6. Motives and Truths
Chapter six
Motives and Truths
L ucas
I watched from across the street as Emelia exited the jazz club, the neon signs casting her determined face in shards of glowing color.
Even from a distance I could read frustration in her furrowed brow.
I felt a pang of guilt for adding to her troubles, but bluff was essential right now.
I turned up my collar against the chill night air and silently followed her at a distance through the winding city streets.
Knowing Emelia had a target on her, I felt an obligation to ensure she remained safe.
Perhaps I hoped to shield her from the peril my botched heist set in unknown motion.
Or maybe part of me simply wished to unravel the mysteries that still swirled around this intriguing woman.
I traced the rooftops as she walked, ducking behind water towers and brick facades whenever she glanced over her shoulder instinctively.
The neon lights of Broadway gradually gave way to her neighborhood’s amber street lamps.
At last, she stopped before the sleek skyscraper. I grappled up the adjacent tower to perch unseen as she entered the lobby.
What did tomorrow hold for my raven-haired adversary as our strangely interwoven fates pulled tighter?
I lingered like a guardian spirit keeping lethal forces at bay and watched Emelia’s silhouette move behind the windows as I considered my complex motives in all this.
Was altruism truly my sole drive here, or did I feel responsible for the turbulence that now surrounded her?
Or maybe, against my better instincts, I found myself caring about the fiery cryptographer's welfare for its own sake.
If threats encircled Emelia, I meant to intercept them firsthand.
I understood all too well how the past could unfold its secrets and vengeance without warning.
Like Emelia, I knew firsthand the pain no one should endure as a child—losing everything to men whose faces fade but whose damage scarred the soul forever.
In this we were alike, and Emelia did not need any more damage to her soul.
I shook off the haunting memories as Emelia's silhouette passed behind sheer curtains once more.
What did tomorrow hold for my raven-haired nemesis—would the web weaving around us draw tighter?
I turned up my coat collar against the biting wind, refusing to entertain failure. Not this time. Not with an innocent life at stake again.
I descended the high building, frowning.
Guilt rose up at me. After all, I had played a role in her father's ruin unintentionally. Perhaps she was fate offering me a path to redemption—one I doubted I deserved.
Landing cat-like in a crouch, I slipped unnoticed through alley steam vents and re-entered the bustling Manhattan streets.
The night's icy air kept dangerous recollections at bay during the long walk back to my apartment.
I peeled off my clothes until I had only shorts on. Pouring a generous bourbon, I sank onto the battered leather couch, closing my eyes as the amber liquid fire traced burning distraction down my throat.
What was my next move against the conspirators holding Emelia's life over me like a dagger?
Even with all my street cunning, these shadowy adversaries had resources and connections eclipsing the usual corrupt players.
Outrightly confronting them would be suicide, for sure, and would instantly put Emelia at risk.
No, this mission called for precise subterfuge—turning my captor’s own weapons discreetly against them until their facade of control crumbled.
I waved the etched crystal glass toward the window. "Here's to forging weapons from vulnerability."
Just then, the ringtone of the phone sitting on my coffee table exploded with a staccato burst of distortion guitar.
It had been left at my door the evening before and I knew who’d be calling: my coerced handler.
I exhaled, steeling myself before tapping the decrypt key.
"To what do I owe the... pleasure?" I kept my tone cold as ice.
The electronically disguised voice was equally arctic. "Have you obtained the target or must we motivate you further?"
"Motivation noted. But opportunity takes finesse—security is tripled now." I injected, forcing bored indifference into my voice, knowing it would enrage them. But more importantly, I didn’t want them figuring out how scared I really was.
"I'll need cover for an insider persona to exploit without raising-"
"Then we suggest you create opportunity instead of excuses! And do be reminded that your lovely informatics specialist could turn up cold any moment from now... Bring that painting or else." The line went dead.
Rage boiled in my blood at the casual threat toward Emelia. I hurled the tumbler at the wall, watching it explode into glittering shards.
