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Go low. Disappear. Our first real op and my team was compromised as hell. There would be an inquiry; wheels were probably already turning on a cover-up.
I staggered away, brain turning over implications and complications.
My strides normalized within a half block.
My nausea vanished by the second.
The core of ice in my stomach remained.
I’d go to ground fast. Get what I could from my apartment and find my secondary place. Then I’d wait for instructionsand, in the meantime I’d just been given leave to find Zara.
Even this far from the scene, some flakes of ash still fluttered down. The sky was falling, and all I could think about was a knife...and a girl.
CHAPTER5
Zara
Random Relicswasa tomb compared to what was happening outside. Apart from motes of dust, the stillness was absolute, the wreckage complete.
“Just a blast from the past,” I mumbled the shop’s slogan under my breath.
Glass fragments cracked underfoot as I made my way to...to what? Every window had blown inward, every pane disintegrated. Pieces covered the shelves, stock, and floor, glittering like lethal raindrops on the old sofas. Diamante sofas. Except you wouldn’t want to sit on them.
The shop expanded then shrank, and my head pounded at the temples. I held the back of my hand to my mouth.
Clearly, the shock hadn’t worn off.
If I took the time to think about how lucky I’d been to avoid the fallout of a bomb, I’d be unable to keep it together for a moment longer. So I didn’t.
Instead, I operated on habit and instinct, and kept my hands high so as not to brush against any stray, sharp pieces. Luckily the soles of my gym shoes were thick.
My feet itched to keep running, but I was here for what was mine—one week’s pay and then I’d be on my way. I was going to resign in person, but now...
Now there was a new urgency. The postcard, the bomb—trouble came in threes, and I hadn’t lived this long by being the welcome party.
I put my foot on a microwave lying in my path and shoved it across the floor. I hoped Mr. Morris took the insurance money and retired—business had been dead for months. At least the bomb had a silver lining. I laughed, but it sounded choked.
My fingers shook as I collected my wages from the till.
Focus.
I breathed slowly then took my time deliberately counting out the notes. Two hundred and ninety dollars—it wasn’t exactly pink umbrella cocktails on minimum wage. I slipped the money into my pocket then left Mr. Morris a note.
Cop cars whizzed by, sirens racing down the street. My thoughts flicked briefly to the man I’d left behind. He’d be fine. The blood on his shirt hadn’t seemed to be his own—the woman’s probably. I had screamed as the bullet had shattered the woman’s skull.
Ambulances wailed somewhere nearby, though they weren’t on the stretch of the street I could see, and I wondered if they weren’t sure if it was safe to drive in.
That was a sign. I should leave.
I went to the rear of the shop then traversed the small, staff room/office to the back door. I unlocked, swung the door slowly open, and stepped out. The back alley was empty. The stray ginger cat that often sunbathed on the brick wall to the left was gone. Smart kitty.
I strode along, praying no one would stop me.
The police were setting up a cordon in the next street I came to, but I slipped through, judging with precision when the nearest cop would turn his head, distracted by a passing car.
I’d felt the brush of his intentions...not thoughts exactly, intentions.
Impossible.
