Page 121 of Prodigal Son

Reese blinked. And then he turned his head around so he could look at Mercy face-to-face, without the mirror as a medium. “That’s what Lean Dogs do.” Matter-of-fact…and a little lost. Wondering, almost. “They help each other.”

“You’re right, kid.” He gave him a smile and another shoulder-touch, a squeeze this time. “That’s what we do.”

~*~

The backstage area bustled with the usual activity. Shouting coaches and designers and agents; frantic models leaning in close to the mirrors, in all manner of dress and undress. Normally, it sparked nostalgia in Raven, but tonight she felt like a live wire, juiced, breathless, and buzzing right at the edge of panic. She tried to unclench her jaw as she walked, but that wasn’t possible right now.

She spotted Mercy, first, because he was the tallest person back here, and she headed that way.

“Oh, Raven!” a designer she knew called out to her.

Several more heads turned, and more greetings were shouted.

Becca Donahue actually tried to wave her over.

Raven lifted a hand and kept moving, refusing to make eye contact.

When she reached the guys, she was pleased to see that Evan and Reese were both dressed and ready. A headset-wearing staff member was hurling fast instructions at them. Raven could hear the low murmur of the crowd beyond the curtains, as the show started to fill up. It would be starting soon.

Ian turned to her, and he had color in his cheeks, eyes a little tight at the corners. But he put on a massive, toothy smile and greeted her with his fake French accent.

“Raven!Belle femme!” They clasped hands and did cheek kisses.

Raven slipped the ID card into his palm, smooth as glass.

When she drew back, she said, “I trust everything’s going smoothly?”

He winked. “Oui, mademoiselle.”Low, in his own voice, smile still in place, “If I don’t strangle this fucking Yank.”

Raven flicked a look over his shoulder at Evan, who was frowning down at his very tight pants. She shrugged. “At least he’s kind of hot.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “You clearly have terrible taste in men. Alright.” The last he said with the accent again, pulling back from her. “You’re a delight, as always. I’ll see you for cocktails later.”

“Of course, darling.” She blew him a big, obnoxious kiss, and started walking again.

One more piece of the puzzle,she thought, and suppressed a shiver.

~*~

“We’re at the stairwell,” Fox said into the mouthpiece clipped inside his sleeve.

In his ear, Ryan, voice strained, said, “Hold on, just a…got it. I’ve got all the security feeds pulled up. Just another…and the drive…” He heard a man’s voice, Shallie offering guidance. “Alright. I’ve got the loop set up, you should be good to go.”

“Awesome.” Fox nodded to the others and slipped into the stairwell. A camera peered down at them from the corner. He waved at it. “Anything?”

“No, the loop’s working.”

“Alright. We’ll check back in later.”

The door eased shut with a click, and they were sealed into the cool concrete stairwell, alone for the moment.

They dropped their ladders, and cases, ditched their visors, and stripped out of their coveralls. Underneath were compression shirts, flak vests, tac pants, and combats. Holsters everywhere. Long guns and extra ammo were in the equipment boxes, and Abe opened them up and started fitting magazines into the AKs.

Fox pulled a tin of grease paint from his pocket and scooped up big gob that he started smearing across his face, quick and messy.

“Charlie.”

Fox was in the zone, now. Heartbeat steady and slow, breathing regular, adrenaline quietly banked so that he could run all night like this, unfeeling and efficient. His first name, in Devin’s voice, brought him up short. He lifted his head, hand dropping to wipe the excess paint off on his pants leg, and found Devin right in front of him, less than an arm’s length away, gaze intense.

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