The sound of the ring goes on forever.
And ever.
Seven times.
Eight times.
Did he go in without me?
My knee immediately stops bouncing.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
The chaos in my chest reaches a crescendo in my ears. I pull my gun out of the duffle at my feet and tuck it into my pants quickly before reaching for the door handle, “Wesley—”
The call connects and my body stiffens. “Christian, where are you?” My voice is unfamiliar in my ears. Insistent. Anxious.
There’s a single beat of silence before his voice breaks through the earpiece, “I’m inside.”
Annoyance immediately surges through my core, “How thefuck—”
“I opened a window.”
“Are you in danger?” I bark.
“What? No.” I can already see his brow furrowing, “I broke in.”
“You should’ve waited for me!”Tu loco idiota—“Which window did you go through?”
“Backyard. Above the kitchen sink.”
“Don’tfuckingmove without me, understand?”
There’s a silence on the line and for a moment I think he’s actually going to ignore me until his voice sounds through the phone, “Fine.”
I think my men are seriously forgetting the chain of command here.
I hang up the call with more curses rolling off my tongue in Spanish, before finally turning to Wesley, “Wesley. Stay. We’ll be out quickly.”
“Woof woof,” Wesley replies with a dismissive wave and I hope he can feel the divine retribution in my glare.
Note to self: repair chain of command as soon as possible.
Philip’s place is caramel-painted, with a red statement door, two storeys and a fence closing off his yard and the back of his property. The garage is closed and all the windows are shut tightly. It’s clear to anyone looking in that he’s out of town.
I take a quick look around before walking up to the wooden fence next to the garage and vaulting my body over it, landing on the other side without a sound.
At this time of day, the surrounding neighbours are at their offices in the city. It was professional of Xavier at least, to check on their whereabouts beforehand and make sure there were no witnesses to our break-in.
Thankfully, Philip doesn't fancy pets, so the backyard is filled with basic things—a toolshed, a barbecue set, a glass table with two chairs—there’s nothing out of the ordinary just yet.
The window leading to the kitchen is wide open—one of three fancy windowpanes jutting out just for me—and a crazed smile slips onto my face.
What are the chances Philip left this one window open, when the rest of the house was shut so tightly?
