We wait on the declining ramp as the basement door rolls open under the Shard. Florescent lights illuminate the garage and at first, everything seems normal. Jackson starts to reverse the Bentley into a space next to the Mercedes.
The engine’s hum falls silent. Gregory moves to get out of the car.
‘Wait!’ Jackson snaps, already halfway out of his door.
‘Stay inside,’ Gregory says to me.
Jackson crouches beside the Mercedes and runs a finger along the long, jagged rubber edges of what once was the rear tyre. Anxiety murmurs in my chest.
Gregory looks at the far side of the Mercedes. ‘They’re all slashed.’
My heart thuds like a jackhammer. My body stiffens. My lungs forget how to breathe.
‘The door,’ Gregory says, looking at the entrance to the lift vestibule, forced and damaged, ajar.
‘Romeo One, come in,’ Jackson says into his radio. ‘Romeo One, come in.’
There is a crackle on the line then, ‘Romeo, this is Romeo One.’
‘Send a car. Now!’
Gregory opens the rear passenger door to the Bentley.
‘Scarlett, I want you to take the car and leave.’
Panic and adrenalin take over my body.
‘What? I… no. I’m staying with you.’
‘Scarlett, do as I say.’
‘But where would I go? I’m not leaving you.’
‘Scarlett—’
‘She’s right,’ Jackson says, sliding into the driver seat and opening the glove box. ‘He could be anywhere. We don’t know that he’s here. She’s safer with us.’
That should probably make me feel better. It doesn’t. All I can think is that he’s out there. Pearson ruined Gregory’s life. He murdered my dad. Now he’s coming for us.
Gregory grabs my hand and pulls me forcibly from the Bentley. ‘Stay by my side. Don’t leave my side. Do you hear?’
‘Yes,’ I croak through my dry throat.
Jackson removes a black, leather box from the glove compartment and takes what I recognise from movies to be a Glock.
This can’t be real.
Jackson leads, holding the gun by his side. Gregory pulls me with them by my hand, his determination the only thing making my hollow legs move. I follow, turning my head left, right, as far back as it will go. At the vestibule door, we line up, our backs against the garage wall. Jackson clicks the safety off the Glock as he slowly moves towards the busted door.
I swallow vomit that rises to my mouth.
He kicks the door open then jumps through, turning left and right, poised to fire. He gestures for Gregory and me to step into the vestibule then radios Romeo One for a time check.
‘Ten minutes.’
Then there’s a heavy, wet breath on the line. It doesn’t speak but its presence is real. Something tells me it’s Pearson. If he’s jacked into the channel now, he could’ve been following our moves all night.
He’s here.
