Page 79 of Crown of Tides and Fury

"Six p.m.," Kitch said. "She could be anywhere."

Wickham pointed to the map on the screen on the wall with three red balloons marking our options. "She'll be an artist. Work hours will mean little. In the time it would take to track her phone, we could have her back here. Let's start at her office."

Just six of us popped out of the room that time--Everly and Urban, Kitch and Persi, Wickham and I. We appeared dangerously close to a deep hole in the center of Detroit, Michigan. I guessed it was five stories deep--the foundation for a massive building.

Wickham apologized for his poor planning just as a construction worker ran toward us.

"Where did--are you blind? Get out of there!" He pointed to a shovel scoop the size of a minivan whose teeth were headed straight for us. An audience was gathered on the far side of a fence to watch. Now they watched us, mouths open. All we could do was run.

When the scoop bit into the ground, the earth jumped beneath my feet, and I fell. The vibrations shook my bones, made me wonder if my heart had stopped. Urban came back for me, lifted me roughly under the arms, and got me on my feet again. But we were safe. The excavator operator had seen us. The scoop stayed where it was, its teeth buried in the soil.

We kept running though, now from anyone wanting to hold us accountable for scaring the shit out of them. At fifty yards, we hit a fence and had to search for an exit. No trespassing signs were posted everywhere. Finally out of the construction zone, we booked it across the street, to a sleek office building with fifty-feet-square, seamless black windows. Large, silver letters above the main entrance readOrley Place.

“Uh, oh,” I said, nodding to the sign. “This is not the kind of power anyone wants to give up.”

We paused inside to catch our breath. The three receptionists manning the thirty-foot, metal and glass reception desk were delighted by Urban's kilt and waited eagerly to hear why we were there.

Urban knew when his charms were needed and moved to the desk, to lean his muscular upper body on the glass top. "We're here to see Felicity Orley, if ye could point us the way."

One woman pointed to the elevators. Another one shook her head. "I'm sorry. Ms. Orley is at the warehouse today. Would you care to make an appointment for tomorrow?"

"Auch, such a shame. We'll only be in town tadee. Thank ye just the same."

Everly rolled her eyes. "Come on, loverboy."

Wickham leaned over the counter to speak to the third woman. "I have a map here, of the warehouse location. Can ye tell me if there is an empty field nearby?"

Without wiping the drool from her chin, she was happy to point.

Between the air curtain and the entrance, Wickham stopped us. "We can either upset three or upset a hundred." He pointed to the crowds outside, coming and going, standing and watching the enormous machines digging the hole across the street or staring at the Orley building.

We looked back at the receptionists who were still watching us.

"Three."

* * *

The fieldthe woman had pointed out was the soccer field between a school and a massive warehouse nearly the size of Hope House. It wasn’t the first time the difference in scope, between my old experiences and my new ones, made me feel small. This building made the Simplot warehouse in Hazelton seem like a breadbox.

Thankfully, school was out for the summer and if anyone saw us appear out of nowhere, we didn't see them.

Wickham rolled his eyes. "I detest moving about in the city."

A large truck was parked on the side of the warehouse, outside an open bay door. We moved warily, remembering what greeted us in Ukraine. We only hoped we’d beaten Orion and his dogs there.

We cleared the corner of the truck, and when there was no sign of bodies or blood, we let out a collective but quiet sigh. Just inside the open doorway, two young men were wrapping a seven foot mirror with plastic.

I waved a hand to get their attention. "Felicity Orley?"

One of them pointed to a man door off to the left. That door led to a foyer that looked like it had been renovated and decorated by Joanna Gaines. Fake plants, painted wood, and a fat, soft sofa with so many pillows there was nowhere to sit.

Above a small reception desk, made of pallet wood and blue paint, hung a sign that read,

"The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers..."

Kitch nodded to it. "William Wordsworth."

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