He wanted to get a look inside the facility, but he couldn't risk Tori's safety. She was the priority. Nothing could change that. Not even an opportunity to figure out why the FBI might be hanging them out to dry could tempt him otherwise.
Emery turned and retraced his steps, but only got a few feet away before tires screeching on pavement broke the calm. The red Camaro slowed to a stop, just on the other side of the front gates, the hood billowing white smoke.
“Damn it, Tori,” he muttered.
The guard at the gate stepped out, his hands empty as Tori jumped out of the driver's seat, a scarf wrapped around her head like some rich South Beach miss. At this distance he couldn't hear what she was saying, but he could make out the distressed tones of her voice.
Tori.
Distressed.
As if.
Her act had the desired result. The guards circled around the car, several working together to pop the hood.
This was it. Maybe his only chance.
Emery snatched a set of needle-nose pliers from his toolbox and snipped the wire woven between the broken links to keep the fence together. He shouldered through the hole, carrying his toolbox against his chest.
At most, he'd have a couple of minutes to do a ten-minute job. Good thing he was quick with his hands.
Emery ducked behind the Dumpster, listening for a shout or footsteps to let him know he'd been made. He lifted the lid of the junction box, torn between a groan and pumping his fist. The wiring was old, probably older than the cameras. It should have been swapped out when the system was upgraded, but someone had cut corners.
Their loss.
Emery's gain.
He pulled out a knife, cutting away the plastic casing on the wires until he could ensure a good enough connection. Instead of the government-issue toys he normally played with, he'd put together a simple transmitter for their purposes. All they needed was the footage. If he kept the receiver online and functional, they'd have everything.
The Camaro revved and the sound of an excited female voice drifted toward him. The men's voices were a jumble of bass tones that got lost in the rumble of the car. Whatever Tori had fucked up, he was pretty sure they were about to fix it.
He grabbed the transmitter and very carefully set the live ends against the exposed wires. It would be ideal to solder the metals together, but there wasn't time for that. In a pinch, electrical tape would have to work. He wound the black adhesive around the ends, securing the transmitter to the wires.
A man called out to the others in Spanish, just on the other side of the Dumpster. Emery ducked his head and peered out at the street. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. They were cutting this way too close.
Tori stood by the Camaro, smiling and talking to the guards while the car idledâno smoke streaming from the hood now.
He made the last connection and wrapped the whole thing in tape to keep the connection from slipping due to the weight of the transmitter. Taking an extra moment, he shifted the wires, turning and pulling them so his additional tech wasn't visible. He slid the lid closed, cringing at the rusty scrape of the metal, but no one paid him any mind.
Now, how did he get out of here?
Emery pressed his back to the Dumpster and edged to where he could see the street and a bit of the loading docks. Most of the dockhands had dispersed, meandering back to their stations, or to whatever they'd been doing before. Tori dropped into the driver's seat of the Camaro and the guard from the shack closed her door.
His distraction was gone. Unless she drove the car into the guard shack, he would have to get out of here on his own.
He shoved one hand in his pocket and strolled in the opposite direction of the gate, toolbox in hand. This was the part of the job he'd struggled with in the beginning. Pretending to act normal. Time, practice, and the memory of what he'd suffered had taught him better than his instructors at Quantico. Now, he had a range of practiced reasons to be anywhere for any reason.
“Who are you?” A young man wearing new kicks, saggy jeans, and a shirt so neon it hurt Emery's eyes to look at stepped out from behind a metal door. There was no handle on the outside, which meant it was some sort of emergency-only exit. Clearly not hooked up to a security system. Good to know.
“Hi, I'm from Gexa. I'm checking the amps on your meters. Any idea where the subsidiary meters are?” This kid wasn't one of the hired staff. He looked . . . like someone the Eleventh Street gang would have driving for them.
“What are you talking about, man?” He scowled at Emery. “I don't know where no meters are.”
