“Federal agents, Mr. Mikhail Levin,” a voice shouts. “We just need a moment of your time.”
“Catfish, move,” Smoke whispers harshly.
A man in a blue jacket with the letters FBI on it appears on the edge of the driveway, as if looking to see where the pathway leads. In the weak light from the living room window, I see a solidly built man, with brown hair swept from a side part.
A corporate man.
Predictable.
One who matches the image on the passports.
I’m grateful that the combination of darkness and the fence keep him from seeing us.
I reach for my gun as three more vans arrive.
“They can see our fucking footsteps,” Grudge says, grabbing my elbow. “And it’s a death sentence if we kill one of those fuckers.”
It’s enough to force my feet to move, one in front of the other. We sprint through the neighbor’s backyard, through an open gate, into the narrow alley behind the property. Racing along dark garages, I wonder if the FBI have already spotted Atom’s truck.
Pressing into the shadows between the garages, I wonder if the cold and damp air could be harming the electronics we’re carrying.
Smoke holds up his hand and steps out a little to glance onto the street. The road captain relies on our usual hand signals to tell us it’s clear to move forward. At the end of the block, we hit the street where the truck waits.
And just as we reach it, I hear the distant ricochet of a single shot.
33
WREN
The door wakes me first, the faintest creak breaking through my light sleep. It’s been a tough night, knowing River was out there in the cold.
It was Shade who had a bottle of whiskey brought over from the clubhouse and forced me to bed with a large glass in my hand.
The blankets lift, a cool breeze robbing some of the warmth, and then the bed dips as River climbs in next to me. Cold hands slip around my waist, rousing me fully from my half sleep. A sigh escapes me as he pulls me tight against his bare chest, his lips pressing right up against my ear.
“Ahh,” I squeal as I adapt to the chill.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, the words followed by a yawn.
I’m flooded with relief. It doesn’t even occur to me to ask whether Mika was there or what he found. I just care that he’s home.
Safe. Where he’s supposed to be.
I lift my pajama shirt a little and place his hands on my skin to warm them. “Are you in one piece?”
“Mm-hm. Still got all my fingers and toes. And I got you a stack of electronic goodies to look at in the morning. A laptop, drives, a tower, a phone.”
“You did?” I push up on my elbows, suddenly awake. My man looks tired. There’s a streak of dirt on his forehead. And, yes, I’m admitting it to myself that he’s mine. “I should go make a start at seeing what is?—”
“Get back here,” River says, tugging me back to him.
“Pushy.”
River chuckles. “Whatever is on those files can wait an hour. Never been apart from someone and it really mattered before.”
His words make me smile. I love the honesty in them. It’s the way it should be in the quiet of this room, in the early hours of the morning.
“You’re a miracle,” I tell him as his fingers work the buttons of my pajama shirt.
