I nod and return my focus to the road. “Put on your sunglasses. In about twenty minutes, we’ll be in range of the first traffic cameras.” I tug a baseball cap down over my bald head, adjust my own shades, and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. We’re about to head right into the lion’s den, and I’m worried I forgot my whip.
* * *
By the timewe get to the old house on the outskirts of town, Wren’s fallen asleep. The street lights illuminate peeling paint, graffiti, and broken-down cars parked in several yards. Some things are universal, I guess.
“We’re here,” I say quietly as I pull up to the curb. She blinks and yawns, and I grip her wrist firmly. “You wait for me to come around. Understand? And once we get inside, you stay behind me until I’ve cleared the whole house.”
She nods, her fingers dipping between her breasts for a quick moment until I take her hand. “Unless we’re somewhere private, don’t ever check to make sure the tracker’s in place. Trust the tech. And trust me.”
The little transmitter I asked Royce to send me is nestled inside her bra. Loc8tion, the mobile app he’s been working on ever since a stroke left him unable to run his company, can track a person anywhere, and both Wren and I have receivers hidden in our clothes. The little GPS is small enough no one will find it if they pat her down—only if they make her remove her bra. And if someone does that, I’ll kill them.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
I want to reassure her, but it’s good for her to be a little scared. On edge. She’ll be more careful.
After I settle my pack on my shoulders, I skirt the car and open Wren’s door, listening for anything out of place. A television drones on quietly from two houses away, and a dog barks on the next block, but no footsteps, no odd rustling in bushes, and no movement in the house I can see.
Wren’s pack is smaller, but still easily thirty pounds, and I help her shrug into it before I ease the door shut and take her hand to lead her to the back of the house. My free hand rests on my pistol.
It’s so fucking cold in the house, I can see my breath, but once we’ve cleared every one of the six rooms and the basement, I motion for Wren to take a seat on the ancient couch while I tape the draperies down so no light will escape the windows, then plug in the little oil heater.
“It’ll be warm in an hour or so,” I say as Wren takes out her laptop and starts getting us connected to the internet.
“I can deal.” Despite her assurance, her teeth chatter as she works, and I pull out a couple of MREs, pour the water into the heating pouch, and wait for the beef stew to warm in my hands.
“Here. This’ll help.” Our fingers brush as she takes the packet, and I hold on a little longer than necessary. “I’ll go out tomorrow and get some supplies. Scout around. But tonight, this is all we have.”
“I need to get into the St. Petersburg Federal District offices. Here.” Wren brings up a map on her laptop and points to one of the cluster of buildings I’ve studied for the past two days. “Give me fifteen minutes in their server room and I’ll have access to the traffic camera network across the whole city. It’d be easier to go in at night.” She holds my gaze, and I arch a brow.
“You want to do this now?”
“Well…yes.” Digging a spork into the beef-flavored mush, she almost smiles. “You don’t want me exposed. Right? So…let’s get in and out while everyone else is sleeping.”
I don’t know if she’s brilliant, brave, or reckless. But I can’t argue with her logic. Heating up my own MRE, I sink down next to her. “All right, sweetheart. But once we’re done, you’re on lockdown. Understand?”
Multiple emotions flicker over her delicate features: anger, frustration, understanding, fear, and acceptance. Finally, she nods. “Understood. Just don’t keep me in the dark, Ry. That’s all I ask.”
Cupping her cheek, I lean in and brush a gentle kiss to her lips, offering the only promise I can. “I won’t.”
14
Wren
My heart hammers in my chest hard enough I’m amazed Ryker doesn’t hear it. At least my hands no longer shake, the anxiety pill working its way through my system. Even though I hack into government and private systems all the time, I rarely need to be on site to do so.
But I don’t speak Russian. Inara, Ryker’s teammate, is in my ear, and the glasses I wear transmit everything I see to her. Between the two of us, I hope this will only take a few minutes.
Ryker kneels by one of the building’s side doors, concealed in shadows as he picks the lock. Pressed against the wall, I force slow, deep breaths and grip my small tablet in the pouch slung across my body.
In. Out. Back to the safehouse. And then I can sleep. Maybe with Ryker’s arms around me again.
“Stay behind me,” Ryker whispers as he opens the door. Gun in hand, he clears the hallway, then motions for me to follow.
Safety lights guide our path to the inner stairwell, then down two levels to the underground server room. An electronic keypad glows at the door, and I unzip my pouch while Ryker puts his back to the wall and sweeps his gaze up and down the hall. Tension keeps his shoulders tight and his lips pressed into a thin line.
Flipping through my stash of adapters, I find the right one, hook up the tablet, and launch my password cracking app. These little keypads are easy. The server I need to hack into? Not so much.
Sixty seconds pass, each one tenser than the last, and Ryker keeps flexing his fingers—one of his anxious tics I’ve discovered in the past few days. Finally, there’s a quietbeep, the lock disengages, and I’m in.