“Okay. I'm just going to look on the other side. I'm sure I'll find it.” Emery kept walking, glancing at the fence line, looking for an out. He couldn't make it over the razor wire before one of the guards was alerted. Considering they were packing, he didn't want to take his chances getting hung up and shot. Tori was just crazy enough to drive in and save him, and he was supposed to be protecting her. Going over the fence was out. He hadn't seen another weakness in the chain link. That meant he'd have to get through one of the gates. The primary one was too well guarded, but the secondary entrance hadn't appeared as secure.
He glanced once over his shoulder, but the young thug wasn't anywhere to be seen. Hopefully he went back to whatever he'd been doing before Emery arrived.
Chapter Six
Fifteen feet to the corner of the facility.
Emery rounded the corner, keeping his arms and shoulders relaxed. Most of the time, if he just acted like he belonged somewhere, no one questioned him. Creeping around a place like he didn't want to be caught was the fastest way to blow his cover.
From their brief tour around the facility, it appeared most of the activity was centered behind him on the back side of the building, where the loading docks were located. The front had been almost deserted.
Emery cursed their luck. A cluster of workmen on their lunch break had taken over some wooden picnic tables. A few yards away a couple of people in business casual attire were on a smoke break. It was business as usual. Except it was Saturday. Didn't office workers tend to avoid weekend shifts?
The most alarming things were two new additions to the parking lot. They were not the kinds of vehicles purchased for commuting.
A souped-up Nissan GT-R with a spoiler and body kit that weren't stock, and a heavily modified Ford Mustang GT 500. Those were racing cars. He was willing to bet he had their license plate numbers on file.
One of the external doors opened and a man wearing work boots, jeans, and a plaid shirt speared Emery with his gaze.
“Hey, you from the electric company?” The man stalked toward Emery, crunching the gravel underfoot.
Shit.
He hated interfacing with people.
“I am,” he replied when the workman was close enough he didn't have to yell.
“Are you here about the combustion problem inâ”
“No, sorry, that's above my pay grade. They sent me out to check the meter lines to make sure you're getting adequate power. Once I verify that, they can figure out what's wrong and who to send out.”
“Damn it. We need those working.” The man put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
“What are you making here?” Emery peered up at the building.
“Not sure yet. We're getting her up and ready to run.”
“Oh, okay.” Emery shrugged. “I'm going to go grab some things from my truck. Is there a better way around here?”
“Where'd you park?”
“On the street. I needed to see the meters over there.” Emery turned and gestured at the line of smaller businesses. “Then the ones over here. I thought I'd just walk it, but that might have been a mistake.”
“Yeah, man, that was a mistake.” The workman chuckled. “Go around the back. I'll let them know you're on your way.”
“Thanks, man. I'd appreciate that.”
Emery resisted the urge to sprint for the gate. Someone in Evers's organization was bankrolling this building. Why? And why were there Eleventh drivers on-site?
The entire walk took less than ten minutes, but by the time he reached the bodega where he was supposed to meet Tori, he was sweating. No red Camaro was in sight.
The bodega was older. The gas pumps had more rust on them than paint. All of the windows were covered by metal bars. But no cameras. He decided to take his chances and ducked inside. It was almost as hot inside as it was outside. Several fans moved the air around, but it didn't alleviate the stifling temperature. Emery's stomach growled as the aroma of pulled pork and spices reached his nose.
The back of the shop sported a little Cuban deli, with heating lamps keeping today's offering warm. Emery grabbed a couple bottles of water and strolled to the back to inspect the food.
Tori loved a good pulled-pork sandwich.
The bells attached to the main entrance chimed and several loud people entered, speaking in a mix of English and Spanish.
Just his luck.
Emery tilted his head to the side. He wasn't surprised to see the flashy drivers for the Eleventh stroll in. With the way their day was going, this was about par for the course. These guys were more than a thorn in their side now. They were a problem.
The elderly man chopping what looked to be brisket wiped his hands on a towel hanging from his waist and turned his attention on Emery.
