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I eye him. “Where’d you think?” I check my messages seeing Vincent confirming to meet later at their clubhouse.
“You tell her about Jack?”
I give him a look, letting him know to leave it.
With a sigh, he then takes a sip of his beer. “Legs wants to go check these crates now.”
Looking at my watch, every part of my mind is screaming at me to hurry and get this done. We don’t know when the next shipment will be confirmed. What I do know is that Mads being away tomorrow until Sunday, gives me the perfect opportunity to have this squashed with her safe. “Okay. Where is he?”
Usually behind the bar, I look for him, but see no signs he’s around. “He went to collect what he needs. Trackers, shit like that.”
“Right.” Fucking kids and technology. This better work.
Twenty minutes later, Legs arrives at the clubhouse, and the three of us set off in a work van towards the site. Leaving his cut behind, Travis and I run through with Legs what he has to do. “You think you can place a tracker on one of them without beingcaught?”
“One? I have hundreds of them.” He pulls out a bag filled with tiny chips no bigger than a fingernail. “I’ll get these on as many as I can, then if they go different places, we can track them all. These are all wired to my phone.”
Travis and I exchange a look as he parks the van out of sight from the main depo. The large facility has six-foot iron gates all around it, barbed wire curled around the top. I don’t like the idea of Legs doing this. “Maybe I should go.” Anyone sees me, I have a better chance of jumping that fence than Legs does.
“You know how to activate the trackers once they’re in place?”
I turn in my seat, silent.Fuck. “Don’t get caught. You even suspect someone’s made you, I want you back here or you call.”
I see him smile like a smartarse before he quietly opens the door and walks towards the site.
“This is where he crashes?” Travis asks looking out his window.
“That’s what he said.”
We see an older man stagger on his feet along the pavement. He’s clearly drunk, ambling along to no place in particular. “Not very homely.”
I swing my head looking out the windows. There’s nothing here except a few buildings and different business facilities. I can’t see any signs of somewhere you could stay.
Sitting back, disheartened, I look at my phone. My heart starts its usual staggering rhythm and I will it not to bury me in panic.Not now. Come on kid, hurry up. I check my phone again. Nothing. Fuck.
“You’re making my skin itch. Stop.”
“Fuck off.” I want to jump out the van and see what he’s doing for myself. “We don’t have eyes on him.”
“Your stress is fucking bouncing around the van. You’remakingmenervous.” I shouldn’t have let Legs go in alone. One hundred trackers all needing activating. Boy’s in way over his head. We all are. “Look.”
My head darts to where Travis points.
“There he is.” We watch Legs stalk around a dozen crates, stopping at each one in turn. “Now calm yourself before you give yourself a heart attack.”
“I’m already having a heart attack.”
He sighs. “What the fuck are you going to be like when your kid gets here?”
I scowl. I’ll be murderous. On edge twenty-four seven. Happy. Sad. Verging on a breakdown. Fuckingallof it.
A loud bang has us jolt in our seats. We look up, spotting two men pulling open the gates to the site. “Should we go?” I ask.
“No, Miss Daisy. We stay fucking put.”
I punch his arm. Prick doesn’t even flinch. “There!” I bark, looking out the front window, my prayers answered.
Legs ducks behind the back of the vehicle piled high with crates. He keeps his head low, out of sight.
