“Rage? Rage!” Carter snaps his fingers in my face.
“What?”
“Nothing, you saidgoodand then zoned out.”
“I’m already plotting our next steps,” I lie. “Let’s go.”
“Whatever you say, blue balls.”
Fucker.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
SARAH
It looks like mynot-so-far-fetchedtheory about those two is in fact true. They don’t hold back any moans or feel embarrassed by the pounding the bed’s headrest makes as it strikes the wall repeatedly.
Luckily, I was able to charge my phone last night, and as soon as it has enough battery, I turn it on. I really need to sleep with my earphones in, and put on some music to drown out the noises.
Now that I consider it, I have a few missed calls from different unknown numbers. The area code is Saudi, probably some robocalls trying to sell me whatever it is they sell over the phone around here.
Last song I remember before falling asleep isBlue Jay Way, and the first one I hear when I open my eyes isGood Morning, Good Morning. Not the best track to wake up to. I have to stop it right away, it is way too upbeat. I almost throw the phone against the wall.
It’s a noisy morning in the house. Pots clank and chairs are dragged. Listening closely, I can identify only one set of feet shuffling around the coarse floor only for them to be joined by another pair.
That’s probably them. But what if they’re not?
I immediately grab a gun the Frenchman gave me. It’s an older Bersa .22 handgun, and it is not much, but it’ll do fine inside this small apartment. I slowly exit the bedroom and head to the kitchen. I do not have much cover here, so being silent is the key. I manage to sneak around and finally reach the last corner that will have me facing the inside of the kitchen as soon as I turn. I stop, gather my thoughts, and listen some more. Some French is being spoken. It’s them. It sounds like an argument.
Unable to understand what they are saying, I go back to my room and put on my disguise. As I’m fixing my wig, I notice my earpiece rolling toward my hand, as if Rage had the ability to move it at will.
He can’t do that. Right?
I put it on and whisper, “Someone there?”
“Sarah.” Carter’s voice emerges from the other end, and I’m somewhat disappointed. In all honesty, I was expecting to hear Rage. “You still at the safe house?”
“Yes, I just woke up. The Frenchman and the woman are having a heated argument in the kitchen, and I opted to wait in the room.”
“Arguing about what?” Rage suddenly asks.Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
“Morning to you too, Rage. How would I know? They’re speaking French,” I whisper.
“Fair point. Get me closer,” he commands coldly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right n—”
“Just do it!” he yells. Something is not right.
I make my way back to the kitchen and take the same position around the corner. I let Rage listen for a bit until both shut up.
“Go back before they see you.” Rage’s instructions are followed by static. He has muted his mic.
Why?
“What were they saying?” I ask, curious. “Rage? Don’t shut me out!”
“The woman said she thinks it’s suicide.” Carter is mirroring Rage and his tone sounds cautious.
