Page 5 of The Vigilante's Lover

Every head turns as Sam and I saunter through the prison as if we own the place. Inmates sneer at my well-turned suit. Guards peer at Sam as though trying to decide if they know him or not.

The central hub is a maze of glass-walled offices.

We stride through, Sam one step ahead of me as escort, and make our way to the check-in desk on the far side.

The guard stares at a monitor in front of him.

From our angle I can just make out some sort of baseball game.

The cord from his earbuds snakes down his chest. He pays us no mind.

Sam clears his throat. “You gonna make us stand here all day?”

After a lingering glance at the screen, the guard finally looks up. He gives us a quick onceover, eyes landing on me. “Who’s this?”

“Librarian. Cleaning up our collection,” says Sam.

The guard sighs and keys something on his screen. He’s got some attitude for only having worked here a few days. A list and schedule replaces the baseball game. “Name?”

“Sergio Avanti,” I say.

The guard frowns as he scrolls through the text. I focus on my breathing. Sam huffs and shifts on his feet. Seconds tick by that feel like hours. The guard pauses and stares at his screen. “What the hell?” he asks aloud.

I know he’s not seeing any evidence of our check-in. A trained guard would know something is amiss, but we’re banking on this new hire not wanting to admit he’s confused.

There’s also the matter of the Vigilantes.

They control the security here. If we stand by this desk too long, if the guard’s mood sensor goes off or he keys in something suspicious, they could step in.

I’ve spotted a couple of them mingling with the staff during my year here.

If I am caught, protecting Sam and Colette is my utmost imperative.

The mood sensor overhead shifts from green to yellow. Sam and I are fine. It’s the guard. I consider how best to calm him down.

“Says here you weren’t supposed to come till after Christmas,” he says. “Why are you here now?”

“The schedules are always off,” Sam says. “Second time this week I’ve had to escort somebody who doesn’t show up onscreen.”

The guard stares at the monitor another minute. The mood sensor remains yellow. He glances at my suit as if to convince himself I couldn’t possibly be a prisoner. There’s no reason to doubt my position, although we did probably overshoot the mark for a prison library volunteer.

His mood sensor starts edging into red. “You look familiar.” His voice is tight.

Time to bring this down.

“People often mistake me for the actor Bradford Argetti,” I say. Big film star. I look nothing like him.

The guard snorts. “And I look like the King of England.”

“I favor Will Smith,” Sam says. He pats his good-sized belly, as if the actor ever had an extra pound on him.

This makes the guard laugh. The screen cycles down to yellow, then to green.

He taps a few keys and hits a button to open the steel doors. “Call first next time,” he says. “Get the books straight.”

“Will do,” I say and give him a half salute. “Your Highness.”

He laughs again as we pass through to the main lobby.

“Nice save,” Sam whispers. “Colette’s out front in a black Lexus sedan.” As we approach the door, his guard badge goes red. He frowns. “Pick me up at the employee entrance around the corner.” He turns and disappears down a side hall.

I resist the urge to glance at the camera bubbles on the ceiling.

I pass by the visitor entrance queue and exit through the wide front doors.

The sun blinds me momentarily as I squint in search of Colette.

I need not wait long. Within seconds, a sleek black sedan pulls up on a silent electric engine. The passenger door pops open.

“Someone call for a lift?” Colette’s voice calls from inside, her French accent tickling the words.

I slide into the seat. When the door is closed, I let out a sigh. “You have no idea how good this feels,” I say as I sink into the supple leather.

Colette laughs, her dark bob bouncing against her cheeks. “It is good to see you, too, Jax.”

“You know how glad I am you’re here,” I say.

“Sam get stuck?” Concern crosses her brow, a crease forming below the short bangs.

“Employees can’t exit the front,” I say. “I warned him.”

“He thought he rerouted that badge.”

“Go around the corner,” I say. “He’ll be along.” I have utter faith in Sam’s ability to get out of a tight spot. Besides, he’s a legitimate Vigilante. Unless they tie him to me immediately, he’s golden.

Colette inches the car along the front of the compound, then pulls around to the side. We both scan the gates for openings, side exits, and vulnerable spots in case we have to make a hard getaway.

Minutes tick by.

“Where is he?” Her voice has an edge of fear. “We had to kill communication since we could be overheard.”

The door opens, but instead of Sam, Johnson comes out. He spots the black car and heads straight for us.

“Are we compromised?” Colette asks. “Should we go?” She reaches for the acceleration switch.

I hold out my arm to stop her. “I am not leaving Sam.”

Johnson comes right up to the blacked-out window to peer in. As soon as his nose is close to the glass, I open the door with enough force to break his nasal bone.

He falls back in a stagger, blood dripping down his face. I step out of the car and wait for him to look up.

“Shit,” he says. “You?”

“The one and only,” I say. I’m not interested in getting his blood on my new suit, so instead of hitting him again, I pinch the nerve in his neck that will drop him cleanly.

His knees buckle. I don’t bother to spare him from collapsing facedown on the asphalt.

Sam smashes through the door. “Get ready to roll,” he calls out. Behind him are two other guards.

I step back inside the car. “Impeccable timing,” I tell him.

“Go,” he says as he dives into the backseat.

Colette wheels us away. The guards give chase for a moment, but once Colette punches the nitrous acceleration, they fall behind. One stops to speak into his lapel radio. Won’t matter. In moments we are past the gate.

“Nice work, you two,” I say. “I owe you both a drink.”

“Cut it too close,” says Sam from the backseat, “so you can add that to our tab. Hope your money’s good.” He rolls down the window and tosses his guard badge out onto the asphalt.

