Authors: Nick Kelly
But first, she needed to find Raven again or at least distract him until her backup arrived. They were late, and Surefire was too focused on her target to question why.
Eyeing the rafter angled just above and to her right, she lifted her left arm, aimed a small compact box secured to her wrist, and shot out a line to the next beam up. The small weighted grappling hook, attached to the end of a cable, spun twice around the beam then latched onto the edge. She tugged on it and the hook held. Her gaze shifted to the floor below, finding the perfect spot to land. The drop didn’t seem so frightening when she wasn’t dangling over it.
Surefire swung down and dropped onto solid concrete.
The hard landing jolted her body. Renewed pain surged along her ribs. She doubled over as she struggled to breathe past the searing sting. She pulled two capsules from a belt pocket and popped them into her mouth, breaking them open with her teeth. Seconds later, a soothing liquid slid like hot Irish coffee down her throat and to her stomach. The sensation branched out to her limbs and dulled the pain but not her senses. For another hour, she wouldn’t feel a thing. These Happy Pills, as the other agents dubbed them, were the best innovation by U-Sec’s lab geeks.
She ejected the thin, strong cable from the box on her wrist then heard the click of another hook and cable loading inside the small contraption as backup. Though she certainly wasn’t in any condition to imitate Tarzan again this night.
Regrouping, she quieted her breathing. Cargo containers loomed above her. Giant Legos stacked in countless rows. She listened for a footstep, a misstep, anything.
And heard nothing.
Surefire slumped against a crate. If Raven were stashing his stolen goods in this warehouse, as she believed, he wouldn’t go far. She considered her options. She’d rather not reveal her position. She’d prefer a sneak attack, but the warehouse was so large the only way to find him was to get him to start talking.
Not the typical protocol, but Raven seemed to enjoy showing off his verbal gymnastics, especially when it came to mocking her. Only one way to find out. Desperate, she straightened up and opened her mouth, when Raven’s voice resounded above her.
“Did you do that?”
“Do what?” she replied, caught off-guard.
“Nothing. It’s probably nothing.”
What the hell was he talking about?
Her face cinched in confusion under her mask.
Whatever it was didn’t matter. The hairs on her arms stood on end. He was close. Very close. His voice was loud, clear.
“Maybe if you describe it, I could help,” she offered.
She eased a small stun gun from her utility belt, pressed her back against the cold steel of the crate, bit her lip, held her gun high in the air, and then—
“Doubtful,” his voice echoed loudly.
Surefire jumped back. His voice was too close, like he was speaking next to her ear. She whirled around and looked up. Above and to her right, Raven peered over the edge of the top crate. His lips flashed an oh-too-perfect-smile before he backed away from the edge.
She pulled the trigger to at least graze him. Again, another empty click.
What the—?
She flung the gun down and attempted another tactic—not exactly a typical tactic, but worth a try, since Raven was an atypical criminal.
“Come down here, and I’ll show you how helpful I can be.” She tried to deepen her voice and make it sexy. “Tried” was the operative word.
He laughed a rich, sultry laugh that she was certain he had practiced to get it just so. “You need to work on your bedroom voice. You sound like a man, and I don’t swing that way. Ask Inferno.”
“Inferno?” Surefire frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think?”
She mulled this over for a moment then balked, “No way. He’s an ex-Navy Seal. You’re wrong.”
“That has nothing to do with it. Why do you think he burned down the storage center?”
“He lost control. It happens to the best of us.”
“Hell hath no fury like a queen scorned.” Raven chuckled, and his amusement bothered her more than this conversation, which was supposed to distract him instead of her. He had both men and women bumbling over him. Surefire was certain the same thing had happened to Tara Kard, even if she had never given specifics. Tara had hated turning over the case to Surefire, who assumed it was because she had been embarrassed for having failed. Now Surefire wondered if it were something more.
Egotistical bastard.
If sex appeal were another one of his powers, he needed to save it for his cellmate.
Surefire jumped when the crates to her left creaked. She caught sight of Raven landing on another box farther down the aisle before he disappeared. She ran down the aisle and vaulted over the metal rails of a forklift.
Think of something.
Anything
to annoy him.
“Considering your outfit, no wonder Inferno thought you played for his team,” Surefire shouted before rounding a corner.
A small crate teetered and swayed above her. She could see Raven’s outline against the filtered light.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
Surefire suppressed a laugh. He actually sounded offended. “Looks like something a mime would wear.”
“I’m miming something right now. Too bad you can’t see it.”
“Come down here and show me.”
He coyly changed the subject. “I’m liking your leotard. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I assume it’s for distraction?”
Surefire blushed. Ever since she’d moved in with her sister six months ago, Heather’s cat, Prada, saw fit to use Surefire’s uniforms as her own special bed. Tonight, Prada had made Surefire’s only clean uniform into a litter box, and her backup had been lost by the dry cleaners after a previous Prada incident. So Surefire had had to find a new outfit quick—one that allowed ease of movement—and found her old gymnastics leotard. Apparently, her breasts and butt, though mostly her butt, had grown in the past ten years.
“Obviously, it’s not working or you’d be down here taking a closer look.”
“The view’s just as good from up here,” he countered, and Surefire didn’t think her face could flush any hotter. “But where did you get that mask? A luchador yard sale?”
She balled her fists. Ditto with the mask. Prada had used that as a hairball receptacle. Surefire had dug out her Halloween costume from four years ago when she’d dressed as a Mexican wrestler. Not a good look, but it hid her identity.
“At least I’m wearing underwear,” Surefire goaded him again.
“I did that for you.” He skimmed along the windowsills. “Was wondering if you’d noticed.”
