Chapter 13
Zayne
"You don't think that's a little excessive?"
I look down at him, arms still extended over my head as I pull the box our laptop is in out of the dropped ceiling.
"Not even a little," I say as I place the box on the coffee table.
I look over at Zeus as I open the box and pull the laptop out.
His familiar scowl draws his lips into a flat line, and I'm not the least bit annoyed with it. Angry, dangerous men have always been my thing, and I know it has everything to do with our interactions as teens. Or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment.
Who knows, and right now isn't the time for an existential crisis regarding my choice in men and how it may have affected other decisions in my life.
He's decked out again in full camo, something expected from the guys we're meeting, and as weird as it looks now for a man I know who wore nothing but the best designer clothes growing up, it actually suits him.
I don't open my mouth to voice it, however, because I know he wouldn't see it as a compliment for the job we're doing, but rather a strike against his actual character, not the man he's portraying.
"Do you honestly think they didn't have a peek through the windows last night before that guy knocked on the door?"
He grunts, an irritated sound much too similar to the noise he makes when he comes.
I clear my throat, hating that I can't control my thoughts when he's around.
"We should cover them," I say, looking away and opening the laptop.
We have one more video call with our team before we dive into the real aspects of this job. I'm not the least bit surprised when he drops down beside me on the sofa, but keeps several inches of distance between us this time.
Yesterday was a fluke, and I knew when it happened that he simply miscalculated the distance. That didn't stop me from spending too much time analyzing and creating shit in my head, though.
"I'm not putting cardboard or hanging fucking blankets over the windows," he mutters, eyes straight ahead because looking in my direction when he speaks would probably be too intimate for him.
"The house would be more believable if we did," I say, logging into the computer. "Anyway, a lot of these people think the government watches you through electronics."
"They do," he snaps, but in a way that makes me think he's privy to the knowledge and less like he believes in a conspiracy theory.
"That's why the computer stays in the ceiling. In the box that prevents someone with a scanner from knowing of its existence."
"Everyone has a fucking computer," he mumbles.
"Most do, yes, but they don't have this one that costs like two thousand dollars."
"It's closer to five."
We both snap our heads toward the video call that has apparently gone live. Hemlock and Casper are on the screen, no Kincaid this time, but I know the man puts full faith in his team.
I grin at Casper for his correction.
"Only the best for Cerberus," I say.
"Exactly," Casper agrees.
"As I was saying," I continue. "The redneck fuckers are more likely to buy a two-hundred-dollar computer and use the other money to buy guns and ammo. It's a bright red flag if we have mismatched dinner plates and expensive tech in the house. It doesn't fit our backstory."
"And since you aren't infiltrating this group as an accountant or a hacker, it has to stay hidden," Casper clarifies.
"We're having this call before you head to the diner," Hemlock says, moving the meeting along.
"Right," Casper agrees. "I went through the pictures you sent of the documents you were handed last night, and I can't see any code or hidden meaning behind being given them."
"What we do know is that a lot of like-minded people hang out at The Garage, so it's not as 'public' as we'd like," Hemlock says.
"What we were able to do was cut the power to the building last night and wire it for sound," Casper explains.
"The power going out won't send up a red flag for these paranoid motherfuckers?" Zeus asks.
Casper shakes his head. "High winds last night worked in our favor.
Power goes out on the mountain all the time.
The mile-wide radius we knocked out probably only pissed people off because their televisions weren't working, more than anything else.
Thankfully, the diner didn't have a backup generator. "
"Sound but no video?" Zeus asks.
"Time was limited," Hemlock replies. "If there's a mention in today's meeting of going back there, we can see about getting back in and adding video."
"That may be a good idea," I say. "A lot of these groups use places like that to launder their dirty money."
"Noted," Hemlock says. "We’ll have a team close by in case you guys need some help."
His words are a reminder of just how dangerous these folks can be.
We can't assume the meeting will go the way we want.
They could just as easily want us there to kill us and have the benefit of doing it on their own turf, rather than a double homicide in a house when they can't control the neighbors.
"We have a feeling that they may only want Zayne," Casper says.
Zeus shifts beside me on the sofa. I don't know if the idea of me possibly going in alone annoys him or if it would make him happy that there's a chance he can move on from this job and put some distance between us.
"Of course, the best outcome is both of you. Someone there who has your back is the best-case scenario," Hemlock adds.
"And if they refuse?" Zeus asks, and I do my best not to overanalyze his tone because he actually sounds annoyed at the idea of not working this job.
