Max
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot,” I murmur into my hidden mic. “No sign of Hoeffler. Alex is sitting next to Target Number Two at the bar. Or rather, he’s being propositioned. Ot is still trailing Targets Three and Four, who seem to be making the rounds before dinner. I have no idea if you’re even getting this because you haven’t responded to any of our updates,” I tell Lachlan.
More silence greets me, and I crack my neck to dispel the unease that works through me.
They’re fine–they’re probably just talking.
I casually walk up to the bar and lean on my elbows a few feet from Alex. “Gin and tonic with Hendrick’s and lime, please,” I tell the bartender.
Alex stiffens in my peripheral vision.Gin and tonicis our code word for something is amiss–code yellow.
He murmurs something to Target Number Two, and then he’s walking past me to the other side of the bar. “Gin and tonic. House gin is fine,” he tells the other bartender.
Code yellow for him, too–which means neither of us have heard from Lachlan or Lottie.
My eyes flick to Target Number Two, and he’s typing something into his phone. I pull mine out and do the same, sending a message to the group.
Me: All good?
Otto: These idiots are so bloody boring. Save me, dear brother.
Me: Have you heard from Lottie or Lachlan?
Otto: Negative.
Alex: Maybe the mics stopped working?
Me: Even if they did, they should be getting these texts.
Otto: I say we abandon ship. Go back to the van and regroup.
Alex: Yeah, fair point.
Me: I’ll walk out first.
Pocketing my phone, I don’t touch my drink as I make my way to the exit. I curl my fists at my side, suddenly so damn nervous about why Lachlan and Lottie went silent. Best case scenario is that they got distracted and decided to do something about their sexual tension, or… worst case is, we botched this mission, too.
Pushing the door open, I stalk to where the van is, and my blood turns to ice when I see the shattered glass spread out all over the ground.
Flicking my eyes over every corner of the car park, I slowly pull my phone out and text the group.
Me: Code red.
Reaching into the back of my belt, I pull my handgun out and hold it up as I creep toward the van.
Please be okay.
Please fucking be okay.
My pulse is so goddamn high that I feel like my veins might burst from my skin at any moment, and there’s a strange whooshing sound moving through my eardrums to the quick beat of my heart.
Walking around the van, I can see that the sliding door is open, and…
Blood.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
Lottie’s handbag is sitting on the seat, and Lachlan’s phone is still sitting on the console of the system he set up days ago. Most of the blood seems to be in that area, which means Lachlan was likely hurt. Backing up, I circle the van several times in case I missed any evidence, and that’s when I see two bullet holes on the side of the van.
