You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I was proving him wrong. I knew it. “Are we gonna be in some killer suits?” I asked. “They haven’t taken my measurements or anything, but I assume the fairies probably took them when I wasn’t looking.”
At one of the elevators, Donovan turned to me. “Jesus, no,” he said. “You said you read the file. You thinktwoof us driving a dry cleaning van in suits isn’t going to raise suspicions.”
My eye twitched. “Right, yeah. I just—”
“Just what?” he asked, patting me on the shoulder. “Need to give it a second thought.”
The elevator dinged. “It would still be fun.”
“As much as I’d love to see you in a suit, you haven’t trained to fight in one. They’re a bit constricting,” he said.
Another punch to my gut, telling me I was unprepared and I was, sure, but this was the first job—disregarding the one I did as my personal vendetta. “So what are we wearing?”
The armory had tailors who perfected looks that would fit all types of secret compartments. I didn’t think the look they’d be putting me in today was going to be so, pedestrian. It made sense though. I had to fit in, not stand out.
We were put in soft armor, with some weight over the shoulders, but if we were shot, it would absorb the impact, and it wasn’t clunky looking, especially not under the baggy t-shirts and zip through hoodies. We were in cargos, already had plenty of pockets, another baggy option, perfect for concealing the compact 9mm Glock, spare mags, and a knife. I was under strict instruction from Donovan not to even reach for them as he see me stroking the handle of the Glock in it’s holster.
Standing on two plinths across from each other. We were practically mirror images of each other, except his clothes were deeper and darker blues, and our assault tool belt was fixed on the same for each—not quite a mirror.
“It all feels—”
“Heavy?” he asked.
“Fixed,” I said, rolling my shoulders against the body armor.
One of the workers looked up at me as they lifted my t-shirt up and their warm hands reached around for the side of the armor. “Is it too snug?” he asked me.
Donovan’s eyes were heat rays int he back of his head. I couldn’t help but hold back my laughter. “I think it could be tighter, actually,” I said.
“Don’t,” Donovan said. “He’s not used to it. Just leave it how it is.” Almost snapping at the worker.
“As you wish, Mr. Kurt,” the worker said, letting go of me and walking off
I felt official, even if totally unremarkable—I suppose that was the entire point. “You know,” I said, stepping off the plinth. “I look good. Is it possible to say I’ve gotten a tan since being down here?”
“It is possible,” Donovan grumbled. “Now, we can’t leave through the front since we’ve been given weapons, we’ve got to leave through the rear.”
“I do love a rear,” I giggled.
Donovan’s glare returned. “Take it seriously, Art, or I leave you behind.”
“Ugh, come on, I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” I told him. “How am I supposed to do anything without it?”
“It’s in the plan,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s a breakfast food truck out front, and we’re gonna need all the energy because we’ve got to make sure the van has exactly 2.8 million in it before we leave the port.”
Maybe I wanted to stay behind now. I didn’t want to count 2.8 million—although seeing it in person was going tobe a huge bonus. “Can I get my phone back since we’re going outside?” I asked.
He laughed. “Nope. You’re still training. You’re notoutin the world. You’re stillhere.”
“And how long do you think it’ll be until I’m not longerunderyou.”
Donovan licked his lip lightly, almost suppressing a smile. I’d said it with intention, and that intention was received. “That’s Mercy’s call, not mine.” He stepped in front of me. “How does the vest feel?” His hand reach up my t-shirt to feel the sides strapped in snug. “This thing will save your live is bullets come.”
“And they’re not going to,” I said, trying to reiterate what he said, and what the file indicated. “We’re just doing a simple drive and drop.”
