Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Chapter Thirty
ELI
“Idon’t know how I let you talk me into making you bait,” I said to Sylvie as we closed the door to the short-term rental behind us.
“Because I’m not bait by myself,” she answered brightly, sending me a sharp grin.
I’d fought, and I’d lost. Sylvie wasn’t on her own, but she was still bait. And I still didn’t like the plan.
Wren had taken care of the most vulnerable part: running around Atlanta using Sylvie’s credit and debit cards to remind the bomber she was still out there. It was uncanny how much Wren looked like Sylvie when she got her disguise together, but that was what Wren did—became anyone but herself, blending and misdirecting until she achieved her aim. In this case, intriguing the bomber and sending the clear message that Sylvie thought it was over, and she was out there rebuilding her life.
Wren didn’t waste her efforts, going to an electronics store to replace Sylvie’s favorite microphone, to the mall to refill her closet, even to the office supply store for fresh notebooks and pens. After a few days of that, Maddox confirmed that someone was crawling around in Sylvie’s email account and cloud storage, their signature close enough to the bomber’s that we decided we had our fish on the line. It was time to reel him in.
Miranda took over, securing the short-term rental––a newly renovated cottage in the Virginia-Highland neighborhood.
She’d explained, “If we put the rental on Sylvie’s card, he’s going to know it’s a trap. He’ll buy that she’s out doing some shopping, but not that we’d let her out from under our protection completely. Not yet.”
“If we aren’t putting it on my card,” Sylvie had asked, “how will we draw him out?”
“You’re going to get bored and order delivery,” Wren said, grinning, “forgetting that your credit card is connected to the delivery app.”
“Oh. Clever,” Sylvie murmured, her eyes lighting in appreciation.
I shook my head. “He’s not going to fall for that.”
“He will,” Wren said, “because you two will actually be there.”
Even now that it was happening, my initial reaction of fuck no reared back up. Every cell in my body rejected that idea. I wanted to grab Sylvie and lock her in the safe house for, I don’t know, the rest of our lives. Every reasonable thought I had told me that was a no-go. Didn’t matter. Sylvie would be safe. But I was outvoted before I could make my case.
“We can cover you,” Ryder said, looking to Miranda, who nodded soberly. “If you pick the right spot, it won’t be dangerous.”
“Unless he tries to blow the place up again,” Maddox rumbled. “We’ll see him coming in.”
“We have a location,” Cooper said. “It’s a rental run by friends. We’ve used it once or twice and have a good handle on the defenses. I’ll check and see if it’s open.”
Cooper tapped in the messaging app on his phone, and a minute later got a positive response.
“All right, we’ve got it,” he said. “It’ll be empty in two days. That give you enough time to lay the rest of your breadcrumbs?” he asked Wren.
“Plenty,” she agreed.
I wasn’t happy, but as Cooper had pointed out, Sylvie needed her life back. And the only way to give her that was to neutralize this guy. We were done playing defense.
“Are you good with this?” he’d asked Sylvie.
And fuck me, but she’d nodded, grinning in anticipation. I loved her courage. I just wished I could turn it off now and then.
All of our planning led us to this cute little cottage that was walking distance to restaurants and shopping, with flowers on the porch, starched curtains in the windows—and my team scattered around the small lot, hidden in the darkness. A one-bedroom space with a small living room/kitchen area, a bathroom with a claw-foot tub, and a bedroom so small it held only the king-size bed.
There were eyes everywhere, and still, I didn’t like it.
“You ready?” Sylvie asked me, standing in the kitchen, looking at her phone screen. “What should I order?”
“Burgers,” I responded immediately. “There’s a great burger place a few blocks away.”
I took her phone and pulled the restaurant up in the food delivery app before handing it back.
“Ooh, milkshakes,” she said, tapping the screen to place her order. I gave her mine when she was done, and she tapped it in. “All right.” She rolled her shoulders back. “It’s done. Now we just wait.”
“You already know,” I said, trying to convince my nerves to settle, “investigations involve a lot of waiting.”
“So true.”
She crossed the room to the sofa we’d agreed was the safest place to sit, slightly out of view of the front window, but visible enough to someone wanting to confirm we were inside. From that angle, if he was going to take a shot at us, he’d have to get close enough to be seen.