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She wears her hair up high in a ponytail, so the ends flick against her shoulders and fan down over her chest. Worst of all, she hums with fear. Not the song she uses for comfort, but actual pants-pissing fear, perhaps for the first time since this all began.
I was starting to wonder if she possessed any self-preservation skills at all.
“Sharpshooters are on standby,” Archer continues. “We have eyes all over the building, so no one is coming in without us seeing them first.”
“This seems like a lot of fuss for one person,” Rory rasps. “Like, there are a dozen people watching right now, and they’re all here with the sole purpose of making sure I don’t die.” Terrified, she looks across at me. “Surely they have other things to do today.”
I cough out a soft laugh and reach for her, since no one else is in the car to see us, and place my hand on her thigh. “This is their mission today, Aurora. This is literally their job.”
“Some are even here voluntarily,” Archer drawls. “They simply wanted a chance to use their long-range skills again and took dibs to be the one who pulls the trigger.”
“Comforting.” Rory’s skin greens as she looks out the side window. “How long until we get there?”
“About three minutes,” I answer, lifting my hand from her leg and placing it back on the steering wheel. Soon, we’ll be in range of the sharpshooters. If they see my hand where it shouldn’t be, they might shoot me, too. “Doctor Mayet has made an agreement with the hospital,” I explain for every man on this op and listening in to our call. “Your mom has been moved to her facility for the day under a different name, since moving her under her own would tip Vallejo off to where you are. She doesn’t require an autopsy, Rory.” I soften my voice and wait for her to bring her gaze back around to me. “No one will cut her up. But this was the only way I could get you in to see her in relative safety.”
“I know.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I appreciate it.” Looking away again, she continues to spin her ring and exhale nervous energy into the air so even I feel it. My heart thunders with nerves, and my stomach whooshes, knowing shit is about to get dicey. We’re about to walk into a building without adequate cover, and we’re gonna hope that no one who knows Vallejo has become privy to this information.
“Eyes open,” Archer barks, so even my spine snaps straighter. “You’re in range, Banks. I see you.”
I pull onto the street that houses the morgue. The hospital. The police station. They’re all here, within blocks of each other. Which is convenient, I guess, for the folks who are injured and need help. Staring down the strip of this street and puttering along with city traffic, I look toward the skies and search rooftops for our sharpshooter.
He’s there. Somewhere, hidden in plain sight.
“Approaching the George Stanley building. Fucking hell,” I groan, forced to slow because of all the bodies already standing out front and blocking the underground parking lot. “Get down.” I press a hand to the back of Rory’s head and shove her down, while also keeping watch so I don’t run a nosey reporter over and end up on the news for the wrong reasons. “This is a lot of bodies, Malone. You know what you’re doing?”
“Working with what I’ve got,” he rumbles. “No way Vallejo will guess we’re bringing the witness in while it’s so busy today. He’ll be expecting middle of the night fly-bys, not middle of the day, packed street, and a million eyes.”
“It’s a fucking risk,” I snarl, nudging the car forward and pissing some folks off when they don’t want to move. “She’s a sitting duck if we don’t get this car under cover.”
“So be more aggressive with your driving,” Archer growls. “They’re people. Flash your badge and have them move.”
“My hoodie is itching my chest,” Rory mumbles, her voice muffled because of her position. “It’s hot and making me sweat.”
“This is one of those times you’re gonna have to suck it up, Swanson.” I lay on the horn and force a pack of reporters to move their asses and allow me past. “Sweating is better than dead.” The second we’re undercover and daylight is replaced by artificial lights, I release her head and allow her to sit up again. “Sweating means alive,” I press on, moving deeper into the parking lot and absorbing the squeak of tires against smooth concrete. “Alive means alive, kiddo.”
Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits, just like I knew they would, only to turn more severe as my smile grows larger.
“Don’t call me kiddo, Detective Banks. It pisses me off.” She unsnaps her seatbelt as I pull the car into a parking bay just by the elevator doors. As I cut the engine and glance across to her with a smile, she slams the side of her fist, hammer style, against my thigh and comes dangerously close to my junk.
Shots fired. Threat received.
“Not unless you wanna talk about it in more depth.” She opens her door and pushes out. But I know she watches every corner of the parking lot like a hawk. She’d really rather not die today. “If we’re touching on age,” she adds, though her voice isn’t as sure as it was in the car, “then I guess we could talk about how you’re old enough to be my dad.”
“Ugh.” I grab my phone and slide out of my side of the car, my face and nose wrinkled in distaste. “Can we not?”
“Can we focus?” Archer snarls, still on speaker. “The garage is secure. Eyes on the roof across the street. No one has followed you down there, and no one has come or gone in the last six hours. That means you’re clear to exit the car and head to the elevator.”
“Well, no,” Rory inserts, allowing me to place my hand beneath her arm and start us forward. “It means if someone was patient enough to wait six hours for my arrival, then they could easily be down here and ready to lop my head off.”
“Potentially,” Archer concedes. “But we have infrared technology that says you’re the only warm bodies down there. Elevator is empty,” he adds as I bring her forward and press the call button. “Come to the second floor. It’s more secure than the ninth.”
“Coming to the second.” As soon as the doors open and reveal no one—as promised—I lead Rory in and hover my thumb against my phone screen in preparation. “We’re in the elevator,” I confirm. “Heading to second floor. Ending our call.”
“Roger that. See you in a sec. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Yep.” I kill the call and watch through the elevator doors as they slowly—so fucking slowly—slide closed and seal us in. Finally, I slip the phone into my pocket and turn to the woman who literally quivers where she stands. “This is a big deal, okay?”
“Being out in the open?” Her jaw bounces with nerves. “Yeah. Feels like a big deal. I think I’ve developed some kind of PTSD, actually. Will I ever walk the street again and not look over my shoulder?”
