Page 32

CHAPTER 32

SCARLET

“Hello again, love.”

“Who is this?”

I expected Ash, but the accent’s off. It’s also familiar.

“No time for Falcon to brief you.”

Nick looks at me and mouths the word, “Interpol.” Ah, so this is Tristan. The man who gathered my statement and information on the Lupi Grigi.

Out loud, he adds, “Safety precaution. No names…never know who’s listening, but also, there are programs with voice recognition searching for keywords.”

Ah. And right now, there’s no telling how many hackers are running algorithms and malware trying to pinpoint our location.

“We’re here to help,” Tristan says. “After all, you’re going to be a great help to us. The boards are alight tonight with talk of you two.”

“Boards?”

“Dark web communities,” an unfamiliar voice says on the speakerphone.

Tristan adds, “Someone found the vehicle you dusted. Occupants alive and talking. The world’s taking it as confirmation both of you are still sharing our oxygen.”

“Did they get tags?”

“Yes, they did,” Tristan says. “Which means we need to get you into another vehicle, pronto.”

“I’ve got alternate tags in the back, but?—”

“Your vehicle’s recognizable. Rust and dents. Tags won’t do it, mate.”

Nick’s jaw flexes in irritation.

“We’ve located a garage. You’ll drive in and we’ll have a team waiting for a swap. The mobile you’re on doesn’t have internet, right?”

“Correct.”

“The one we’re tracking you on won’t do. Too many have the number.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Nick says.

“You’ve got some of the best black hats out there tracing you. Extreme caution. Angel, is your mobile turned on?”

“Yes,” I answer, scanning the back for the bag that I packed it in.

“Throw it out the window,” Tristan says.

I thrust myself over the bench seat to dig out the device. Nick’s palm flattens on my bottom.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Making sure you’re stable.”

To be fair, we’re moving well past safe traveling speeds.

“What about you, Falcon? Anything that should be tossed? I’m about to send you an address, but before I do, let’s button you up.”

“I’ve got spares in a bag. Inactive. Never used.”

“Brilliant. Angel, dear, light up a spare. We’re going to pinpoint a location, and you’re going to head in that direction. Bear in mind that if you see a tail, you’ll need to correct course. We’re going to bring you closer to the city proper. Will limit what they’ll do…at least the rational ones. Copy?”

“Copy,” Nick barks.

I locate the spare mobile, and while I wait for it to activate, Nick asks, “This team of yours? By chance, is there a Texan on it?”

Seconds go by without an answer.

“The second mobile’s on. Shall I message the number you called?” I ask, unsure what Nick’s on about, but staying focused even if he can’t.

“No. Let’s zigzag,” Tristan says and repeats a number for me to use.

I message the number and receive a link in return. When I click the link, there’s a blue dot on a map.

“Once we’ve got you, tech won’t be an issue,” Tristan says. “Looks like you’re about twenty minutes out. Could be longer if you get waylaid.”

“I asked about who is on this team getting us in because I need to ascertain the trust level,” Nick says.

“You’ve got my word. We’re getting you out of there.” My breathing slows, and all my attention focuses on the mobile in my hand. The voice is distinctly American. And it’s one I’ve heard before. But it can’t be.

The car spins slightly…or it’s my head that’s off-kilter.

“Gone a split second and you land the world’s biggest bounty for your neck,” the American says.

“Who—” I begin.

“Let’s wait till we’re secure,” Tristan says.

“Aye, aye,” Nick answers.

On autopilot, I hold the mobile up with the map expanded so Nick can see. He takes the device from me and holds it in front of him with one hand, the other on the wheel, studying the grid.

A concrete weight settles over me. My hands grow clammy.

“As you get closer to the city, there will be more cameras and, apparently, about a thousand lookie-loos searching the cams for you. So much for security of the CCTV. I’m going to send you a direct route without cams. If you stray at all, you’ll show up,” a different English voice says, definitely not American and not Tristan.

“You know, it’s the tags most of those cams will be clocking. You said you had a spare?” Tristan asks.

“I do,” Nick says.

“Pull over and switch that out. It might buy you some distance. Lots of intersections are wider feed, but out where you are, systems are more limited.”

Nick whips the car to the side, onto a dirt road that leads to what looks to be a private residence.

Nick hops out. I’ve got a handgun in one hand and a mobile in the other. The hum of voices from the team filters through the speaker.

Nick buried Leo and Willow. He buried them. Their deaths made the daily. But the man on the speaker sounds so much like… But it can’t be, can it? It wouldn’t make sense.

It’s just wishful thinking; my brain playing tricks on me. That’s it. The stress of bombs and people coming at us. The adrenaline. It’s screwing with me. Or…Nick lied. Now’s not the time to lose focus.

The car door slamming startles me.

Gravel spins beneath the tires, and we lurch forward.

“Is there a closer location for a switch?” Nick asks.

“We have size requirements,” Tristan says. “And we want to do this in a concealed environment.”

“Satellites,” Nick says, more to himself.

I want to ask what he’s talking about, but I’m stunned. And it’s not useful to ask questions at the moment.

If Leo is alive, is Willow? If they’re both alive, who are these people?

Headlights appear up ahead. The closer we get to the city, headlights will be everywhere.

Headlights from the rear flash in the side view.

“All right. You’ve got company,” Tristan says.

I squeeze the handle on my pistol and undo my safety belt.

“They’re going to accompany you on your way. Act as a diversion if needed and defense. Two more in transit. Word from tech is there are no bites. You’re in the wind.”

“Don’t curse us, mate.”

“What’s that?”

“Save the shite for after we’re safe. Keep the bad luck at bay.”

“Are you superstitious?” Tristan asks.

“Must be. Once upon a time, he refused to let a groom show up at his wedding without a best man, all because of luck,” the American says.

“Yeah, come to think of it, I better toss some salt because that one didn’t work out so well for me,” Nick says.

My head spinning, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the headrest. It’s definitely Leo.

Nick's hand covers mine, the one holding the mobile. I jerk away and tighten my grip on the handgun. My jaw locks as bile rises in my throat. All the sorrow for Willow and Leo—weeks of grief—they weren't just wasted. They were a lie. The metal of the gun grows slick against my palm as my fingers clench. I've never wanted to shoot someone I once loved quite this badly.