“You come back,” she said—soft, not pleading, just truth.
I didn’t promise, but I had no intentions of disobeying the order.
“We burn it down,” I said instead. “Then we come back.”
Alphabet chimed in. “Bones. Clock’s ticking.”
I touched Grace’s shoulder once—deliberate, solid—then stepped back through the door.
She watched me until it shut.
I heard the click as she slid the interior bolt.
Good.
Voodoo did the final touch, then we were back in the SUV. The day had grown longer and longer. Somewhere in here, late afternoon had become evening.
“Movement confirmed.” Alphabet said. “The blackout transport just changed course. Heading straight for the port.”
Voodoo shifted into drive, face going hard.
“Think they are sending a hit squad for the kids or for their men who fucked up?” Lunchbox asked.
“Both,” I said, doublechecking my gun. “Body armor for this.” We didn’t have everything I’d like, but we still had enough. Lunchbox was opening a case in the back.
Voodoo floored it.
“Give us an overview of the pier and the port,” I said as I pulled the vest on that Lunchbox passed up.
Alphabet didn’t waste a second.
“Copy. Overview coming up. Pulling satellite and traffic feeds… hold—” A pause, then the shift in his voice that always meanthe saw something he really didn’t like. “Okay. Listen close. Pier C is locked down tighter than usual. Almost no forklift traffic. Yard workers moved off main lanes. Either someone knows they’ve got company coming… or someone cleared the board to make room for this transport.”
“That’s deliberate,” Voodoo muttered.
“Every bit of it,” Alphabet confirmed. “Truck’s about a mile out. Long-bed hauler. Heavy suspension. No plates. Running cold—no transponder, no scanner ping, nothing to give me a digital fingerprint. That alone pisses me off.”
“Tell us about their route,” I said.
“You’re going to intercept near the west access lane,” he answered. “Transport’s coming up the outer road, hugging the fence line. If they keep pace, they’ll hit Dock 22 in four minutes.”
Legend scoffed. “That’s one of the loading docks for personal imports?”
“Yes, and from what I can see, it’s been used a lot recently.” Alphabet said, voice grim. “Means they are comfortable here.”
Voodoo pushed us into the outer lane, weaving between warehouse trucks with surgical precision. We merged onto the service road, keeping speed without drawing eyes. The port lights threw long golden streaks across the asphalt—barren, eerie, wrong.
The kind of wrong that made the hair at my nape rise.
Lunchbox leaned forward. “You want us tight on the tail or hanging back?”
“Hanging back,” I said. “Two hundred feet. I want a buffer if they’ve got shooters in the cab or someone in the rear compartment.”
Legend rolled down his window an inch, eyes narrowed. “Think they’re expecting company?”
“They’re expecting someone,” I said. “Maybe not us.”
Voodoo’s jaw flexed. “But they’ll get us anyway.”
