My crew and I had been ready for much of the previous hour. But we’d only just arrived, not wanting to ruin our element of surprise—if we even still had it.
We didn’t know how far along the road the cameras watched, nor what other kind of alert systems Magnum might have in place. At the very least we were in danger of a vigilant busybodycruising by, spotting us along the road where we weren’t expected, and tattling about our presence for Brownie points.
Parked fifty feet from the unmarked turn to the institute, I sat in the passenger seat of Clyde with Griffin at the wheel and Bobo on the back bench seat. Bonnie was parked directly behind us. Brady was driving, with Hunt up front and Layla in the back. With the Mustangs’ bumpers almost kissing, we were plenty close enough to use our telepathic link across cars.
We’d debated whether or not to bring our cell phones since they were tracked, and we didn’t have anyone trustworthy to call anyway. In the end, though we’d scoured our cars for anything amiss like trackers or explosives and found none, the Mustangs were still probably being tracked regardless—shit, we might have our own satellite at this point, thanks to psycho Magnum and his endless resources; and our phones were just one more tool with potential to help us out of a bind. After the doomed Raven’s Lagoon outing, when we’d desperately needed to call the paramedics and didn’t have our phones, we’d learned our lesson. The cells were off but in the cars with us.
Also in the vehicles was a pile of ambitious weapons. We’d ransacked my lie-rents’ kitchen and garage, and then the treehouse. If it was pointy and stabby, or sharp and slicy, or hard and blunt enough to cause real damage, we’d brought it along. We had
a chef’s knife set, several jackknives and hunting blades, including the one that killed a Magnum, even a fully-charged, battery-
operated saw and nail gun. We had nunchucks—a recent acquisition since we began working with the trio of ninja trainers—staffs, and wooden practice katanas. Sadly, we had no real swords, but the wooden ones could still knock someone out if we landed the blow just right.
Of course, if we weren’t up against a minibattalion of professional mercenaries, killers by nature, our odds would look much better. We didn’t have guns, though the paramilitary dudes mostcertainly would. We also didn’t have tactical batons or Tasers. We didn’t have armored vests or helmets, not even a foolproof plan.
We did, however, have immortality on our side. That was going to have to make up for every other disadvantage. The only other alternative was failure, and we weren’t going there. Not now, and not when the fighting began.
Layla said while we waited for the ’rents to arrive.
The two hours we’d given them would be up in ten minutes.
Brady said, but he sounded distracted, as if he, just like me, couldn’t quite stop thinking about what kind of crazy situation we might be about to charge into—and how many of us would survive it, without at least one resurrection.
Layla said bitterly.
I said with a glance at Griffin and then Bobo.
I’d already made sure Bobo was set with a pee break and water.
Griffin was bouncing the leg closest to his door without ceasing. A hand roved up and down my thigh, then to tap on the steering wheel, then back to my thigh, my knee.
Hunt said.
The designated time at midmorning came and went … and no lying, scheming, traitorous lie-rents had shown.
Not even one.
Layla asked, her disappointment loud despite how softly she muttered her question into our shared bond.
Brady said.
Hunt said.
Griffin said with a glance at me. His gaze lingered, heating my skin.
I said.
Griffin’s stare was still on me. He smiled.
I didn’t.
I fucking didn’t.
