Chapter 41
Lillian
For the rest of the flight, the guys toss out ideas, agreeing to some, discarding the clunkers. Every so often, they ask me about my father and his habits. They ask about Sean’s leg, which he insists is fine. The time goes by so fast, the thump of the landing gear surprises me.
Sean grabs my hand, keeping me from following the others down the stairs.
“I’m so, so sorry, babe.” He sounds contrite, but I’m not letting him off easy. We found a comfortable working relationship. Perhaps we should leave it there.
Not cool, not warm, I’m as neutral as Switzerland. “For what?”
Closing his eyes, Sean rubs a hand across his stubbled chin. “For thinking kidnapping you was for your benefit. For allowing Jeff Pearson to convince me I was just like my father. For believing I could ever, ever live without you.”
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that despite our occupations, we couldn’t be more different. Being brought up by a criminal leaves scars, some so deep, I’m just beginning to find them. “You were right, but we can still work together… as friends.”
“Not happening.” He kisses me until my mouth opens in surrender.
As my hands slide behind his neck and through his hair, Dante shouts, “Yo, lovebirds.”
He gestures toward a black van with muddied plates idling nearby. “Glad you made up, but it’s time to go.”
My lips still stinging from the heated kiss, I shadow Sean into the back. Dante’s up front, sitting next to a driver he knows, but the rest don’t seem to recognize him. Mace and Daed take the middle row.
En route, the team passes comms around like Skittles. Earpiece in place, I clip the mic to my collar and add my voice to the test queue.
“How much farther?” Sean twists, eyeing the road behind us.
“Five clicks,” the driver answers.
“Three miles.” Leaning forward, Mace punches his arm. “We’re civies now.”
While the guys trade barbs, I swallow hard. We’re about to attempt something we all agree is a Hail Mary, at best. How can they act so casual?
Mouth to my ear, Sean squeezes my bicep. “We locate the office, grab the laptop, and go. You’ve done this stuff solo since you were a kid.”
He’s right. And this time, the infamous Liam Boyle is going down, even if I have to shoot him myself.
Once the vehicle pulls to the curb, the guy behind the wheel turns. “Follow the fence line to the driveway. The back door beside the loading dock is unlocked. I’ll be here when you’re finished. See you on the other side.”
Last out, I trail the rest who trot toward a black Ford Bronco. Dante opens the hatch. Kevlar. Helmets. Night vision goggles. Automatic rifles. Gas masks. Knives. Ammunition belts.
Holy shit. I am so beyond my comfort zone, it’s not even funny.
“Arms.” Sean slips a bulletproof vest over my shoulders. Heavy and bulky, it will slow me down. They offer me a larger weapon, but I shake my head no, preferring my pistol.
With a quick nod, Dante hands me magazines for my Beretta.
“You sure there’re no drones?” I strain my neck as I lift my face to the starless sky.
Daedalus glances down at a tablet, surrounded by a case that could probably survive a bullet. “Not yet.”
“Cut the chatter.” At the front of the line, Dante motions us toward the brightly lit loading dock, where an eighteen-wheeler waits, rear doors open. Two other trucks idle in the parking area, spewing sickening diesel fumes.
When Sean taps my shoulder, my heart pounds. This is it. Without alerting the dozen or so men moving pallets, we head for the entrance less than four feet to their right.
My partner sneaks through first, then ushers me inside. Breathing hard, I wait for the alarm, the gunshots, the mayhem, but all remain silent.
I slip the NVGs over my eyes. As I gasp at the stacks of crates, we move deeper into what must be a manufacturing floor, illuminated by the spill of outside light. Moving heel-to-toe, we navigate around robotic arms and 3-D printers.
What if my father’s books aren’t in the office?
“Hand on my belt.” At the iron staircase, Sean draws his Sig, scanning every direction as we climb.
Moments later, we stand in front of a blue door with a slate-gray handle. A credit card pops the latch and just like that, we’re inside an office. For the first time, my confidence returns. The safe is here. I know it.
“We need the combination.” I lower my chin toward my chest mic. “It’ll be written on a piece of paper he can reach from his chair.”
Our allotted time dwindles as we search through file cabinets, behind framed photos, and under the locked desk drawer. If we don’t find something soon, we’ve failed.
Think. There’s nothing behind the oil painting of lilies or under the ergonomic chair. Stepping back, I flip the coffee maker upside down.
“Gotcha!” I snatch the curled, yellow sticky note, wave it under Sean’s nose, then slip it in my pocket.
But where’s the safe?
“Four minutes,” Daed counts down in my ear.
Bookcases. Too obvious. Too difficult to shove aside. Not my dad’s style. He’d want his valuables accessible.
“Three minutes.”
Pictures rip from the walls, ductwork covers hang from hinges. Breathing heavily, Sean runs out of places to search. “What if it’s not here?”
“We found the numbers. It’s got to be close.” Dropping onto all fours, I press the wooden wainscoting behind the desk.
As one panel shifts, my heart rate spikes. “Give me your knife.”
After he hands it over, I stick the blade between two slats, triggering a concealed door to open.
“Yesssss!” Once I key in the digits, I tug the handle down and pull.
Kneeling beside me, Sean sweeps his flashlight over the safe’s contents. Hidden behind ten bundles of hundred-dollar bills… A laptop.
While he stuffs the compact computer inside his vest, I snatch a phone, barely visible in the back.
“Thirty seconds,” Daed says.
Arm around my waist, Sean propels us out the door. As we fly down the steep stairway, the whine of a thousand hornets echoes throughout the building.
“The drones,” I whisper. “They’ve been activated.”
If they’re armed with the virus, we’re screwed.