifting position, probably trying to stay comfortable while also staying alert.
The progress bar on my laptop crawls forward. Twenty-five percent. Thirty percent.
Each second feels like an hour.
“Eight minutes left,” I tell her.
“This is taking forever.” Her voice is tight now, the control starting to slip.
“I know. Just stay calm and stay quiet. You’re doing perfect.”
“I am calm.” But she doesn’t sound calm anymore. She sounds like someone who’s been sitting in her abusive ex’s apartment for almost six minutes now and is very aware that every second she stays is another second she could get caught.
I should have gone with her. Should have insisted on being the one to go inside while she stayed safe in the van, consequences be damned.
But she was the only one who knew the apartment layout, knew exactly where Tyler kept the laptop, knew his patterns and schedules well enough to predict when he’d be gone.
Still doesn’t make it easier to sit here uselessly while she’s in danger.
“Six minutes,” I say, watching the progress bar tick upward with agonizing slowness.
“The men on the street?” Jade asks.
“Still there,” Hawk confirms. “Still smoking and talking. No movement toward the building.”
“Okay.” She takes a shaky breath. “Okay. Six more minutes. I can do six more minutes.”
The seconds crawl by, and I track every single one of them. The file transfer hits sixty percent, then sixty-five, then seventy percent. Almost there, but not fast enough, never fast enough.
“Five minutes,” I say.
That’s when I hear it through the connection.
Footsteps in the hallway outside Tyler’s apartment. Heavy boots on old carpet, the kind of sound that makes every instinct scream danger.
Jade hears it too, because her breathing stops completely.
“Shadow,” she whispers, and there’s pure fear in that single word.