Her body tensed in frustration. She needed to get Raven down to the floor now, and not for the reasons his tone suggested. Her mind raced through her portable arsenal. She had another weapon that released a net—if it worked.
Damn Oliver.
Instead of focusing on work, he was too busy focusing on U-Sec’s newest agent and call center manager, Pixie Chick.
They were going to have a nice long chat about the problems with interoffice dating when she returned.
Red and blue flashing lights skimmed across the dirt-encrusted windows at the top of the warehouse. Sirens grew louder as police cars surrounded the building. She glanced at her watch.
About time they arrived.
Nearly forty-five minutes had passed since she’d first called the police after she spotted Raven climbing down from the roof of the Walters Art Museum in downtown Baltimore.
Outside, car doors slammed shut and hard soles beat a path across the ground. She had five, maybe ten, minutes until the cops gassed the place, which was their preferred MO for dealing with transhumans like Raven. And her. Last time they had given her an assist, she’d almost gone down in friendly fire.
Technically, she shouldn’t be in here. Shouldn’t have entered the building without backup. The warehouse doors were locked, and she hadn’t wanted to lose sight of Raven; she’d had to scale a semi parked underneath an open window to get in.
It was a stupid, impetuous, and ultimately dangerous move. However, she’d assumed the police would have arrived sooner. When Raven had entered the warehouse, she’d known she’d lose him again if she didn’t follow. Her bosses at U-Sec had to understand. And if she brought Raven in—no,
when
she brought Raven in—they would more than understand.
Maybe even give her a promotion.
She glanced at her communicator, a secure U-Sec cell phone, clipped to her belt. It was her direct link to the U-Sec office and police. She’d silenced it before entering the warehouse. Usually, a dull green light blinked if there were a message. She unclipped it and looked at the LCD screen. No missed calls.
She had spoken with Pixie at the U-Sec call center before she’d notified the police. Oracle—her sergeant and mentor—should have contacted her by now. Despite the officers outside, she preferred to have someone from her own team as backup. Most officers were not thrilled to work with U-Sec or, as they called it, the Freak Squad.
Something clanged to her right. Just above her, Raven jumped onto another crate and then to another window, possibly searching for a weak spot in the perimeter.
“Give up,” Surefire called out to him. “The building’s surrounded.”
“Never stopped me before.”
Surefire kept her eyes focused on Raven. Across from her, the doors rattled.
Suddenly, Raven’s foot slipped. He fell a short distance and then caught himself on the windowsill. Pulling himself back up, he wagged his head as if to clear it. “You don’t feel that?”
“No,” Surefire replied, though she couldn’t explain the uneasiness prickling up her spine.
A gruff male voice shouted orders outside. Then the police tried to open the nearly floor-to-ceiling doors with a resounding bang. Surefire edged closer to the doors. Her gaze shot to the iron handles. She did a double take.
The doors were chained from the inside.
Something on the far end of the warehouse slammed shut. She looked up and saw Raven staring in the sound’s direction.
She grabbed her communicator and tried to control her nervous fingers as she dialed her police contact.
“Detective Matthews,” she whispered into the small phone. She held it to her ear but heard nothing. The LCD screen faded to black. The battery was dead.
She hooked the phone back onto her belt and ran toward the exit to warn the police the doors were chained.
A tingling sensation skimmed across her skin. She paused in mid-step. Vibrations, like a mild electrical current, hummed through her veins. Crates creaked and shifted above her, and the floor started to shake.
“What the—?” Surefire grabbed the handle of a cargo container just as a crack snaked through the middle of the concrete floor. Above her, metal containers shifted and scraped together. Across the aisle, a few wooden crates fell and splintered apart onto the floor. She aimed the rappelling gun on her left wrist, but it was too late. Before the cable could deploy, she slipped and fell next to the fissure.
She sprang to her feet and darted away from the widening crack.
This couldn’t be another earthquake. In twenty-seven years, she’d experienced only one in Baltimore a few years ago. And then she’d hardly felt anything while driving on the beltway.
Something creaked above her.
“Watch out!” Raven shouted as he jumped from the window to the top crate and landed with practiced ease next to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he tackled her to the ground. He rolled with her several times before they stopped with him on top, leaning over her in a provocative straddle—leaving her breathless.
Surefire’s carefully packed gadgets on her utility belt cut into her lower back. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t concentrate, and needed to get up. She jabbed both palms hard against his chest, but he didn’t budge. A loud rumble interrupted her struggle. The sound rose and filled the warehouse, ending in an ear-splitting crash.
The cargo container she’d been standing underneath seconds ago fell to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust and dirt. The metal sides and corners buckled like an accordion.
Her heart thumped wildly. She glanced up at Raven, who was staring at her with a fierce intensity. Under normal circumstances, she might have been frightened by a criminal looming over her. But she was too shocked from her near-death experience to care.
“Thanks,” she stammered.
The side of his lips lifted up in a smile. “Anytime.”
She noticed he no longer held the sack. “Where’s the statue?”
He shifted, elevating his weight from his left side. He inclined his head toward a crawl space between two containers. “I threw it out of the way—”
With her right arm free, Surefire used her thumb to flick a switch in her palm. A dart ejected from the gun on her right wrist, and she jabbed the needle into his neck in one swift movement.
He raised his hand in astonishment and pulled it out. He frowned at the needle. “This is the gratitude I get?”
She shrugged and smiled smugly under her mask.
“Typical woman.”
“Typical man,” Surefire countered.
He planted his hands on either side of her. His eyes glazed over as the drug took effect. “My body is going to reject it. I’ll shake it off in seconds.”
“I had this one made especially for you. You left behind more than a fake fertility statue at your last robbery.”