Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Behind us, Arrow groans and sits up, hood falling back. “Why are you two arguing at a volume that makes my soul hurt?”
“Your fault,” I say. “You let her in.”
Arrow blinks at Lark, then at me. “You two still doing the denial tango?”
Lark grins. “He doesn’t believe in my immense value.”
“She is unauthorized,” I counter.
“She’s also holding our encrypted activity logs hostage,” Arrow reminds me. “So maybe don’t piss her off before coffee.”
I glare. “You agreed to this?”
Arrow shrugs. “I agreed to evaluate. Big difference.”
Lark lifts her chin. “And how’s my evaluation going?”
Arrow sips whatever’s in his mug and sighs. “You broke in, tested our systems, found vulnerabilities, and didn’t hand us to the police. I’d say you’ve got potential.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“I still don’t like it,” I mutter.
Arrow looks at me. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to make sure she doesn’t die.”
I go very still.
He’s not joking.
He is absolutely, horrifyingly sincere.
Lark watches my face like she’s waiting for the verdict.
My brain catalogs the reality: she knows too much, can do too much, and has already inserted herself into our operations. Cutting her out now would be like trying to remove a virus with a hammer.
My heart catalogs something else: a flash of her swinging that bat, the way she moves—quick, efficient, unafraid. The spark in her eyes when she taunts me.
She is chaos.
I am control.
We could be lethal.
Or we could be a disaster.
Probably both.
I exhale, slow. “Fine.”
Arrow raises a brow. “Fine?”
“Fine,” I grind out. “She can shadow. Under strict conditions.”
Lark’s grin could power the grid.
“I get a vest, right?” she asks. “And a comm? And one of those little earpieces? I always wanted an earpiece.”
“No,” I say.
Arrow laughs. “Yes.”
Ozzy smiles. “She can have mine.”
I stare at the three of them. “You’re all dead to me.”
Lark bounces on her toes. “When’s our next mission?”
“Not our,” I correct immediately. “Mine. You are observing. Quietly. From a safe distance.”
She tilts her head, batting her lashes. “Sure, Knight. Whatever you say.”
She’s lying.
I can tell.
She knows I can tell.
And she doesn’t care.
She steps backward, snagging her jacket from the chair, twirling her bat once. “Text me the deets. I’ll bring snacks and backup.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Lark.”
“Yeah?”
I meet her gaze and hold it. “You’ll stay in the car.”
She smirks. “Absolutely not.” She saunters out, humming that stupid pop song, boots heavy on the stairs.
When the door shuts behind her, I stand there for a long moment in the quiet hum of the monitors.
Arrow whistles low. “You are so screwed, man.”
Ozzy nods. “It’s like watching a cat fall into a bathtub in slow motion.”
I sit down at my console, fingers flying over the keyboard, pulling up the next target file just to give my brain something to focus on that isn’t Lark’s mouth.
“She’s Gage’s little sister,” I say under my breath.
“Uh-huh,” Arrow replies.
“She’s off-limits.”
Arrow nods like he isn’t buying it. “Sure.”
“I’m not touching that.”
Ozzy snorts. “Keep telling yourself that, big guy.”
I scowl at the screen.
Lark’s right.
I hate that she’s right.
We leave trails. We leave loose ends. We don’t always finish. If she really can help us close those gaps, I’d be an idiot not to use her. But as I watch the security feed of her walking down the block, spinning her bat and smiling like she just won a prize, one horrible, inescapable thought hits me—
I’m not sure who’s hunting who anymore.
And I have a sinking feeling…
I’m the one being stalked.
By my best friend’s little sister.
In combat boots.
With a bat.
And God help me, I’ve never wanted to be prey so badly in my life.
SIX
STAY IN THE CAR (ABSOLUTELY NOT)
LARK
Some people pregame with shots.
I pregame with felonies.
“Run it one more time,” I say, peering over Knight’s shoulder at the screen. The Riverside Ops room is dim, lit mostly by monitor glow and a crappy floor lamp Arrow dragged in from a thrift store.
Knight exhales, annoyed. “You’ve seen the briefing twice.”
“Maybe I like hearing your voice,” I say. “It’s so soothing when you’re threatening people.”
His eye ticks.
Worth it.
On the main monitor is our target for tonight: Diego Vale, logistics manager for a big shipping firm with a side hustle in trafficking humans for the highest bidder. Arrow’s labeled him PROJECT SILK in the file header. His crimes scroll on one side of the screen—routes, flagged cargo, missing persons reports that line up a little too perfectly with his shipments.
“Vale runs his private business out of the back office of that ‘import’ warehouse,” Knight says, tapping the satellite image. “He meets middlemen there. Tonight he’s got a buyer flying in.”
“Creeps-R-Us,” I mutter.
Knight ignores me. “We’re not going in for a full smash-and-grab. We’re in recon mode. We get proof, get out, send everything to the task force that’s already sniffing around.”
I wrinkle my nose. “No smashing? That seems off brand.”
“We are not escalating tonight,” he says pointedly. “We’re just getting eyes on.”