Ember
FREAKIN’ OUT - DEXTER AND THE MOONROCKS
To Nolan Madden’s credit, holding the purchase outside of London’s perimeter is a smart move.
Neutral ground. Anonymous. And unknown.
The location was enough to send Hyland into an overprotective tailspin while Warner attempted to mitigate the fallout, arguing it gives us an advantage. This isn’t our home turf, but it isn’t theirs either.
“Comms check.” Crouched at the back of the van, Warner adjusts his earpiece. “Team leader, check.”
The line crackles. “Blaine, check.”
“Hyland.”
“Ember.” Despite an attempt to calm my nerves, my voice ripples with tension.
“HQ, check.” Axel sounds downtrodden even while disembodied. “I hate being separated from you guys like this.”
“Be glad we didn’t leave you in London with your injuries.” Warner glances over his bulletproof vest, tightening a strap. “You’re our getaway driver, Ax. Very important task.”
“I’m five miles away from the people I love, asshole. What good is that?”
“You’re close by if we need a quick exit. Suck it up.”
“It’s dark and fucking freezing,” Hyland adds from the front seat. “At least you’re warm in the backup vehicle, pup.”
“Stop trying to comfort me.”
Bent in half to avoid hitting his head on the metal roof, Blaine tucks a gun into his holster. “Let’s move. We’ve got eight and a half minutes until meet time.”
“Copy that,” Warner acknowledges. “Lead the way.”
“Be safe,” Axel pleads.
The three of us clamber from the van’s rear while Hyland locks up the empty cab, leaving it parked on a discreet side street.
We’re in a small town a couple of hours out from the city.
Less human traffic to deal with, given half the country’s population has invaded London for the annual fireworks display.
While we’ve spent the odd lull between Christmas and New Year’s resting, recuperating and preparing for this raid, I’m not sure any of us feel ready for what lies ahead. There’s only so many scenarios you can play out while training. The rest is unknown.
“Where’s this rendezvous?” Warner blows out a tense breath.
Jaw set, Blaine glances at his phone. “Close. Stay sharp.”
Lit roads slick with freshly set ice absorb our footsteps, preventing any echoing in the night. In the distance, drunken voices hoot and catcall. You’re never far from a pub even in the suburbs. Everyone will be out tonight, drinking into the small hours to see in the new year.
“The shop is a couple streets over.” Axel’s voice rings with nervous anticipation. “Run me through the plan one more time.”
Hyland tucks his chin, talking discreetly into the comms. “Ember and I will enter to initiate contact. Blaine and Warner will follow our tracking beacons once we’re on the move then approach in a slingshot manoeuvre.”
“Are we sure about splitting up?” Warner frets.
Leading the group, Blaine gestures for us to cross the road. “We discussed this. If the seller is spooked, we’ll lose our one shot. News will spread about a potential sting, and we won’t get another chance.”
“It still seems like a needless risk.”
“Our faces are too well known,” Blaine refutes. “It has to be Ember and Hyland. Even that’s a huge risk, given our public profile as a team. But it’s the best option we’ve got.”
Raye explained that our identities will be confirmed by a scout before we’re taken to the real meeting place.
Or more accurately, the identities she crafted for the benefit of our cover story.
It’s taken a lot of work to make tonight happen, most of it done behind the scenes.
I’m still not sure how she pulled it off in time.
“What if we’re recognised?” I whisper under my breath.
“Then the deal’s off.” Hyland delivers a curt, clipped response. “We split. Fast.”
“They might be hostile.”
“I’ve got your back, red. Nothing will happen to you.”
“We all go home in one piece.” Warner’s head turns on a swivel, the sound of drunken antics growing louder as we near the adjacent street. “This is it. Be safe.”
He turns on his heel then marches away with Blaine in lockstep like we’re total strangers passing on the street. Seeing them go tugs at my heartstrings, but I shove the emotion to the furthest corner of my brain and focus up.
Around a sharp bend, there’s an array of open shops. Two takeaways, a bustling pub brimming with customers and a small, off-license shop at the far end of the road. That’s our target.
Checking to ensure my braid is in place under my baseball cap, the flesh-coloured earpiece is fully covered for another layer of protection. Thankfully, the weather is on our side. Thick coats hide the bulge of armoured vests, Kevlar and holsters.
To a casual onlooker, we could be mistaken for a couple enjoying the cool night air ahead of the countdown to midnight. Especially when Hyland takes my hand, pulling me in close. I doubt it’s purely for strategy.
He squeezes my fingers then releases me to open the shop door. I wipe my boot-covered feet on the welcome mat before stepping in, surveying the various shelves. The liquor section appears to be located at the back.
