Page 57 of Blackwood

“Magic word, please, Blackwood.”

I roll my eyes. “Jackass, fine…Problem Childpresent.”

That earns me a quiet little grin. Not mocking, just Knox. He’s been calling me that since Zeke died. Not because he’s a dick. I mean heisa dick, but that’s not why he does it.

He says if I’m going to act like a problem child, he’s going to call me one. Just like Zeke would have. When Zeke died, I couldn’t process it. I shut down. Likefull-on shell-of-myself-lights-on-nobody-homeshut down.

For weeks.

Tex and Nate tried to fix me. So did the girls. They all looked at me like I was some fragile little glass vase about to shatter at any minute.

But not Knox. Knox made me focus. Pulled me out of the fog. He made me face it. Zeke’s death. Head-on. No hiding from it. He made me break. Really break.Hysterical-screaming-nothing-left-insidekind of break. He made me relive it, every second, over and over until I eventually stopped crying.

Haley called it cruel punishment. But somehow, it worked. Knox got through and he’s been a rock for me ever since.

Dr. Monroe doesn’t approve of Knox’s methods. He can shove it up his Stanford University ass for all I care.

The doc means well, he did wonders with Nate during his recovery. And he’s completely bought and paid for by Project Dylan so he keeps his mouth shut when we talk about missions. I’m just not a fan.

God though, if I have to sit through one more group therapy session with him, me, Tex, and Nate, I might just throw myself off a building.

Nate glances up from his screens. “Comms are clean. Cameras are good. We’re a go.” His tone clipped and calm. Always so fucking calm. The man could literally be standing on a landmine and still sound like he’s reading the stock reports.

I lean back slightly, letting the tension slip from my shoulders. “Alright, boys. What’s the word of the day?” Isay, cracking my knuckles. “We going with sports, colors, or horoscopes today? Laing, your turn to choose.”

“Let’s do sports.”

I grin. “Excellent choice. Since we’re in San Fran, let’s go with…Niners.”

Tex’s voice cuts through the comms, dry as ever.“Figures. Leave it to you to pick the most disappointing franchise in California.”

“You heard her,” Nate says without missing a beat. “Word of the day isNiners. Everyone move out.”

I turn to Laing and tilt my head to the SUV waiting at the curb. He pushes off the wall without a word and follows me in.

Laing found the op. Intel came from a Triad source buried deep in a Hong Kong-linked cargo chain. He got us in the door.

Knox got us the rest of the way. Fake IDs, burner phones, and wire transfers that vanish like smoke. He’s good at that part, setting the stage, making it all look real.

This time, I’m going in as a rep from a private child wellness foundation. Which is a fancy way of saying that I’m posing as a corrupt social worker who pulls kids from bad homes and funnels them into worse ones.

Carlos-style homes. Ones with locks on the outside of the bedroom doors.

Laing drives silently next to me, all coiled tension and shadow. In today’s production ofTo Catch a Pedo,he’s just the muscle. Quiet, intimidating, and on my leash.

For a second his hand reaches across the center console, fingers brushing toward mine. I pull back without looking.

“Hey Tex, you in place?” I say through the comms.

His voice comes through a beat later, low and steady.“Eyes on the prize. One container. He only brought one muscle. Must think a little girl like yourself isn’t a threat.”

I hear Knox snicker in my ear. Fucking assholes.

“Dr. Monroe wouldn’t approve of that comment, Tex.” I say sweetly over the comms. “Or you laughing Knox.”

Tex laughs,“Sorry Bells. You’re clear to approach. Be safe.”

“Always am.” I reply.