Layla had always thought of it like putting on a motorcycle helmet, one that would blunt the worst of the incoming sights, sounds, and smells. At times, when she needed to use her abilities to their fullest, she envisioned lifting the visor of the helmet. Like now.
Thousands of scents immediately came rushing in, almost knocking her on her butt. She gripped the edge of the wall as they all hit her nose at once, fighting to be sorted, identified, and catalogued.
“You okay?” Jayson asked, putting his hand on her shoulder to steady her.
She nodded. “Yeah. There are just a lot of smells to take in. I’m good now.”
Giving him a reassuring smile, she stepped out of the alcove and inhaled deeply. She immediately picked up the scent of the two soldiers who had just walked past, as well as trace smells of dozens of other people who had recently moved down this street, not to mention car exhaust, gas, oil, explosives, gunpowder, burned wood, crushed stone, sweat, and blood—lots of blood. This part of Donetsk had obviously seen a lot of violence.
On the upside, there definitely weren’t any other people heading their way, which was the one thing she’d actually been sniffing for.
“We’re clear,” she said softly.
Jayson gave her hand a squeeze, then led the way to a Dumpster near the twelve-foot-high wall surrounding the building. According to Mikhail, there was a loading dock on this side of the RSA with a big roll-up door used for deliveries, as well as a standard door for the workers. Layla prayed one of them had been left open. Ivy had trained her a little on picking locks, but she wasn’t very good at it.
When they got to the Dumpster, Jayson stopped and waited for her to do her thing. Layla hopped up onto the edge, nearly gagging at the stench coming from the trash. She wrinkled her nose. Focusing on who or what might be on the far side of the wall was difficult with the odors bombarding her.
Jayson climbed up beside her as if he hadn’t even noticed the stench. A benefit of not having a super-smeller, she guessed.
“All clear?” he asked.
Layla sniffed the air, but it was no use. All she could smell was garbage. She closed her eyes, shut down her nose, and depended on her ears instead. It took a few moments to tune out everything else around her, but once she did, it didn’t take long to confirm that there was no one on the other side of the wall.
She opened her eyes and looked at Jayson. “Clear.”
From where they stood on the edge of the Dumpster, the wall was only four feet above them and about five feet away. While it wasn’t far, Jayson still let out a small grunt as he made the leap. She frowned as he favored his right leg, ready to jump in and help, but he got both hands on the top of the wall and pushed himself up and over.
Layla followed, leaping across the gap between Dumpster and the wall, landing on the top feetfirst. She’d considered using her hands and pulling herself up like Jayson had, but decided against it. He’d know she was holding back on his account and wouldn’t appreciate it. If they were going to be a team, there were going to be some physical things she could do that he couldn’t, even without the back injuries. He knew that.
She dropped lightly to the ground on the other side of the wall and found him waiting for her with his pistol out. She reached for hers but stopped as she picked up the scent of Jayson’s blood. She looked down at his thigh, but it was hard to tell if any fresh blood was coming through his jeans because he was already heading across the courtyard toward the door on the loading dock. She didn’t need to see blood to know it was there though. Damn, he’d torn open the bullet wound in his thigh making that jump.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time or place to check the wound again.
Layla pulled her cell phone from her pocket as she ran and tapped out a quick message to Dylan and the others to tell them that she and Jayson were in. The three teens had positioned themselves around the front of the RSA building so they could warn her and Jayson if they saw anything—like militia soldiers showing up unannounced.
She put her phone away, slowing when she neared the truck backed up to the loading dock. Big and white, with tarp-covered sides, it was used to transport troops around the city. Her nose told her there was no one inside it, but she stepped up on the running board to check the interior anyway. She was about to jump down when she saw the keys swinging from the ignition.Huh. The militia soldiers were obviously the trusting type—or stupid. But then again, she doubted there was anyone around here crazy enough to steal a truck from them.
Jayson was waiting for her when she reached the top of the loading dock. “The door’s locked. How are your breaking-and-entering skills?”
Layla bit back a groan as she slipped her lock pick tools out of her back pocket and dropped to one knee in front of the door. Jayson moved closer to her, keeping an eye on the northeast corner and the main entrance. If someone came back here, that’d be the direction they’d come from.
She slipped her tension wrench and pick into the lock, closing her eyes and letting her ears tell her when she’d disengaged each pin. It was a little hard concentrating with Jayson standing so close to her. The tangy odor of blood had taken a backseat to his masculine pheromones, and they were driving her crazy. She’d always had a thing for the scent he naturally put off, but since they’d gotten over a few of their relationship hurdles last night, it seemed like she was even more aware of him.
Fortunately, he didn’t try and rush her. Instead, he simply kept an eye out for trouble and let her work. She felt another pin move aside. That meant there was only one left. She wiggled her tools again. A moment later, she felt the last pin give way. She smiled. Maybe she was better at this lock picking stuff than she thought.
Putting her tools away, she opened the door just enough to take a sniff and sighed with relief. She and Jayson had been lucky so far. Sooner or later, they were going to run into the patrolling militia soldiers. The thought of a confrontation with them made her tense up all over.
“You know,” Jayson said as she got to her feet, “I think women who can pick locks are hot.”
Layla whipped her head around to give him a startled look—along with a reminder about where they were—only to smile as he teasingly waggled his eyebrows at her. Jayson had known she was nervous and cracked a joke to calm her down. It worked.
Giving her a nod, he opened the door and slipped inside, taking point. Layla drew her pistol and followed. Of course, if they ended up having to shoot somebody in there, the rescue mission was going to be cut way short. One gunshot would probably bring twenty soldiers running. It would be damn near impossible to save Anya if they were busy trying to save themselves.
They crossed through a big open area filled with pallets. Most held office supplies, but there were also boxes of bottled water, military rations, and small arms ammunition. Because obviously, everyone in Donetsk stored their food and ammo together.
From there, they headed down a long, central corridor, looking for the stairs to the basement. Even though she and Jayson had never trained together, they moved well as a team. They covered each other smoothly as they slipped past each intersection, not having to say a single word to communicate what they were doing. Another indication of how in tune they were with each other. She’d never been in such perfect sync with anyone like she was with him.
They had to duck into offices twice to avoid roaming soldiers, but luckily, Layla could hear when they were coming, so she and Jayson never came close to getting caught. He never hesitated or questioned her judgement, which was nice. Not that she thought he would, but her sister had told her horror stories about her former partners who hadn’t respected her shifter abilities at all.
