It feels like an eternity before I hear it.
Beep.
The scanner flashes green. The gate opens.
Oh, thank God. The relief that floods my body is so acute I almost keel over. I force myself not to break into a sprint, acting casual as I go through the gate. When it closes behind me, my entire body feels lighter. I step onto the street, quickly glancing around to get my bearings. Haven is two blocks from here. Two blocks and I’ll disappear into the city, blend in with the crowd.
“Stop.”
I freeze at the harsh command.
Fuck!
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I force myself to turn around, weak with anxiety.
Only to find one of the soldiers extending his hand toward the woman who’d been behind me. He holds a black wool glove, which he waves around.
“You dropped this, lady,” he calls, and as she goes to retrieve the glove, I’m overcome with another wave of relief.
I don’t waste any more time. I hurry down the sidewalk, head low, eyes angled away from cameras and drones. Shit, that was a close call. Well, not really, but it sure felt like it. And I haven’t even gotten to Haven yet. I don’t like it here. This city feels too dangerous, too much like a trap.
I walk faster, linking with Cross as I do.
“I’ll be there soon.”
Chapter 16
The last time I visited Haven, a brothel fronting as a drinking establishment, I was on a training op for the Command. Cross, being his vindictive asshole self, assigned me to go undercover as an aspiring whore. In the wards, prostitution isn’t illegal as long as it’s conducted through the proper channels via Human Services, but Haven’s operations are certainly not on the up-and-up.
I’m the one who asked to meet here, since it’s a location I’m already familiar with, but Gray made the arrangements through the network, surprising me by revealing that the bartender is actually one of ours. Her name is Pasha. She’s supposed to let me in through the alley behind Haven, but I hesitate as I reach the brick building, tapping my earpiece instead.
“Grayson,” I murmur over the comm. “Are you sure she can be trusted?”
“Yes. Pasha’s solid.”
Sticking close to the wall, I creep toward the back door. I’m uncomfortably aware of the camera pointed at that door. I’m a few feet away when it swings open, a hand beckoning me from the shadowy doorway.
I slip inside and come face-to-face with the bartender I met whenI was undercover. She’s wearing short sleeves, her arms shimmering as I feel her trying to link with my mind.
“If anyone stops you,”she says over telepathy,“you’re my sister Mary.”
“Understood.”
Without a word—an audible one, anyway—Pasha leads me through a dimly lit corridor toward a rear stairway, where she suddenly stops, scrutinizing me.
“I know you,”she accuses.
“I was here a few months ago. You served me pure whiskey for my birthday.”I offer a sheepish smile.“Wasn’t my birthday, though.”
Recognition flashes in her expression, and she returns the smile.“I won’t even ask what your mission was, but you fooled me.”Pasha turns and climbs the stairs.“Come.”
I take the first step, wincing when the metal staircase creaks beneath my boots. We emerge through a door into a corridor on the second floor. This one is brightly lit, and I blink against the sudden onslaught of light. I feel exposed.
Pasha slips a keycard into my hand.“Last door on the left. Your guest is already waiting for you. If you’re here to kill him, try to keep it clean. I don’t want to scrub blood off the hardwood later.”
Killing him is the last thing I intend to do.
Well, unless he annoys me.
