Page 61 of Scorpion

I quickly pull up my contacts and call Mathijs’s tech girl who I’ve already spoken to tonight. Maddie pulls up all the addresses in the area that they’re heading in, and attempts to narrow down their location. They’re sticking to the back roads which is slowing them down, but I imagine it’s an attempt to get off the main roads to avoid being caught on camera.

She sends me the blueprints of the whole area they’ve stopped at. It’s a compound. We pull up to a stop down the road from the place, far enough away that it won’t raise any flags. By the time we get there, Sergei and several teams of men are twenty minutes out, which means that the three of us can’t go in guns blazing without risking Mathijs’s life.

We trek down the mountain, following the map Maddie sent.

A shiver works down my spine from the combination of adrenaline and the cold air. It might be unseasonably warm for this time of year, but the moisture seeping into my clothes and bare arms makes matters all the more miserable.

Of course I’m doing this shit in a big skirt and heels. And I forgot my fucking coat. Trust Mathijs to make sure I’m improperly dressed for action.

I grit my teeth and use a tree as support to steady myself as I break the heels off my expensive shoes, and rip the lehenga off so I’m just in my shorts, then trudge through the Colorado woods. I’m going to kill him myself if we both survive this.

We collectively pause when a gunshot echoes through the forest. We snap our attention to each other, then sprint toward the compound.

The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. I push myself harder, kicking up dirt and fallen leaves. We come to a screeching halt when we reach a twelve-foot-high fence, decked out with barbed wire and electricity.

Son of a bitch.

Cursing, I run around the perimeter until I have a view of something—anything. I systematically raise the sniper scope to my eyes each time there’s an opening through the trees.

“You’re getting further away from the—”

“Shut up,” I snap before Josh can finish putting in his unwanted two cents.

We need higher ground, a view, and to get away from the cameras he so conveniently didn’t notice.

A quick check of my phone shows that Sergei is five minutes out.

Mathijs has been in Goldchild’s custody for well over twenty minutes. The first fifteen are the most crucial. We don’t have time to sit and wait for Sergei, and since none of us can scale the fence, we need to improvise.

My gaze darts to a boulder tucked into the earth, then to the view of a property to the right. Without bothering to tell the two men to sit put, I swing the sniper around to my back and use the tree roots to climb up to the top of the stone. It’s a tight fit between the dirt wall and the edge of the boulder, but it’s just long enough for me to lie on my stomach and set the rifle.

I look down the scope and adjust it to carefully survey the compound to get a better grasp on what we’re dealing with and if I can be of any help once Sergei arrives.

It’s a typical mountain home with brick walls and plenty of chimneys. The only thing that sets it aside is the copious number of warehouses and garages scattered throughout the compound, far enough from the main home to give it some privacy.

We’ve never been able to narrow down where Goldchild’s factory might be. This is probably where the magic happens.

Several armed men walk about the compound, rushing from one place to another, all ripe for the killing.

Aiden passes me the backpack and I make quick work of setting up the ballistic computer with the rifle for better accuracy. Another breath, and I’m back to scoping out the place.

“What do you see?” Josh asks while they both do laps around our perimeter.

I ignore him.

“Do you see—”

“Stop talking,” I grate out.

My heartbeat stalls when I make it to the back of the main house. They have Mathijs chained up by his wrists, half naked, hanging from a pole that’s sticking out from the side of a pavilion. Purple and blue blotches decorate his pale skin. Blood braids through his blond hair, and drips down his torso, dotting the concrete like blooming poppies.

Bile lurches up my throat but I hold it down. Cold sweat coats my skin as an older, beer-gutted man with knuckle busters throws another punch.

Red falls over my vision. My finger twitches over the trigger, and I have to move it on top of the trigger guard to stop myself from doing anything rash.

It’s not a kill blow. Mathijs will survive it. If I shoot now, I’ll give away our location, and they’ll end his life.

Grabbing my phone from inside my top, I call Sergei. He answers on the second ring. “I have eyes on Edelhert. Back porch of the main house. A click from the main road. One point five clicks west of my position.”

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