Chapter Seven
Taylor couldn’t believe her eyes or the fact that Matt—Matt!—knew Grey’s secret hideout when she didn’t.
The armory looked deserted and tragic. The outside of the main building was dark, the bricks stained. Weeds grew in the cracked sidewalks and driveways around the place and the fence sported plenty of debris around the edges.
No lights shone in any of the windows, even though it was a cloudy morning, the sun completely hidden behind a storm system rolling in off the Atlantic. If Grey and his crew were inside, no one would know. There were no cars outside, nor welcome signs of any kind.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Taylor said as Matt’s car grumbled under her ass by the closed front gate. “I knew it was an undisclosed, hidden location, but I had no idea it was straight out of aMad Maxflick.”
“Flick?” Matt made a face. “No one uses that term anymore. What century were you born in?”
“Shut up.” Her sister had loved that word. She’d used it all the time after hearing it once on a rerun of that old show,The Brady Bunch. They’d had a video player and tiny TV in their room and every Friday night, Isabel would haul her sleeping bag and stuffed toys onto the floor and ask Taylor to put in a flick for her. To this day, Taylor couldn’t stand Brady Bunch reruns. “What I want to know is why Justice Greystone would trust you with this location.”
Matt looked incredulous. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Taylor hid her irritation. Because he didn’t trust me. “So you’re working for him, now?”
“I told you, I’m helping out a friend. Tony and I work well together, always have. Grey knows Walt hired me and that you’re on the case. He’s giving us equal time. When he couldn’t get hold of you, he called me. Why is this bugging you so much?”
She’d let her phone die. Because of Matt. Hell on a stick, what was the matter with her? She never,ever, let that happen. Her team might call her with a break in a case. Mer might.
Her mom might call to say they’d found Isabel.
I will find Izzy, come hell or high water.
Matt was screwing with her. Taylor rubbed her forehead, fighting the tension there. Before she could come up with a witty retort, however, a voice came over the speaker at the gate.
“What the fuck do you want?”
Mitch Monroe. Perfect.
Matt held up his middle finger to the video camera overhead. “Your boss called me. Now open the fucking gate and let us in.”
“No one enters until they answer the question. Superman or Batman?”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Batman, duh.”
A moment of pause, then a buzzer sounded and the gate rolled open.
I will never understand men. “You know Mitch, too, huh?”
The car shot forward, rumbling as Matt jetted around toward the back of the building. “Jackass? Yep. He’s a real peach.”
Taylor unplugged her phone from the car’s charger. “He doesn’t like you either.”
Matt pulled up next to the back door. “You discussed me with Jackass? That’s either incredibly sweet or really weird.”
The engine cut off and Matt hustled around to open her door. She was already out, pocketing her phone, before he got the chance and he rolled his eyes again. With a possessive hand on her lower back, he guided her to the door.
A big, tall man with dark features met them. “About time. Did you have to do your hair and paint your nails, princess?”
Matt flipped him the bird. “Good to see you, too, Moose.”
So this was Moose, aka Tony Gerard. His nickname fit—big guy, well over six foot and filled out like a football linebacker. His eyes missed nothing, taking in Taylor and her still-wet-from-the-shower hair.
She held out a hand. “Agent Sinclair, FBI.”
His big paw grabbed hers and gave a firm shake, then he motioned her in. “So you’re the Feebie I’ve been hearing about.”