“Stay here,” I murmur.
“I’ll be watching.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Shoulders rolled back, the distance between the exit and our rendezvous point seems to extend for an eternity. There are a couple of people in the shop, equally bundled up in full winter gear. Probably on their way to more festivities tonight.
In the alcohol aisle, a man and a woman linger at opposite ends. One studies the rows of pre-mixed cocktails with a tooth digging into her lip. The other pulls bottles of flavoured vodka from the shelf to inspect the labels.
It feels safest to set myself up in the middle where my path to escape isn’t blocked. If I walk to the end of the aisle, it’s a dead end. Not a great idea. That places me firmly in the fancy coffee liqueur section.
A quick peek.
Left, right.
Neither shopper pays me a lick of attention. Not even a passing glance. Anxiety constricts my muscles in preparation to fight or flee, but I force my lungs to expand for another breath. There’s still time.
When the woman selects her choice and leaves to pay, my adrenaline skyrockets. That just leaves Mr Vodka. He seems absorbed by his task. I’m not sure what’s so interesting about those bottles.
Another minute passes.
Sluggish. Breathless.
We’re nudging towards two minutes late. They should be here by now. I’m starting to look conspicuous just standing here, so I snatch up a random bottle of coffee liqueur, intent to get eyes on Hyland. Only I don’t make it very far.
“I wouldn’t recommend that one.” The man strolls over, his vodka discarded. “Far too bitter for someone as sweet as you.”
With grey-streaked hair that reaches his chin and a hooked nose reminiscent of an insect, he’s not a familiar player from all our research. Just a total stranger, nondescript and anonymous.
“Maybe I prefer bitter. Sweetness is overrated.”
“Hmph.” He breaks into a greasy-looking smile. “Tell me, what is easier to break than carry?”
Despite my desire to take a step back, I lock myself in place. “Trust.”
“Trust acknowledged.”
With the test phrase complete, the man casts a brief look around, ensuring we’re alone in the aisle.
“Miss Price, I presume?”
“The one and only. Are the theatrics necessary?”
“You can never be too cautious on a dark night.” He’s far too jovial. “Come with me.”
“Don’t I get a name first?”
Pausing, he cocks his head. “Joe. Where’s your friend?”
“He’s here, Joe. We’re on a tight schedule.”
“Then let’s get moving, shall we?”
Hyland is waiting exactly where I left him. I don’t think the man’s taken a breath let alone moved a single inch. The look he pins on Mr Anonymous Joe is far from trusting, but it doesn’t seem to faze the weird dude.
We’re led from the store back out into the cold, heading away from the hum of revellers. I exchange a silent conversation with Hyland, hoping to reassure him, and our hands brush in a brief touch.
Even though we’re moving farther from where we separated, crossing roads and walking into a quieter neighbourhood, Blaine and Warner should be tracking our every move. If all is well, they will approach from another angle to provide backup.
“Care to tell us where we’re going?” Hyland questions our escort.
“Collecting your property, Mr Price. My employer values discretion above all else.”
“We don’t have time to walk around with you all night.”
“Patience, please. It’s right up ahead.”
Nestled beside a locked and bolted school, our target becomes clear. I’m not sure whether to laugh or be impressed. The public pool is dark this late at night but provides a large open space that’s hidden in plain sight.
I’m not sure what to make of its proximity to a place where children gather. Hell, the same kids probably learn to swim here, oblivious to what these walls have seen when the world is looking elsewhere.
“A fucking pool?” Hyland hisses quietly.
I flash him a warning look. Hold character.
Spine tingling, it demands all my willpower to follow Joe inside. If I weren’t armed, I’d think twice. Perhaps lodging a bullet in his skull when this is over will minimise his ick factor. The shitty fake name is only one of his walking red flags.
Inside, the closed public pool facility seems several degrees colder than the already frigid outside. The heating must be disabled for the holidays. Cost cutting measures, I’m sure.
Thick limestone walls leech any heat from the building. Dim overhead lights penetrate the darkness, but the route is still obscured by shadows that seem to stretch infinitely.
Underneath my cap, the crackling earpiece injects relief straight into my veins. “Em, we’ve got your location. In pursuit.”
Fuck, Warner’s voice has never been more welcome.
“Hold tight,” Blaine adds. “You’ve got this.”
At the end of the darkened hallway, two black-clothed figures stand guard in front of double doors leading to the pool. Both hold large automatic guns, the kind usually reserved for guerrilla warfare. No inconspicuous weapons here.
“Are you armed?” Joe halts in front of them, turning to question us.