Page 62 of Redemption

Lorcan and I have a harder task. “Did you get it?” I mutter when he arrives at the mansion.

“Aye.” He glances around the entrance for people listening or observing. “You sure?”

“Might be our best chance.” This morning when we went to breakfast, almost every member of the PLA crew was missing, including Daniel and Noel. When I asked, Pierre-Jacques brushed me off and said everyone would be gone for a few days on errands. This plan, risky as it is, came together with the opportunity he presented us—limited security and a mostly empty house.

My agreement with the CIA only holds if I foil the PLA’s larger goal. Otherwise, the time I spend here is a vacation from my twelve consecutive life sentences. The push-pull between treading lightly to keep everyone safe and ensuring I get my freedom someday is wearing on me.

Despite the work we did in securing the McCaffrey organization, we’re outsiders. I’m not an ass-kiss, and Lorcan is on babysitting duty for me rather than having a real role in the PLA. The inner circle eludes us. Today, I’ll either wedge us into the middle of things, or I’ll force us to change directions.

He falls into step beside me as we head to Pierre-Jacques’s office. We’re supposed to be meeting about the plan for the Byrne Brothers. There are only two guards left protecting Pierre-Jacques, and both are off on wild-security-goose chases to the outbuildings. Lorcan’s knuckles rap on solid wood. My heart thuds. When he answers, we have to act fast.

The door swings back. The words on Pierre-Jacque’s lips die when Lorcan sticks the syringe in his neck. He collapses, and I catch him, dragging him to the couch. I hoist him onto the leather surface and situate him the way I imagine he’d nap.

He shuts the office door and locks it. We sweep for any cameras, but we come up empty-handed. If we’re wrong and they’re somewhere very covert, we could end up busted. We’re living on the edge, and we’ve got one shot to turn up information if we’re caught here.

We search in silence. Lorcan starts with the filing cabinets, and I tug open the desk drawers. The key to a good search is being methodical. No stone can be left unturned, but the area needs to look as though nobody has touched it too. When Pierre-Jacques wakes from his nap, he can’t suspect we’ve been here.

A missed meeting is a mistake because he was too tired or we forgot to show up, but if his office is ransacked, the truth is impossible to conceal.

Lorcan removes papers and bookmarks their slot in the cabinet. I find purchase orders for explosives and put those on the desk, keeping the drawer open so I’ll recall where to return them. The process can’t be rushed, but we’ve only got two hours until Pierre-Jacques wakes up. If we’ve timed it right, he’ll be awake and no longer groggy before Jade returns. He won’t remember us arriving at his door, and we’ll claim we came, knocked, and got no response. According to the CIA, he’ll think he slept through any disturbance. The plan is both brilliant and insane—exactly the way I like it.

The middle compartment on his desk is locked. I heave on it, but I can’t get it to release. I tip out jars and peer into every nook and cranny. No key. Could it be in Pierre-Jacques’s pocket? I’m not willing to risk disturbing him. The drug is supposed to knock him out cold, but if the CIA is wrong, and he wakes while I’m pickpocketing him, the jig is up. If the drawer is secured, it’s one I need to access.

“They’re right to be worried,” Lorcan mutters, flipping through a file folder. “Bombs have been delivered to Chicago, Cork, a small town in the Swiss Alps, Shanghai, Mexico City, Cape Verde, and some shit town in Russia.”

“Cape Verde?” I run a hand down my face. “When?”

“Looks like about a week ago.”

Not the one that went off in Carys’s hotel and casino then. Strange the PLA would have any connections on the island, though the CIA warned Lorcan and Kim the PLA’s net is wide and deep. Do they have divisions in those cities? Ready and willing to execute their plan?

I grab a paperclip from the dish on the desk and jimmy it into the shape of a key. My hands freeze on the drawer when the locations on Lorcan’s bomb list click into place. “Is the town in Switzerland outside Zurich?”

“I’d have to check a map,” Lorcan admits. “Don’t know offhand.”

The Van de Berg chalet is in a small town outside Zurich. Carys and I stayed there while I recovered from the warehouse raid and then again while we were trying to make a break from Carys’s family. “What about the Russian town?” My shoulders tense. “Is it near Volgograd?”

“I don’t bloody know. I’m not a walking international map.” He snaps pictures of the documents with his phone. “At least we’ve got an idea where they’re targeting now.”

Chicago is the head office for Van de Berg Ammunitions. What about the other places on the list? Would I also find Van de Berg properties there? Maybe. Cork didn’t fit for sure, but did the others?

“Get that open yet?” Lorcan tips his chin at where my hand still rests on the drawer.

I yank out the paperclip key and let out a frustrated growl. A crowbar would be helpful right about now.

“Here,” he says. “Let me. Kim’s taught me a thing or two about locks.”

“That what you two do for fun? Lie around trading superspy secrets?”

A teasing glint enters Lorcan’s gaze while he works to refashion the paperclip. “Among other things. She’s quite clever. I reckon you don’t want to hear it, but ’tis true.”

Whether Kimi is smart isn’t the issue between us. I can’t trust her knowing what I did to her family. No one forgives and forgets that kinda thing. If anyone murdered my brother in front of me, I’d damn sure be looking for revenge even a hundred years later. Putting her personal feelings aside would make her a much better person than me.

He fiddles with the lock, and it clicks unlocked. On the couch, Pierre-Jacques stirs. My brother checks his watch while he tugs the drawer open. “We should get outta here.” He slots the pages he photographed into their file folders, slipping them into the bookmarked areas of the filing cabinet. “Kim says the sedative isn’t always an exact science.”

Since the drawer is unlocked, might as well search it. I ease it all the way back, and along with the usual office supplies, there’s a manila envelope. Peering inside, I chuckle. “Jackpot.” I pour the contents onto the desk. Passports. Must be at least ten of them. Different countries adorn each.

Lorcan keeps photographing and slotting, photographing and slotting. A good system for us to examine the details later. I pluck my phone out of my rear pocket and open the first passport. Methodically, I work through documenting them. No two are the same in names, dates, or country.

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