Butcher slaps his back. “It’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be.”
Shade stands with his back to the door, his eyes always scanning, probably calculating angles and bolt hole exits and whether the cracked streetlight is going to be an issue. The club knows little to nothing about him. He rarely shares. Hell, he rarely speaks. As if Jackal has said everything that needs to be said, he often simply nods along.
We go in, guns raised, because the old providence that if you go in prepared, you’re less likely to find trouble always rings true.
When flashlights show the place is empty, Grudge flicks on the lights as Atom’s team arrive from the rear.
“Someone has been here, recently,” Taco says, studying a large metal table. “There are fresh marks in the dust.”
There’s a mezzanine office up a staircase to the side, and I take the stairs two at a time. If someone has been here, the safest place to hide would be up there.
When I push the door open, I see a small cot on the floor. Sleeping bag. Pillow. Some fast-food wrappers in a paper bag.
A person could be sleeping here for any number of reasons. Could be a disillusioned veteran with nowhere to stay. Could be nothing to do with my club.
But the secured laptop and weapons suggest it is. The person is an expert marksman if the modded military rifle in front of me is anything to go by. There’s a second case, but the weapon is missing. There are three passports. Two American and one Irish. All with the same image in them, each with a different name.
A white man with a messy mop of brown hair.
There’s also a pile of papers, hand-written.
“Santa’s got a new workshop,” Grudge says when he walks in to see what I’m looking at.
“We need to get out of here,” I say suddenly.
“Yeah?” Grudge asks.
“Think about it. This person isn’t here right now for a reason. And there are two more slots in that weapons case, which tells me he has at least one with him. My gut says whoever this is went out doing whatever they do. They come back and see us in here, we might lose them forever. But we need to find out how they are getting in and out so we can watch the place. And we can’t leave a clue we’ve been here—that might spook ‘em.”
Grudge whips out his phone and takes a photograph of the three passport pages. “We need to find out who this person is.”
“Lights off,” I shout as we hurry down the stairs. “Someone is living here, and they’re armed.”
Jackal hits the light switch, throwing us into darkness.
“Question is, are they coming back tonight?” Atom asks.
“They might have already seen us,” Smoke says. “Might have seen the trucks and us walking in.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But assume they haven’t. We need to find how they’re getting in and out of the building so we can trap them in here. Butcher needs to ensure everything is locked up tight again once we leave.”
“Umm, guys, I think I found something,” Babyface says.
“What?” I ask.
He points to something written in the dust on the countertop he’s leaning against.
“Might be a coincidence, but I really doubt it,” Babyface says.
There, on the top of the counter, written in the dust like some lovesick teen, is the name Wren.
“Wren,” I say. “He’s definitely here for Wren.”
And then, I start running. Because the assailant isn’t here, and there’s a weapon missing, and there’s no vehicle outside.
My mind jumps to the only other place he could be…looking for Wren.
Grudge’s voice rises to a shout. “Take Atom, Jackal, and Shade with you. We’ll set up here, put a perimeter on this place. We’ll get him if he comes back here.”