Coming after me was one thing, but I would die before letting them drag an innocent like Emelia into danger.
Left with no choice, tomorrow I would enter the viper's nest willingly if that’s what it took to keep eyes off her a bit longer.
Failure was not an option—too much depended on the long game I now set in motion.
The next night, I crouched in midnight shadows and finished screwing a state-of-the-art silencer onto the custom 9mm pistol.
Slipping on night vision goggles, I stowed the weapon and grappled up sheer brick to reach a third-story window. Securing a glass cutter from my tactical vest, I carved an entry point without shattering it.
Squeezing through the opening, I paused to magnetize and recover the oval of glass, then scanned the antiquities exhibit storage room.
I had exactly four minutes before the guard's footfalls reached this hallway again.
My senses heightened, I raced up a spiral staircase on cat feet.
Emelia had uploaded the auction item manifest for tomorrow's showcase into the entry terminal after hours. I’d watched her through the stealth camera I’d planted and then followed her home to make sure she would not be anywhere around the auction house tonight.
I just needed to reach the executive suite undetected and pray the encrypted backdoor sequence hadn't changed.
I hugged the walls, creeping past the glaring spotlights of a main gallery.
I froze at footsteps then nodded in satisfaction as the lumbering rent-a-cop passed without noticing the shadow behind a large Dali statue.
The fifth floor hallway was a gauntlet of potential discovery but I flowed along unbroken, using memorized camera blind spots to weave invisibly. Finally, the MD office suite loomed ahead.
Crouched at the door, I withdrew needle point lockpicks, manipulating the tumblers with surgical precision while watching over my shoulder. A telltale snick met my ears seconds before alarms.
I slipped inside, the antechamber's alarm panel already exposed with wires ready to be bypassed.
Thirty seconds later, I was excavating hidden passkey files from the CEO's laptop while my custom decryption app worked overtime.
Each second heightened the danger of discovery exponentially... 32% password recovery... 37%... A distant elevator ding threatened my composure - was that footsteps down the hall?
At last, green text flashed: "Decryption complete." I almost sagged in relief.
Plugging in the USB, I rapidly dragged all files related to recent inventory and acquisitions to its drive, working one- handed while the other hand held the 9mm that tracked the closed door.
A passing shadow made me blink sweat from my eyes anxiously until it faded away.
Transfer complete, I wiped logs and exited the system seconds before the entrance lock beeped.
I dove under the desk, weapon aimed steadily on potential threats charging through that door, prepared to do whatever it took to escape with the intel.
The door slid open, and I aimed my pistol, ready to fire. As I made to slide out, someone called from down the hall. The man hesitated, glanced back into the room, then answered, “Yeah, I’m coming,” before hurrying out and letting the door slide shut behind him.
Almost shaking from relief, I waited until the whistling faded past down the hall to slide out and swiftly exit the office before Fortune's grace expired.
As I descended the curving grand staircase, I froze at a silhouette examining a painting I had encouraged a buyer in the past to acquire. In a heartbeat, I drew the pistol from under my jacket.
"Appreciating the fine arts at this hour?" I inquired, my weapon leveled in a combat stance.
Alarms had not sounded. Perhaps this was simply a brazen collector sending someone to steal back what they felt rightfully belonged to them. Most serious collectors had done business with a professional art thief at some point or the other.
When he turned, I met a hawkish face with eyes as dead as a shark's. "Ah, Thorne. Come to complete the job, aye? Found any easy pickings?" His jacket shifted subtly—more likely than not concealing a weapon.
"Not all treasure glitters," I countered, relaxing my aim slightly to avoid provoking blind reaction fire if he was trigger happy.
The man's mouth turned up like a razor slash. "Too true... and yet you pursue the shiniest secrets currently, no?" His manner set off my instincts; this was not merely an art enthusiast or rival thief if he referenced my mission without hesitation.
"Who are you and why does what I am after concern you?" I stepped sideways in a casual arc, maneuvering imperceptibly closer while keeping him under threat.
