“That doesn’t mean we’re trusting him.”
“Then why is he living with us?” I interrogate.
“He’s sleeping on the sofa where we can keep an eye on him,” Warner replies. “Madden is an asset. Don’t confuse that with an ally.”
“Take your own advice,” Hyland mutters.
“Just shut up and drive.”
At the end of the block, one large warehouse glows with light in the pale rays of dawn. A cluster of different vehicles are positioned outside—two muscle cars, a familiar motorbike and one unmarked van.
Hyland parks behind Axel’s baby then scans the scene. “Why are we meeting here?”
Warner frowns out the window. “Axel was due to be scouting out some false license plates we identified passing near Tom’s apartment around the time he was taken.”
“Sure looks like he decided to follow the convict on a wild goose chase instead,” Hyland chuffs.
“You’re doubting Axel now too?” I eye him.
“I’m doubting any situation that threatens to hurt our team.” Hyland glares dark daggers at the scene ahead. “That’s my job.”
Shaking my head, I clamber out of the car before I can hear Warner argue back. I’ll take a bogus trap over listening to their competing egos for a moment longer. They follow in quick succession, the sound of Warner’s cursing floating over the SUV to reach me.
“What is this place?” I peer up at the warehouse.
Warner stiffly circles the car, favouring his left leg. “I did a quick search in the car. Registered to a nesting doll of shell corporations with a paper trail more complicated than a Rubik’s Cube.”
“Because that isn’t suspicious at all.”
“It’s exactly how the Madden dynasty built so much infrastructure across London over the last century.”
“You’re saying this place is his?”
Adjusting his light jacket, Warner shifts uncomfortably. “It would appear we didn’t erase his operations as effectively as we thought.”
“No shit,” Hyland scoffs.
Inviting his unlikely allies directly to his secret base of operations does little to explain Blaine’s mind to me. He knows the guys don’t trust him. Why take the risk? For all he knows, they could bring this place down on top of his head.
“How does his plea deal come into play here?”
A few steps ahead of us, Hyland checks his hip holster. “Not illegal to own a warehouse. If it’s being used to manufacture and distribute narcotics… Well, then I can send a team in there to sweep the place clean.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to help us find Tom once you’ve done that.”
“We don’t need his help, red.”
“You know as well as I do that Blaine has connections. He wants to take down Gael too.”
“Those connections are precisely why he belongs back in prison.”
He stomps on to approach the structure, cutting off our discussion. I bite back my own laugh as we follow, sliding into professional mode. Warner has his gun drawn, covering Hyland’s back, while my head rotates on a swivel.
The warehouse isn’t as decrepit as the last place Blaine sent me to. With only the odd smashed window and overgrown tufts of weeds, this place seems almost functional. The bare bricks, crisscrossed windows and distant rumble of music still sets my teeth on edge.
Before we can enter, the heavy steel door at the entrance groans while opening. Two shadows emerge—both tall, darkly clothed and clutching visible handguns. My gut drops when lurid, blue hair is illuminated by the dawn.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I deadpan.
