Page 81 of Fractured Future
The moment the door clicks shut behind me, a tense breath heaves from my lungs. I love my big brother. But honestly, I’m about ready to remind him that I’m a grown, thirty-one-year-old woman.
With the cap pulled into place, I shove my phone and key into my pocket then take off. I’ll have to play this smart. Hylandis monitoring the entrance to the building, and he can’t know where I’m going.
At six thirty, he always swaps over with another Sabre agent. They rotate every twelve hours, allowing him to return home overnight. If I time it right, I can slip out during the distraction of the changeover.
With ten minutes to go until his shift ends, I hang out in the stairwell just out of sight. His blacked-out company SUV is visible outside, allowing me to watch him.
When another of Sabre’s cars pulls up, parking a few metres ahead of Hyland, I zip up my jacket and tilt the baseball cap farther down to cover my face. I’ll have only one shot at this.
Archer climbs out of his SUV, easily recognisable by his gleaming bald head and steely expression. I watch him approach Hyland’s window so the pair can exchange words.
All it would take is one look for Hyland to spot me. Shit, I’m never going to slip past unseen. But when Archer points towards his car, my inner-meltdown halts.
Climbing out, Hyland gestures for Archer to show him something. The pair walk over to examine the rear tyre. It looks a little low from here.
Bingo!
While they study the tyre, I break out of the apartment and quickly dart away. They won’t even know I’ve left if I’m careful, but I have to make this quick. Tom won’t buy my story if I’m gone for hours on end.
Once I’m a safe distance away, I yank out my phone to check the location that Blaine sent me. I’ll have to flag down a taxi to get across London to the industrial estate marked by the map.
This is probably a stupid idea.
But so was underestimating me.
After the taxi drops me off two streets from the industrial estate, I walk the rest of the way while taking in my surroundings. We’re deep into northeast London, far from the chic residences of Marylebone.
The early summer sun hangs low on the horizon, casting streaks of red and pink across the tightly packed, metal warehouses. Evening shifts must be in full swing. The estate hums with noise and activity.
No one has tried to call or text me yet, so I can only assume my ruse hasn’t been uncovered. Steeling my shoulders, I resolve to hunt down the address, confront Blaine, then book it home.
Easy, right?
Each manufacturing warehouse is labelled with printed signs. All manner of companies, small and large, hold factories here. The numbers pass in a blur as I walk between corrugated metal structures, counting into the teens.
14. 15.16.
The next row of units roars with thumping bass music, blending into the constant soundtrack of urban life all around us. London is permanently loud and over-stimulating.
Unit 17a looks like a basic office for warehouse employees. Something to do with a delivery company, by the looks of it, though the blinds are drawn. I carry on to unit 17b.
More thudding bass music echoes from the structure, beckoning me inside. Searching for an entrance, I snake around the side, spotting a reinforced door set far back from the path. But it’s guarded.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” a voice calls.
Smoking a roll-up, a beefy man lingers outside. I immediately recognise his light hair and seemingly permanent glower from our introduction in Mexico. He helped Blaine to free me.
“You.”
“Me,” he deadpans.
Walking up to him, I keep my head on a swivel. “What is this?”
“Besides a stupid risk, fuck if I know. You alone?”
“Obviously.”
“It’s my job to protect the boss, lady. Don’t bite my head off for asking the obvious.”
