Jayson glanced at Layla to see her regarding him with a questioning look. Clearly, she was going to leave this up to him. The ultimate ingo ask your father, he supposed.
His gut was shouting at him to leave the kids out of this, that they weren’t old enough to risk their lives in a shoot-out, but he didn’t have the right to make that decision for them. Dylan was going to do whatever was necessary to get Anya back, and Olek was going to help. As for Mikhail, he’d been risking his life against these people for a long time now. Jayson couldn’t change the circumstances or the danger the three teens were in. The best he could do was try to manage the situation and reduce the risk to the lowest level possible. But no matter what he did, things could still go wrong. If it did, these kids had to be able to defend themselves.
“Okay,” he said. “You keep the weapons. But you fire them only as a last resort. Understood?”
All three of them nodded in return.
“What’s the plan?” Dylan asked. “How are we going to get Anya and the other girls out?”
Jayson readjusted the flashlight until it shone fully on the drawing of Zolnerov’s residence. The main house seemed like a cross between a Tuscan villa and an American ranch with a multifloor structure in the middle and single-floor wings spreading out to either side. If Layla’s drawing was to scale—and Jayson had no reason to think it wasn’t—the place was easily ten thousand square feet. And that wasn’t counting the outlying buildings or the smaller structures set at various places along the perimeter wall that served as guard shacks.
“Dylan, you’ll be out on the road in front of the villa with Mikhail and Olek. When I give the signal, I need the three of you to draw the attention of the militia soldiers in that direction. I’m not sure how you’re going to do that, but I need as many guards heading that way as possible. You just need to keep them occupied for a few minutes. Then I want the three of you to bail.” Jayson pointed at an intersection on the map about a quarter mile from the gate. “Fall back to this road junction here and hide.”
Dylan glanced at Mikhail and Olek. It was obvious that none of them liked the idea of hiding, but after a moment, they nodded.
“I might know some other people who can help us,” Mikhail said. “We’ll be the distraction you need. What are you and Layla going to do once we get the soldiers moving our way?”
“Layla and I will be going in over the perimeter wall in the back of the property,” Jayson said. “We’ll find Anya and the other girls, then get them out over that same wall.”
Mikhail frowned. “That is a very big house. How will you be able to find Anya in time? Even with a distraction, you probably won’t have more than five or ten minutes.”
Jayson didn’t point out that Mikhail was probably being optimistic with how much time they’d have. “That’s Layla’s department. But to find Anya, she’s going to need that scarf you’ve been carrying around, Dylan.”
Dylan looked as confused as the other two teens, but he reached inside his coat and pulled the piece of colorful material out, handing to Layla. “I don’t understand why you need this, but please bring it back. It’s Anya’s favorite. It’s pretty important to me too.”
Layla nodded solemnly. “We will. I promise.”
Jayson looked at the tense and worried faces around the table. “I won’t lie and say this is going to be easy. Or that it’s not dangerous. But I promise, if we all stick together and have faith in each other, we’re going to find Anya and those other girls, and we’re going to get them out alive.”
At his words, everyone at the table stood up a little straighter. Jayson was stunned at the trust and belief in their eyes—Layla’s as much as any of the others. He only hoped he was able to live up to that kind of trust. They might have survived the short raid on the RSA building, but his previous attempt at leading a combat mission had ended in disaster.
“All right, let’s get moving.” He rolled up the map Layla and Olek had made. “It’s going to take us a while to get out there, and I need time to check the place out in person before we go in.”
The teens immediately headed for the stairs, but Layla hung back with him. Jayson clicked off the flashlight, plunging the old library into darkness. Layla could still see of course, and she reached out to take his hand.
“We’re going to do this,” she whispered softly. “Together.”
He squeezed her hand. “Together.”
Chapter 12
Dreya had always thought that the apartment she maintained over in Columbia Heights was a tremendous waste of money. Not only did she already have a beautiful place in Foggy Bottom, but Rory had insisted she keep the lease paid up a year in advance—in cash. He’d been of the opinion she needed to have a place to hide out that was completely off the radar and where everything was under a fake name. According to him, cash made all that easier.
She’d humored him because, well…Rory knew a lot more about this business than she did. At the same time, she hated the idea of spending that kind of money on a place she rarely ever slept in. Of course, with so many of her fellow thieves showing up dead all over town, she’d changed her mind on the subject completely. As far as she was concerned now, Rory had been brilliant beyond belief.
The only problem was that she hadn’t kept the place stocked with food. If Rory were there, he would have been pissed. If he were there, she also liked to think he would have been proud to know she was taking his advice. Not that she had much of a choice.
With all the groceries she had in the trunk of the hatchback she’d borrowed from Zipcar, she’d be set for at least a week, maybe more. She’d hide out for a while, eat Cap’n Crunch out of the box while reading a few romance books and let things cool down. By then, hopefully she would figure out a way of getting Thorn’s crap back to him in manner that didn’t equal her ending up dead.
She parked the car along the curb four blocks down and two blocks over from her apartment complex. She didn’t know for sure, but she’d hazard a guess that Zipcar had GPS chips in their cars, and while the apartment was listed under a false name, her Zipcar account wasn’t. She didn’t want anyone tracing the car to her safe house.
She went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk, reaching in to pull out the first half-dozen bags. Crap, it was going to take her at least two trips to get all this food into the apartment. What a pain in the butt.
Fortunately, it wouldn’t be physically strenuous. Yet another fringe benefit of her freaky side. She could have carried all the bags at one time, but a woman her size doing that would have attracted a load of attention. That was something she definitely didn’t want.
Dreya had just turned and was walking down the sidewalk when she felt a strange prickling sensation run up her back. Dropping her bags, she spun around, her claws extending as she prepared to defend herself. Instead of someone charging at her with a butcher knife, a roaring chain saw or even a machine gun, the street was empty. Well, not exactly empty. There were a few cars passing by on the street, and a little farther away, there was a tiny, old lady walking her pug. The pug might have been eyeballing Dreya with an expression of major confusion, but there was definitely nothing around that looked threatening.
She glanced up at the nearby apartment windows and balconies, but there was nothing there either. The skin at the base of her neck was still tingling like mad, though. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.
