Page 50 of Faith and Fury

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Maverick is already waiting for us on the corner of Harris and Burbank when I put the SUV into park.

“Good morning, kitten,” he greets Faith first, offering her a hand she pointedly ignores. He turns to me. “Boss.”

“You bring the list?” I ask.

He reaches into one of his utility pockets. “Sirena marked all our possible hotspots.” He spreads his map out on the hood of my car, gesturing to the big red Xs. “Kinda feels like we’re on a treasure hunt, huh?”

Next to me, Faith is already on full alert, scouring the street.

“See anything familiar?” I prod.

She just scowls.

“Alright.” I glance around. “Let’s sweep the block, then circle back to the sewer grate.”

Maverick nods. “Works for me.”

Faith strides ahead.

Thankfully it’s pretty quiet. Most people have probably driven into the inner city for work, and, apart from a convenience store a few buildings down, nothing much is open.

Faith runs her fingers along fences, bushes, bricks, getting a feel for her surroundings. I start to wonder what exactly she’s looking for, when it occurs to me … this is the first time she’s been outside, properly, in years. No wonder she’s curious.

“Careful,” Maverick calls, “don’t want you getting a splinter.”

She ignores him, picking at the bark on a tree trunk. Suddenly she yanks away.

Maverick clucks his tongue. “What’d I tell you?”

I shoot him a glare, approaching Faith to examine the wound. “Hold still …” I pinch her forefinger. “There. Got it.”

Her gaze is oddly soft when she looks up at me. My heart skips a beat.

“Let’s double back,” I get out. “See if there’s a way into that grate.”

No-one argues. In fact, only Maverick speaks—asking Faith question after un-answered question about her likes, dislikes, and fighting style.

We hover over the sewer grate—a big metal drain at the end of the block—and shine a light inside.

“I can see a ladder,” I announce. “And this side’s a little uneven.”

“Hm,” Maverick crouches down, grabbing the bars. “Wonder if we can get it to budge.”

The grate slides off without a hitch. Maverick grunts, leveraging it against the pavement.

He looks up. “Ladies first?”

I start to growl—there’s no way in hell I’m letting Faith down there on her own—before I realize he’s pushing my buttons. Or hers. Either way, Faith doesn’t hesitate. She nudges past me, dropping to her knees.

“Hey.” I hold her arm. “Slow down. Maverick’s our scout—he goes first.”

She reaches for her notepad, normally tucked under her shoulder, but it’s not there. Maybe she left it in the car.

Maverick starts climbing. “Ugh—reeks down here. Can you hold the light?”

I angle my flashlight, making sure the rungs are visible. He continues down—maybe seven, eight feet—his boots squelching when he hits the bottom.

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