“Always,” I say. Not that Sam needs money. Every Vigilante has access to any amount necessary, without question.

Sam claps my shoulder. “God damn, it’s good to have you back,” he says.

“It’s been too quiet without you around,” adds Colette. She downshifts the car back into normal drive mode. “What’s your plan now?”

I watch the scenery whip by out the window for a second. “I need to get to Klaus. I think Jovana’s on to him.”

“Still the thing with that woman?” Colette’s voice holds a laugh.

I frown. “I killed an innocent man because of her.”

“Not so innocent,” Colette says.

“Neither of them,” I say. My stomach burns just thinking of Jovana.

I loved that woman. Stupidly. Foolishly.

To my doom. She used me to kill one of her rivals, a fellow Vigilante.

That act landed me in prison. Only Sam, Colette, and Klaus know the truth.

Jovana vanished after getting my hands dirty.

“I think she has Klaus,” I say.

“He was lying low, no?” says Colette. “How do you know he’s been compromised?” I sense the worry in her voice.

“His letters. They weren’t right,” I say.

“You and your bondage,” Colette says, shaking her head. “Klaus probably got his knickers in a knot just trying to keep it all straight.”

I glance back at Sam, who stares out the window, his dark face clouded with concern. “Klaus is a smart man,” he says. “He can manage a little code.”

“I agree,” I say. “We need to get to the Tennessee safe house.”

“We can’t go with you,” says Sam. “We’ve taken enough risk with the syndicate for one day.”

He’s right. They jeopardized their positions as Vigilantes for me.

“Then drop me off. I need to check on him.”

“Already planned for,” Colette says. She glances in the rearview mirror at Sam. “Get out of that suit, Sam. It’s probably got some sort of sensor.”

“Nah. It’s civilian,” Sam says, but still he strips off the guard uniform. As we pass over a river, he rolls down the window and lets it fly.

“Sam! Litterbug!” Colette is indignant.

“Toss the suit! Don’t litter!” Sam tries to sound mad, but the Louisiana lilt to his voice belies the humor.

I sit back in the seat, savoring the sights. One year in that hellhole. The only view was the straight-up look at the sky while out on the grounds. Now Chicago stretches out in all directions. Pubs. Restaurants. Long rows of houses fitted close together. The El.

“I’m taking you as far as the suburbs,” Colette says. “There we meet up with our clone IDs.”

“I was wondering how you went off grid,” I say.

Sam pulls a knit shirt down over his chest. “You’ve been in the clink, boss.

Been a lot of tech upgrades in the syndicate while you were out of commission.

” He taps a leather suitcase beside him on the backseat.

“Inside here are all the tools we predicted you might need while you avoid the network. There’s an audio rundown on them for you to listen to on the drive. ”

I nod appreciatively. Sam is the gadget man, even if he can be old school about it. He often chooses a hammer over a retina scan, but he always knows the latest Vigilante tech. His ability to circumvent it with no more than a loose wire and a pair of pliers has saved us more times than I can count.

Colette has always been our getaway girl. She can maneuver anything with wheels, wings, sails, or engine.

“This Lexus is stolen, and the identifier chip is attached to a jelly brick in the trunk to give it some mass,” Colette says. “I’d say you’ve got three days on this ID before he surfaces.”

I don’t ask about the status of the man whose identity I’ll be borrowing. When Colette says “surfaces,” it could mean anything, and it’s probably better I don’t know.

Sam points at the front dash. “I’ve set up a countdown on the ID.” A red display projects seventy hours onto the windshield.

“I think you should give up on the woman,” Colette says, a bitter edge to her voice.

I try to sound cool and impassive, not that it fools her. “The syndicate is going to come after me,” I say. “Jovana’s the only shot I have at clearing my name.”

I have zero future if the Vigilantes don’t back me on this, and they all know it.

Sam leans forward. “Jovana’s been off grid the whole year. Nobody can track her, not even the syndicate.”

“That’s impossible,” I say.

“She’s obviously got friends in high-tech places,” Sam says.

Colette reaches over to squeeze my arm. “We’ll help as we can,” she says. “All the letters are scanned and in the system.”

“Thanks,” I say. Colette does always remember every last detail.

“We’re approaching our rendezvous with our clones.” Colette touches a yellow button on the screen in the dash. “You can play the letters back here. Perhaps get more ideas.”

I doubt I will learn much more than I did in prison, with nothing else to do but study the strange rearrangement of my code in handwriting that does not match any of the styles Klaus adopted.

“I know what a risk you two took to get me out,” I say to Colette. “I won’t forget it.”

“We won’t let you forget it,” Sam says with a laugh.

Colette exits the freeway and approaches a small gas station. This Lexus is electric, but as we approach, a hybrid Mustang wheels out from behind the pumps.

“That’s our ride,” Sam says. “You’re letting me drive this one.”

Colette rolls her eyes. “I’ll try not to get bored.” She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Be safe, Jax. We’ll catch up with you again in three days.”

“Be careful out there,” Sam says. “There’s a blackout phone in the bag. It’s a rare bird. Don’t use it unless you have to.”

I nod. Colette and Sam walk away toward the Mustang. Two other people get out of the car and head into the station.

I open the passenger door slowly, breathing in the smell of gasoline and autumn. Leaves skitter across the broken pavement.

I walk around to the front of the car, fingers lightly grazing the smooth glossy surface of the hood.

It is an excellent vehicle and well equipped.

I am out of prison, and on my way to clearing up this little matter that made the Vigilantes overreact so abominably.

Time to head to the Tennessee safe house and see who is impersonating Klaus, or holding him as some sort of hostage.

Whoever it is, they’d better be ready for me.