"If this goes south," I warn, "I was never here."
"Deal." She checks her watch again. "Now, let me explain exactly how this is going to work..."
As I listen to her outline the plan—precise, methodical, and clearly well-researched—I'm struck by the realization that James wasn't exaggerating about her. If anything, he might have undersold just how dangerous Maddie Brooks really is.
And as I follow her deeper into the woods, positioning myself at the vantage point she's selected, I can't help but wonder if thisis what freedom feels like: making the wrong choice for all the right reasons.
Or maybe it's just the gamble I've been waiting for all along.
Chapter 5 - Maddie
I can't believe he actually showed up. Even more surprising, he's staying to help.
Watching Dice position himself where I directed, checking his earpiece, I feel that familiar rush of power. Men are so predictable, so easily manipulated when you know which buttons to push. One fake distress call and he came running like a knight on a rumbling steed.
"I'm in position," his voice crackles through my earpiece. "Still think this is insane, but I'm here."
"Roger that," I respond, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. "Truck should be arriving in approximately three minutes."
I check my watch, then scan the dark road again. Everything is going according to plan. The intel was solid, the timing perfect. Another successful job to add to my résumé.
Control. That's what this is all about. When you grow up with a father who uses his fists more than his words, who drinks until he becomes a monster, you learn quickly that power is everything. The difference between victim and victor is simply who has control of the situation.
I've never been powerless since I left that house at sixteen. Never again.
"Vehicle approaching," Dice's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Single headlight. Motorcycle, not our target."
"Copy that." I press deeper into the shadows beside the abandoned gas station. "Stay hidden."
The motorcycle passes without slowing. Good. Two more minutes.
I check my equipment one last time: lock picks, small flashlight, gloves. The package should be small enough to fit in my jacket pocket—a prototype smartwatch supposedly worth millions to the right buyer. My client was very specific about its retrieval.
"Headlights," Dice reports. "Big vehicle. Could be our truck."
I watch as the delivery truck rounds the bend, exactly as expected. "That's our target. Remember, I need three minutes once the driver steps out. If anyone else approaches, two clicks on the comm."
"Got it."
The truck pulls into the gas station as predicted. These long-haul drivers are creatures of habit. Same routes, same breaks, same stops. This one always takes a bathroom break here, despite the station being abandoned for years. The portable toilet around back still works, apparently.
The driver exits, stretching his back before heading around the building. My window is open.
"Going in," I murmur, already moving.
I reach the truck in seconds, quickly picking the simple lock on the cargo door. Amateur security. Inside, boxes are stacked neatly, labeled with shipping codes that mean nothing to most people. But I know exactly what I'm looking for.
Box 37-K should be—there. Third row, second stack. I slide it out and open it with my knife. Inside, nestled in protective foam, is a sleek black case. I flip it open to confirm the contents, a watch that looks more like a miniature computer.
"Ninety seconds," Dice warns in my ear.
I pocket the watch, reseal the box, and place it back in its original position. In and out, no signs of disturbance. The theft won't bediscovered until delivery tomorrow, by which time I'll be long gone.
"Package secured," I whisper, moving back toward the truck doors. "Exiting now."
Just as I reach the doors, I hear voices. Not from my earpiece, from outside the truck. Multiple male voices, none of them belonging to the driver.
"Unexpected company," Dice hisses urgently. "Three men, armed. Not looking like random passersby."
