Page 11 of Eyes in the Shadows
Mac
I know she’s going to like me.
What a fucking debacle.
Actually, debacle doesn’t cover it. Clusterfuck is something closer to the truth.
If anyone else in the building had come, or if she’d come even an hour earlier or later, none of this would have happened. It’s like everything aligned to work out as terribly as possible. I don’t know what to make of that. But I am from the Southeast, and everyone knows a Baptist loves a sign.
I grind my jaw as I watch through the scope. Rossi’s men are running around the exterior of the warehouse, searching for threats, but I know Dimitri has slipped into the shadows by now. After it’s clear Rossi’s big, black SUV isn’t coming back, I turn to her.
“Why did you come back, Eleanor? You weren’t supposed to be here.” She presses her lips together and turns her head away from me, so I bark, “Answer me.”
“I forgot my medication,” she says in a soft, sad voice. It wavers, betraying her fear.
“What kind?” She winces and I try to soften my voice, even though it’s hard when my heart is still pounding from the adrenaline rush of being caught. “Are you sick?”
She closes her eyes and lets her head hang a little. “Nothing more life threatening than this.”
Something stirs and it’s almost like relief. That she isn’t sick? Yeah, I’m not letting myself go there… I refocus on the scene at the warehouse.
It takes a little while for the excitement to die down. A cleaning crew is sent in so quickly, I honestly have to marvel at Rossi’s team’s coordination. Ican track their movement through the windows, catching flashes of their white plastic suits. In fact, they’re so efficient there’s no way they’re not professional cleaners—likely contracted by Rossi. Which is just as well, because they’re cleaning up the bodies that have my holes in their skulls, too.
It’s always nice not to have to deal with local law enforcement. I’m so far away, and resources in most cities are so limited, there’s no way they’d pinpoint where I shot from. But if they did find the bodies, and if their coroner is good, it will be obvious the bullet came from a long-distance rifle from the damage. Luckily for us, coroner is an elected position here and the mayor’s nephew needed a job after graduating last in his class at med school. No one even ran against the guy with the mayor’s last name and full endorsement.
But they’re long gone—bodies cleared, bleach poured, weapons hidden—before the cops do their drive-by. I’d heard a few shots go off while I’d been wrestling with Eleanor, so it’s no surprise someone called it in. It’s why Dimitri uses knives and I’ve got a suppressor on my rifle.
When it’s clear they’re not coming back tonight, I face my intriguing little problem.
I move and sit down on the coffee table across from her, boxing her in with the cage of my body, elbows resting on knees, letting my size intimidate her. It creaks underneath me, protesting my weight. She shrinks back, an instinctual physical reaction to my bulk and perceived threat, but she meets my eye and—holy hell—there is plenty of fire burning. My little temptress is spittin’ mad.
This oughtta be fun.
“How did you get in? I’ve had eyes on the street and I checked all entry points.”
She straightens and fixes me with a look, transparently deciding whether or not to lie. I know this reaction—she’s calculating the odds of someone else coming along so she can call for help. After a second, the intention drains from her face, either because others are unlikely to get in the same way she did, or she’s realized any potential rescuer would just be in danger, too.
She wiggles a little, moving her arms as if checking the integrity of the zip ties, and winces. “The back door sticks. It feels locked from the inside, but you just have to jiggle the handle up and down.”
Option two, then. Interesting. It usually goes the other way. Most people, tied up and backed into a corner, will happily drag others into the same shit if it means they might get out of it.
I stand and walk into the kitchen and start opening drawers. I tap the bud in my left ear. “Yo, Wes, you free for a walkabout?”
The crisp, clear baritone rings back immediately.“All quiet on my end. What’s up?”
“I need you to barricade the back door of my 20.” I open and close another drawer, causing silverware to clang together noisily.
“Erm… you can’t?”
“I’ve got a…” I throw Eleanor a look over my shoulder and take a hard swallow, “situation. I can’t leave.”
“A situation?”he repeats slowly, as if hearing the word for the first time.“You want to expand on that a bit, mate?”
“Not really. It’s locked down for the moment; I’ll debrief when I get back.” I get to the last drawer and finally find what I need.
There’s a pause and I can practically hear the gears in his mind turning. He’s too smart for his own good, sometimes.“This have anything to do with you going MIA back there? Dimitri got shot. He’s pissed.”
I know from the way Wes said it that D’s not too badly hurt, so I huff a sigh. “He’s always pissed when he gets shot. Look, I’ll explain later,” I growl. “Just get the door.”
