Page 129 of Scarlet Angel

“Someone probably called about shots fired.”

“Kairi, don’t we?—”

“She’s off with the crew. I’m on it,” another male voice says. “Confirmed. Reports of shots fired. No details.”

The street has transitioned to a business thoroughfare. Gone are the trees and driveways and the occasional home. The speed limit has also dropped, but we’re blowing through it.

“Map’s going to tell you to turn right at George Street. Turn left. Loop it.”

I look at the map, studying the grid and the blue dot that’s our goal destination. Now’s not the time to be pulling some CIA training bullshit. “If you’re looking to throw a tail?—”

“Do as we say,” yet another male voice says.

I grit my teeth. If this goes sideways, I’ll know sooner than later to cut links to these blokes.

I’d rather have my team with me, but as it is, I don’t know how many of them survived the bombing.

I turn left.

A mass explosion lights the sky.

Shockwaves rock the car.

“Follow the car in front of you. Keep up. Floor it. We’re getting you out of there before first responders arrive.”

I press the accelerator to the mat, noting the detail behind me is gone.

The car in front of me roars into a parking garage. Scarlet has one hand on the dash and one on the seat.

“Get down.”

“Again?”

“Might be an ambush.”

The engine rumbles noticeably louder inside the concrete garage.

Four armed men are standing about, one with a lit fag, relaxed enough to take a puff.

The car in front squeals to a stop, and I whip into a spot one over.

I don’t recognize any of these men.

“Grab your bags,” a voice on the phone says. “Disconnect this call. Get in the van. It’s outfitted. We’ll connect once you’re inside.”

The line goes silent.

The men I followed open the back doors and grab our gear.

“Come on,” one of them says.

Scarlet’s green eyes are clouded with uncertainty, and it’s exactly how I feel. But it doesn’t appear we have any other choice. We’ll play along and hope to land on a safe square.

Four of us hustle down concrete stairs and through a metal door. In my last glance over my shoulder, I see the other men staying behind, the one still puffing on the fag. But they’re armed.

“The others, what are they waiting for?” I ask.

“They’ll slow down any tails.”

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