Page 93 of The Wolves Come at Night
Angelie flicked through the shots, magnifying the screen, making it smaller, turning it this way and that. “This one?” she said finally, pointing to the house Taylor was suggesting they start from.
“Yes. This is a working neighborhood, according to the brief. Many are with The Hague and use these homes for vacation rental properties when they’re not in town. If we want to try now, with luck most of the people will still be at work. But not for long. We should wait until dark.”
“Hmm.” Angelie twisted the phone around a few more times, then handed it back. “Okay. We’ll try it your way. We stage and wait. There’s no sense trying to do this in the daylight.” She looked Taylor over critically. “You’re too big of a target.”
Everything went fine until Santiago stepped wrong off the last tree branch and slid right off the roof.
Taylor watched him land hard through the night vision scope they’d left her, a blurred shape in the darkness, and was out of the vehicle and hoofing it down the hill before he managed to get to his feet. When he did, he grimaced and stood with his left foot up like a flamingo.
“Is it broken?” she asked quietly, slinging his arm around her shoulder.
“Fuck if I know. Damn it.”
She stood quietly for a moment, taking the smaller man’s weight easily. “Doesn’t seem like we’ve disturbed anyone. No lights, no movement when you fell. They mustn’t be home. Let’s see that ankle.”
She put a pen-sized flashlight into her mouth and took a look, pulling down his sock to a hissing noise through his teeth that told her if it wasn’t broken, it was at least very badly sprained. The ankle was swelling before her eyes, bruising beginning along the shin and heel.
“This is going to need attention.”
“Forget about me. Get on that roof, girl. She needs your help.”
“You can’t walk, you idiot. Let me at least get you back to the truck.”
“I’ll make it. But I can’t climb that damn tree again. Go. Seriously, I’ll get to the vehicle and we’ll swap roles. I’ll be ready for you when you bring out Carson. It’s my left, thank God, I can still drive. Just be careful by the gutter. There’s a soft spot, I stepped right in it and it twisted my damn leg. I was off the roof before I could blink.”
“I know, I watched.”
He handed over his machine pistol and ammunition pouch. She hesitated only a moment before nodding, slinging the weapon around her shoulders so it lay crosswise over her chest, checking the clip, then jogging to the tree.
She hadn’t climbed a tree since she was a girl. Doing it armed was certainly a new challenge. She managed, grateful for the natural toeholds and her regular workouts. Angelie had shimmied up the tree like a leopard. Taylor was decidedly more of a ground cat.
Careful not to make the same mistake as Santiago, she moved onto the steeper roofline and stepped carefully. Angelie was at the widow’s walk already, and Taylor could see her posture change when she, not Santiago, scrambled into view. Her head was shaking immediately.
“What the hell?” she whispered when Taylor got to her.
“Santiago fell. His ankle is trashed. You’ve got me instead. Let’s go.”
Operational Angelie was laser focused. She didn’t hesitate again, eased open the door. Sure enough, the stairs were there, just as Taylor had suggested.
They went quietly, one step at a time. The treads didn’t creak; these houses were relatively new and hadn’t settled yet. It was dark, but Taylor had the penlight and she shone it down by her leg, careful never to let it go horizontally. It took seven steps to hit the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.
Angelie gestured and they went back up the stairs to the roof, stretching out against the shingles so they weren’t easily seen from the ground.
“What do you propose?” Taylor asked, but Angelie was already digging in her bag. She pulled out a small leather bundle.
Lock picks.
“I propose the old-fashioned way,” she said, grinning like a pirate, and shimmied back down the stairs.
Forty-Eight
Angelie moved quickly, her motions born of years of practice. Insert, insert, twist. They were through the door a heartbeat later, weapons at the ready. She would have much preferred Santiago on her six, but the big woman could hold her own. She hoped. She also hoped Jackson didn’t get a wild hair and shoot her in the back of the head.
They crept through the hall into the laundry room, eyes adjusting to the gloom. The house felt empty. Neglected. They cleared room after room on the bottom floor, finally traversing the stairs and entering a spacious tiled living room. Angelie looked for traps, but there was nothing.
It was Jackson who said, in a strangled voice, “I don’t think they’re here. But he left you a message.”
Angelie shone her light onto the table. A delicate fingertip, wrapped in what looked like a lock of thick blond hair, sitting atop a three-by-five card.
