“Yeah.” He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door. “You better be.”
Then he was gone, out to the back of the house, and I stood in the kitchen for a moment with the weight of what he'd said settling into my chest.
“That went well,” Dmitri said from the doorway.
“Don't.”
“I'm not criticizing the plan. The plan is good.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge. “I'm just noting that you've got more personal stakes in this one than you're used to. Worth knowing about yourself before we go.”
He wasn't wrong. I didn't say so.
“Ten minutes,” he said, and went back to Luka.
I followed him back to where Luka and Ash were pulling the equipment together.
“The phone just pinged a tower in Lincoln Park,” Luka said. “Moving south. Whoever's carrying it is on the move.”
“Then we follow.” I grabbed my jacket and checked that my knife was still in the inside pocket. “Let's end this.”
We loaded into Dmitri's SUV. Luka riding shotgun, Dmitri driving, me in the back. Ash stayed at the house to coordinate with the backup team and monitor communications.
The drive into the city was quiet. Just the engine and Dmitri's occasional muttering in Russian as he navigated the traffic.
“The phone's stationary now,” Luka said. “Lincoln Park. Residential. Expensive.”
“Home base or a meeting point,” Dmitri said.
“Either way, we get eyes on the location.” Luka pulled up the map. “See who's there.”
We parked three blocks out and went on foot. Tree-lined streets, brownstones, renovated buildings that cost more than most people made in a year. The phone's location put us at a building mid-block. Four stories, well-maintained, security entrance.
We took position across the street. Dmitri set up a long-lens camera pointed at the entrance and we settled in.
Ten minutes. Fifteen. A few people came and went, none of them matching what we were looking for.
Then at seven forty-five, someone came out of the building.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark clothes with a jacket that was too heavy for the temperature. They walked with a controlled deliberateness that had nothing casual about it, every step placed with intent.
Dmitri zoomed in and captured their profile as they moved toward a motorcycle parked at the curb.
Black sport bike. The same one from the bank footage.
My blood went cold. “That's him.”
“Certain?” Luka's hand was already on his phone.
“Same build. Same bike. Same everything.” I reached for the door handle. “We need to follow.”
“Wait.” Luka grabbed my arm. “Carefully. We don't spook them.”
The figure pulled on a helmet, black and full-face, every feature obscured. Then they turned and looked directly at our vehicle.
Even from across the street, even through the tinted windows, I felt the weight of it. They saw us. They knew exactly who we were and they weren't surprised.
“Fuck,” Dmitri muttered.
The figure mounted the motorcycle and started the engine. Then they reached into their jacket, pulled out a phone, and held it up so we could see it clearly.
