AllFreeNovel
Share Us
18
Declan satin the passenger seat of the late model Dodge and peered through the windshield, trying to see the brownstone across the street through the pouring rain. The lights had been off in the living room for hours, but they’d agreed to wait until three a.m. to make their way into the house. By then Ferguson would be asleep and the guard who made up his private security detail would have growncomplacent.
That’s what Declan was hoping foranyway.
“Remember, we’re doing this quiet,” Ronan said from the driver’s seat. “This is Beacon Hill. We have to be a scalpel, not amachete.”
Declan scowled. “I know theplan.”
“I’m just making sure. I know how things can get out of hand when the job is personal,” Ronansaid.
“You aren’t kidding,” Nick said from the backseat.
“You and Nick take the guard. I inject Ferguson with the potassium chloride. We get out before anyone is the wiser,” Declansaid.
Ronan nodded, but he didn’t looksatisfied.
Declan peered through the rain, trying to place the unease that had been gnawing at his bones since they’d pulled up in front of the house. The wind blew hard enough to shake the car, rain pelting its roof from the storm that had made landfall a few hoursbefore.
He ran down the checklist in his mind: the late model Charger (a favorite of detectives and undercover cops, unlikely to arouse suspicion by passing patrol cars), the security cameras (display disrupted by Clay from afar), the sodium pentathol for the guard (which would knock him out quickly with very little aftereffects), the potassium chloride for Ferguson (quick, deadly, and almost guaranteed to present as a heartattack).
And worse-case scenario, the gun strapped to Declan’s side, which he wouldn’t hesitate to use in spite of his assurance to Ronan. One way or another, Ferguson was going to dietonight.
They’d had Reilly casing the place for the past three nights, verifying Ferguson’s routine. Everything was in place. So why did he feel like they were missingsomething?
He thought about Kate and Griffin, sleeping at the Marblehead house, the waves crashing below thecliffs.
Safe.
That’s all that mattered, and after tonight, they would be safe forgood.
He checked his phone and turned on his comms unit. If all went well, they wouldn’t need it, but there was no way to be sure all would go well. “It’stime.”
“I’ll text Clay,” Nicksaid.
Ronan reached for the door. “Let’s move. It’s raining like amotherfucker.”
They exited the car and hurried across the street, aiming for an appearance of out-late-partying-and-caught-in-the-rain rather than why-the-fuck-are-you-sneaking-toward-a-multimillion-dollar-brownstone-in-the-middle-of-the-night.
The last thing they needed was a nosy neighbor calling thecops.
They passed the front of the house and continued to the narrow side yard. The back door faced one of the quaint cobblestone alleys, complete with old-fashioned street lamps, that was a hallmark of Beacon Hill. It was closed to traffic, but it was still too well-lit to make for a good approach. They needed cover, and they made their way toward the door at the side of thehouse.
By the time they reached it, rain was pouring down Declan’s face. He looked up at the camera, glad Clay was in control of the display, and removed the signal jammer from inside hisjacket.
He set it next to the door and activated it while Nick pulled a pick set from his jacket. He tried various picks until he found the right match for the heavy locks on the door while they waited for the jammer to intercept the signal from the door to the control panel of Ferguson’salarm.
Less than two minutes later, Nick slipped the pick set back into his pocket. “We’rein.”
Declan cracked open the door before he could change his mind. There was never any way to know for sure if the jammer had worked until the alarm was shrieking through the house, or in the case of a silent alarm, until the cops showedup.
The best insurance policy they had was a quickexit.
The door opened onto a gourmet kitchen, understated but outfitted with gleaming appliances, Carrara marble, and sleek cabinets that stood in contrast to the brownstone’s traditionalexterior.
“Let’s move,” Ronan whispered. “We can’t count on that alarm. Let us know if you run intotrouble.”
He and Nick headed for the first floor bedroom, discovered in the blueprints they’d obtained from the building permit office and a renovation Ferguson had done when he’d bought theplace.