“
Dos tortas de carne de cerdo deshebrada, por favor
.” Emery gestured to the day's offering, labeled pork on a paper flag stuck into the meat. Chances were the old man didn't even speak English.
The thugs' presence was a dark shadow. The deli man glanced several times at the Eleventh Street crew carrying on, picking up candy or chips before putting them down. They were kids with no purpose other than causing trouble. What kind of crap did they pull here? How much had they stolen simply because they could?
Emery couldn't stop today, but he would put an end to their nonsense.
The man handed over the food and Emery paid in cash. There would be no more plastic currency for him. Not until the threat to Tori was gone. He didn't know what kind of resources the hit team might have, but they weren't the only ones on their trail now. CJ probably had his accounts and aliases flagged.
“
Gracias
.” Emery nodded at the man and turned toward the door.
“Hey you, the electric company man.” The same saggy pantsâwearing kid chewed on a straw not five feet away. “You find what you lookin' for?”
“Yeah, just grabbing something to eat before getting back to work. Have a good day.” Emery strolled toward the front door.
Easy does it. Act natural.
“What electric company you work for?” an older one of Saggy Pants's companions asked.
Emery paused at the door. “Gexa.”
He had no idea if Gexa serviced this part of town, but it was a guess. His luck, the brains of this little group might actually know. He pushed out of the front door, scanning the street for the red Camaro.
Nothing.
Where the hell was Tori?
A van parked by the street honked its horn. He couldn't see the driver, but he could guess who it was.
Emery checked his six o' clock using the reflective lenses of his sunglasses. The brains of the little group watched him. Great.
He crossed the dusty parking lot to the van and pulled the passenger door open.
“Get in. Get in, now,” Tori said, pitching her voice low.
He climbed into the passenger seat and she accelerated before he'd even closed the door.
“Where'd the other ride go?” he asked, strapping in.
“The Eleventh is here.” She'd lost the headscarf, but her hair was up under a baseball hat she hadn't worn earlier, and half her face was obscured by sunglasses.
“I saw that.” He buckled himself in before he got thrown out of the van, and checked the mirror. The Nissan and Mustang sat in front of the bodega.
“What are they doing here?”
“I don't know.” But he intended to find out.
* * *
Tori was ready to be done with the day. Nearly two hours after they left the bodega they were strolling on foot toward the safe house. It wasn't that she'd done much, but the stress of it all wore her out.
Emery tapped at the screen of his phone doing God-only-knew what. He'd reported the car and van as abandoned, using a variety of apps to reroute the calls, all while walking. It was fascinating to think what he could do with something so simple as a phone. All she used hers for was to play games, take pictures, and text.
“Stop.” He reached out, grabbed her arm and pulled her under the overgrown branches of a lemon tree heavy with fruit.
“What is it?” Tori glanced around. Nothing appeared out of place. The street was quiet; only the occasional car passed them by. They were still a block and a street over from the house.
“The webcam feed.”
“The what?” She couldn't begin to make sense out of those three words.
His brows drew down into a dark slash and the frown was enough to make her anxious.
“What is it?” She pitched her voice lower, for his ears alone, keeping her gaze on the street while he stared at the webcam feed on his phone. What if one of the Eleventh had followed them? What then?
“Someone is in the house. I can't see their faces. The laptop must be tilted too low.”
Damn it. That wasn't good. She peered over his shoulder, and sure enough, two men passed by the laptop. One had Emery's overnight bag in hand.
“Are they there now?” Did they chance a confrontation? Were they friendly? Or had the hit team found them already? Could they get away?
“Not sure. This is from an hour ago.”
She said a quick prayer under her breath. If it hadn't been for their zigzagging path back to the safe house, they might have been there when these people came looking for them.
“Is it the Russians? Or FBI?” she asked.
“They aren't FBI.”
Then the Russians had already found her. There was no doubt in her mind. If they needed confirmation she was in danger, this was it.
A cold sweat broke out along her hair line and down her spine. Despite the heat, she shivered.