His lip twitched in what passed as amusement. "Let's just say my purpose lies in acquiring the same prize you currently... have been unable to obtain. But, unlike you, my friend, I lack any weakness, and am willing to retrieve it by whatever means proven necessary."
An assassin then, likely tasked by the hidden hand that coerced my efforts recently.
They must have dispatched this shadow because they doubted my commitment to their agenda.
I needed to divert him long enough to make a discreet exit before security wandered upon a deadly standoff.
"No prize is worth innocent lives,” I replied, stalling for options. “Walk away before you cross lines that cannot be uncrossed.” I hoped reason might work though clearly, cold purpose filled the man’s face.
He simply sneered while reaching slowly inside his coat. But faster than I thought, my leg lashed out, impacting his wrist before he cleared the leather.
He was good—the counter right caught me on the jaw, knuckles splitting skin even as I dropped low, driving stiffened fingers hard into his abdomen below the sternum.
Winded, he buckled forward and I spun, my heel cracking hard against his temple. Stunned, he fell before he could cry out.
In seconds, I had dragged the semi-conscious assassin out of sight, binding ankles and wrists with zip cuffs behind a marble column.
I gagged him then paused to study the elaborate scrollwork, getting an idea.
Five minutes later, the would-be hunter dangled fully bound and gagged securely 15 feet overhead, tethered to the column like a piece of bizarre performance art. I had to smile—whoever discovered him would surely call in psychiatric eval along with security.
Who knew what else awaited now that rival wolves circled so closely, and brazenly declared themselves openly?
I would decipher the encrypted records and prepare counter maneuvers, refusing to be anyone's helpless pawn when the endgame arrived.
Glad Emelia was nowhere around the auction house, I crept down the service stairwell. Another confrontation with her was more than I could take tonight.
Slipping past the guard's station undetected, I rounded a corner swiftly only to collide with another shadowy figure entering from a side passage.
We crashed in a tangle of limbs on the hard marble floor. I had a glimpse of raven hair and fiery honey eyes before lightning reflexes drew us both up into fighting stances.
"You again!" Emelia hissed, recognizing me. "I knew you’d soon be back for something."
I raised my open palms. "Just doing some antique browsing after hours. But perhaps we could continue this elsewhere?" If discovered, things would get complicated given the man hanging from the pillar.
Emelia repositioned her arms, ready to engage. "Oh no, you're not slipping away this time!" She grabbed my wrist before I could react, slapping a magnetic cuff on it. In the same motion, she clasped the other ring tightly around her own wrist. "Now you'll face justice for once!"
I examined the etched titanium band. "A permanent bonding magnet lock? Where did you get this?" I had heard rumors such devices existed on the black market but had never seen one.
"None of your business," Emelia smirked. "Nano-etched titanium fused by a mechanical vortex. Strong enough to restrain a dozen men. So much for escaping!"
Her smug declaration echoed down the marble hall. Surely someone would investigate and discover us any second. I surveyed possible exits but she had effectively trapped us both now.
Then my eyes rested on the antique bank vault room we stood beside, and my gears began turning.
It had served as an ornate decoration since being decommissioned years ago. Just maybe.
I examined the etched flowers that surrounded the concentric locks.
Applying delicate pressure while twisting, I felt the gears begin to shift and rotate. To my delight, the massive door swung outward with a puff of dust.
Before Emelia could react, I pulled us both inside the abandoned vault, muscling the multi-ton portal closed behind us.
I spun the lock mechanism, hearing laden gears clunk heavily back into place, sealing us in musty darkness.
Emelia pounded the inert steel furiously to no effect. She turned on me, eyes blazing. "What have you done? We're trapped!" Rattling the cuffs binding us, her lip curled in uncontrolled fury.
I couldn't help laughing at the reversal of fortunes. "All part of being unexpectedly chained to a wanted fugitive, I'm afraid."
Her responding threats echoed satisfyingly against the vault walls as we resigned ourselves to forced proximity.