Hemlock pulls in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly before speaking. "I asked Kincaid what he wanted, and he said, although it's not ideal, one getting in is better than no one."
Zeus is simmering beside me, but I refuse to look directly at him. I hate how hard it is to see his features in the tiny video image tucked down to the left of the laptop screen. I wish I could see his face better to try and evaluate his emotions.
"I'll try to convince them we both need to go," Zeus says.
"Stick with the character you've been given, and I think it'll work out. They love hateful, angry bastards who are willing to fuck shit up just because they can," Hemlock adds.
Knowing that he isn't happy about the idea of me going in alone calms a lot of shit that’s been swirling around inside of me.
I know better than to think he wants to spend time with me, but at least not liking the idea of me dying is better progress than I thought we'd make since arriving in Tennessee.
"We don't know when your next update will be," Casper says.
"They could tell you to fuck off within two minutes, or they could demand you go to their compound and give up your entire life.
It's all up in the air. We do have the truck wired for sound, but we can't guarantee that they're not going to have you get in one of their vehicles at The Garage and take you to a different location. "
"We'll have someone from the team follow you if there's going to be a secondary location involved," Hemlock assures us.
"Their known drug use means it could go either way. Their paranoia could have them moving quicker than we can predict, but at the same time, it could have them more skittish and volatile. We just don't know how it's going to go," Casper says with a loud sigh.
"We anticipate a pat down," Hemlock continues. "So we can't wire you. The phones you have look like burners, but they have tech in them to track you."
"But they could be taken," I mutter because I've experienced it before.
"What about trackers in our shoes or something?" Zeus asks.
My heart starts to race. I hadn't gotten undressed after our day yesterday, and I spent more time than I'd like to admit standing outside Zeus's door last night after I told him about his dad, contemplating whether I should knock or just leave him the hell alone.
Knowing there's a chance Casper could know what I was doing makes me a little antsy.
"We fully expect them to scan your entire person," Casper answers. "Your phones would ping even if they didn't have trackers, so that's not a red flag. Your shoes pinging wouldn't be good."
The breath of relief that rushes past my lips is loud enough that I feel Zeus shift his gaze to the side of my face.
"Any questions?" Hemlock asks.
"Only about a million," Zeus mutters.
"Any we can answer right now without knowing how this meeting is going to go?" Hemlock asks.
"No," Zeus answers before standing.
"Be safe. Make good choices. You're no good to us dead," Hemlock says. "Good luck."
The video screen goes blank, so I work on fully shutting it down and putting it back in the anti-detection box before securing it back in the ceiling.
"Nervous?" I ask Zeus as I pull my gun from my waistband and make sure it's good to go.
"Not at all," he says. I don't know if that's false bravado or if he's been through so much in life that a meeting with some redneck militia guys doesn't even register on his radar. "Will they take our guns?"
"Not if they want to live," I mutter. "Even if they ask, they'd expect us to refuse. They're our right, and protected under the Second Amendment."
"How contradictory of them to use the same Constitution to support their beliefs but also be anti-government," he mutters, checking his weapon.
"Most of these groups would prefer strict adherence to the original Constitution. The contradiction is them picking and choosing which amendments they like and which ones they think never should've happened."
"Idiots," he mutters.
"Now, there will come a time when they will ask for our guns and expect full compliance, but that usually doesn't happen until we gain access to their compound. So just keep that in mind," I explain. "We need to head out. Got everything you need?"
"Yeah," he says before walking toward the front door.
I follow, making a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure there's nothing in the house that would draw the wrong kind of attention. The ceiling tile is in place, giving no indication that I've hidden something there.
"You have your ID?" I ask when I climb in behind the wheel. "We should anticipate a full background check."
He nods. "I've got it."
Cerberus has created an entire online persona for both of us, with details that can be confirmed digitally if they go so far as to check them out, including criminal history in the national crime information system.
As thorough as Casper is, I have no doubt there's any way for this group to discover who we actually are without running extensive facial recognition programs.
But I have faith that our covers won't be blown even if they did that.
Max, the IT specialist back in New Mexico, assured me that part of our acceptance into Cerberus is wiping our real identities from the internet.
It's a way to protect those connected to us in our real lives, like our families and friends.
The only thing that should show under my face is the history we've created for Curtis Allen.
I pull in a deep breath as I back out of the driveway, channeling the qualities of a man I'd never want to be in real life, all the while hoping Zeus is doing the same damn thing.
Our lives depend on it.