“Anything yet?” he asks.
I adjust the AirPod in my ear. “Yeah, guard one picks his nose every twelve minutes. I've got a stiff neck, no feeling in my left ass cheek, and I’m really starting to hate Romanian radio,” I say.
I can almost hear him roll his eyes. "Kingston wants an update."
“Tell Kingston I'm working on my tan and I’ll get back to him later.”
“I'll give him the message.”
The line goes dead. I almost smile. Reign is the only person in this family who can translate my bullshit into something Kingston won't murder me over.
I slouch back against the seat, my eyes fixed on the feed. It’ll be four more hours before the extraction team shows up. Four more hours of?—
Wait.
I sit up so fast I nearly knock the laptop off the dash.
There’s movement on the south corridor feed in the lower portion of the screen. I narrow my eyes at the figure darting through the blind spots between cameras like they choreographed the whole thing in advance.
It’s not a guard. Guards don't move like that.
No, this person was trained. They know the camera positions, the guard rotation schedule. They've done their homework.
I zoom in, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I try to narrow down the specific location.
The figure suddenly stops before rounding a corner and pulls out some kind of handheld device. The light catches a face for half a second?—
A hiss of breath slips from my lips.
It’s a woman.
She’s got dark hair pulled into a braid and a sharp profile.
I take a screenshot and run it through every database I have access to – Interpol, the CIA watchlist, and Europol.
Fuck. I rake a hand through my hair when my searches come up empty.
Nothing. She's a ghost, according to those databases.
But ghosts don’t exist in our world. You can scrub a file, burn a paper trail, disappear from every government database on the planet, but someone always knows who you are.
I glare at my laptop screen and do another search on the Dark Web when I finally hit a match.
Tierney Blake, daughter of Declan Blake. I scan some of the search results. He’s head of an organized crime family in Belfast with blood ties to the Irish mafia in the south. They have operations across northern Ireland and some in Eastern Europe.
My eyes flick back to the security monitor. The woman, Tierney, is already past the second security checkpoint, still moving fast like there’s fire on her heels. The guards don't notice a damn thing. She's inside, and they haveno fucking clue.
Part of me is impressed. Most of me is pissed.
My AirPod crackles. Reign again.
“Bronx, you seeing this?”
“Yeah. Looks like we've got company.” I scrape a hand down the front of my stubbled face. “I did a check. The intruder’s name is Tierney Blake. Irish mafia royalty on her dads side.”
“Shit, what does she want?” He pauses for a second. “Kingston wants you to pull out. Wait for the team.”
I watch my secondary monitor light up like a Christmas tree. She's accessed the mainframe and there’s a download in progress.
