Page 64 of Out of Control

“The gear bags—”

“We’ll have to leave them. They’re undoubtedly tagged and bugged.”

Spencer looked like he wanted to swear, but he nodded grimly.

“I don’t know if there are cameras or just audio. We’ll need to low crawl across the bedroom to the fire escape.”

“Can we skip the crawl and climb out the bathroom window to reach the fire escape?” Spencer responded.

He thought about it for a moment. “Dicey, but doable.”

Spencer nodded. “As soon as the mirror fogs up, any camera lens in the bathroom is also likely to fog over. Then we can climb out.”

Spencer went first, jumping across the five-foot gap to the fire escape like a freaking chimpanzee. Then it was Drago’s turn. He turned off the water in the shower, climbed through the window, and balanced precariously on the narrow ledge outside. Now was probably not a great moment to tell Spencer he wasn’t a big fan of heights.

He took a deep breath and launched himself into space. His foot slipped as he pushed off the narrow ledge, and he didn’t get the energy from his left leg at all.

Shit.

He was going to land short. It was five stories straight down to concrete.

A strong hand grabbed his wrist and all but yanked his arm out of the socket. He slammed chest-first into the steel superstructure and grabbed it with his free hand, hanging on with all his strength.

He threw his leg over the rail and was standing on the landing. Safe.

Day-umm. That had been close. His heart was about to pound its way right through his ribs and out of his chest.

“You don’t have to make my life that exciting,” Spencer muttered.

“Believe me. I wasn’t trying.” He took the lead, racing quickly down yet another fire escape into the night.

They reached the bottom and Spencer looked at him. “Now what?”

“Now we fucking go to ground.”

Chapter Twelve

SPENCER LOOKEDaround the dingy basement room in an old office building deep in one of the worst slums in Paris, not far from Khoury’s place, in fact. But the Paris police would stand out like sore thumbs in this neighborhood and, furthermore, would not be welcome.

What he wouldn’t give to have his SEAL platoon with him right now. A watch rotation would be set up, roving scouts sent out to keep an eye on the street, overwatch in the form of a sniper nest across the street maybe. Then he would feel truly safe. As it was, he and Drago could only rely on the obscurity of this hidey-hole to save their hides.

The room’s cement walls were black with mildew and grime and the concrete floor suspiciously damp. There was one bed with a bare mattress, a table, two wooden chairs, a sink, and a toilet. No window. No ventilation to speak of.

“Jeez. I’ve seen jails better than this,” Spencer commented as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Oh, man. The lumps in the mattress were epic.

“I’ve seen torture chambers better than this,” Drago retorted.

Spencer recapped quickly, “Okay. We have no gear. No weapons. No support. No leads. Now what?”

“Well, we have these leads. We just have to get into them,” Drago said, gesturing toward the pillowcase of laptops and burner phones sitting on the table. “As for the gear and guns, this is Paris. Anything can be had for the right price in this town.”

“That would require us having money.”

“You say that as if I haven’t taken certain precautions to make sure I always have liquid funds at my disposal.”

He raised his eyebrows at Drago. “Do tell.”

“In the morning, when the train stations are full, we’ll go fetch the cash I keep stashed in a locker.”

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