“You must have a tracker on your things, or maybe on you.” Emery's gaze traveled over her body before resting at the base of her neck. “We've got to change. Dump everything. What we can't dump we can mail to ourselves.”
Her necklace. Could someone have done to her what she'd done to Roni? She pressed her fingertips against the charm. It hadn't been off her body except to take showers, and good luck to anyone stupid enough to come into their apartment. So not her necklace, but what? Trackers could be sewn into fabric. Her bag was a good target. She carried it with her everywhere.
“It has to be my bag. I don't keep money in it, so I leave it unattended a lot. Anyone could have slipped something into it.” She dropped to a knee, digging through the canvas messenger bag.
“We've got to leave it.”
“I want to know for sure.” She dumped the plastic case of screwdrivers on the sidewalk, followed by her small flashlight.
Emery grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Trackers can be tiny. So small you'll think it's a rock, a bit of nothing. We don't have time to look for it.”
Tori nodded and took a deep breath. The bag held no sentimental value. It was just a tool to get her things from point A to point B. She scooped it up, walked to the nearest trash can out for pickup, and dumped it all inside. Her necklace, though, that she couldn't throw away.
“Keep it for now.” Emery's voice was soft, kind, as if he understood her struggle. “Anyone who would tag it had to have gotten close to you. It's more likely it was your bag. We've got to move.”
“What about the laptop?” she asked. It had value.
“It's compromised.” Emery grasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and pulled her across the street, away from the house.
Compromised? Had they just lost their leads? All the work Emery had doneâwas gone? Panic made it hard to breathe. She could deal with one thing, but two? Losing their edge and safe house? This was not good.
“But all the information?” she blurted.
“It's on my servers. I'll wipe the laptop remotely.” He started poking at his phone with his thumb while they walked.
“Waitâwhat? But, Emery, what are we doing?” She gripped his hand, tugging on his arm. His solution was so simple she should have seen it, but she was too amped up to see the forest for the trees. What did she do? What about his role in this? The last thing she wanted was for Emery to get hurt or in trouble on her account.
Emery paused on the sidewalk and turned to face her. They were so close she had to tip her chin up, way up, to look at him.
“We're going to walk casually to the nearest bus stop, hang out until we know we haven't been followed. Once we can confirm no one is on our tail, we make our way to the Tesla. It's not ideal, but I doubt they tracked us to this location through me. It means that we are leaving their means of tracking us behind. The Tesla is too flashy, but we can't risk getting caught with a stolen car. We're going to stop at a strip mall, get some new clothes, new supplies, and find somewhere to hide out. As soon as we can, I want to take a look at your necklace just to be certain.”
With each sentence, the tightness around Tori's chest eased and she drew an easy breath. Emery had a plan. It took a lot to rattle her, but without her sister she felt vulnerable. Having Emery's support was priceless.
“I know a place,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yeah. There's this guy, Leo, he races sometimes and he has a cabin out in the Everglades. He's in lock-up for a bit. No one will be there.”
“What was he arrested for?”
“Too many speeding tickets.” She grinned.
It was a plan. They had something to do.
She took a step, leading Emery down the walk. It would work. It had to work.
“What about my sister?” Tori glanced over her shoulder as Emery drew even with her.
“I'm still tracking Roni, but we can't communicate with her. It might put her in danger.”
“But if the hit team is tracking me, they're tracking her.” Who was tracking her? How?
“CJ will be trying to find us. Chances are he's a few steps behind the hit team. Once he finds the safe house he'll realize the threat is real and will warn the others. Roni will be protected. The crew won't hang her out to dry.”
Hearing Emery say it was better than thinking it herself. Whatever was going on with the FBI, it was good to know their crew was solid.
“Why do you think CJ did it?” His betrayal stung. CJ and Kathy had become like family. She'd trusted him. Taught him how to work on a car, blend into the garage. To think that the person she'd shared hours of sweat and hard work with could betray her like that hurt more than she wanted to admit.