Page 56 of Secrets

Still, I turn off the engine and force myself out of my car, knowing the yard has been abandoned for a few years now.

Shoving my keys into my pocket, I walk toward the first set of containers, surveying my surroundings on the way. While the environment is unsettling as hell, nothing in particular stands out as unusual. At least, not for the first few piles of cargo. But as I tread through the disjointed rows, one particular container catches my eye.

It’s different from the other. It has a fresh coat of sleek black paint coating the walls, and has a tiny sticker above the handle. As I near, I make out the sticker is a Joker card. Something I haven’t seen since my time in Nox?—

My heart leaps into my throat when a stray cat, so dark in color it matches the painted container she lies in front of, jumps from her spot. Her green eyes flash with annoyance as she wanders off to find a new place to lay, but doesn’t stop looking at me until she turns the corner. I mutter a quick curse, and shake my head, returning to the door.

Inspecting the sticker, I confirm what I already suspect, and suddenly, this spot doesn’t feel so abandoned anymore. Heat sears down my spine, while the fine hairs at the nape of my neck stand at attention. But with a quick look around and finding no one there, I try to shove the suspicion away. Chalk it up to what I’m about to do and what it could mean.

The temptation to call Fikes gnaws at my insides, but I ignore it, old habits becoming much louder now.

I wrap my hand around the cold metal, but just as I force it down, my phone blares to life. I jolt back, my pulse once again being plucked on like the string of a guitar.

Digging into my pocket, I grab the phone, pressing the green answer button when I see Fikes’ name. “Hey, where are you?”

The sound of rolling tires and blowing A/C fills my ears. “We’re here now. Can you drop us a pin so we?—”

“We?” I question, my eyes flashing back to the playing card on the cabin.

I just can’t escape you, can I?

“Agent James. He heard I was coming to meet you and wanted to tag along. I told?—”

I’m not sure what else is said after that because something hard and heavy slams into me from behind, knocking me face first into the container in front of me. My head bounces off the unforgiving metal and the last thing I remember seeing before falling under is a pair of black crocodile loafers.

* * *

When I come to,I have a mean ass fucking headache and my ribs feel like I’ve gone at least two rounds with a kangaroo.

Groaning, I suck in some air to assess how painful it is to simply breathe, and am instantly met with a band of pain squeezing around my entire middle. It’s not completely unbearable, but holy shit, it hurts. “Fuck me.”

“How bad is it?” My uncle’s voice cuts through the thick haze settled in the front of my head, and it’s filled with so much concern, I damn near feel bad for him. But then I remember he’s the reason I’m two seconds away from requesting a cocktail of opioids.

Peeling each eye open painstakingly slowly, grateful for the low light that allows me to focus on my surroundings. Though my vision is the tiniest bit fuzzy, I recognize the stale white walls, blue fabric bin, and myriad of monitors instantly.

“You brought me to a hospital?”

“Of course.” Now it’s Fikes’ whose voice I hear. When I turn my head to look at him, the tendon along my neck pulls tight, making me moan. “You were in pretty awful shape.”

My brows draw together as I try to remember the last thing I saw, but I come back blank. “What happened?”

My uncle comes from around the end of the bed and sits in a vacant chair near the door. His eyes are weary, the shadows beneath them darker than normal, while his salt and pepper strands are mussed, evidence of him running his hand through them.

“We had just pulled up when you were attacked. Fortunately, it didn’t take us long to find you, given the size of the cargo yard and us splitting up to search. Fikes witnessed three perps running west?—”

“Did you catch them?” I sit up a little, wincing from the discomfort that hugs me around the middle. “Was it Babin goons or the cartel?”

My uncle’s thick eyebrows draw down even deeper, but before he answers, Fikes walks around the bed, his face as solemn as my uncle’s was. “I don’t know. I saw you on the ground and panicked. You were unconscious and there was so much blood around your head…”

His voice trails off as he looks at the right side of my temple, and I feel compelled to rid him of his guilt. “It’s fine. You’re not a field agent and I appreciate you taking care of me instead of chasing them and potentially getting yourself hurt.”

Fikes’ appreciative grin is barely there as he nods once. “Yeah. Of course.”

“So what do we know?” I shift my attention back to my uncle, while lifting a hand to feel along the side of my head. There’s stitches right where Fikes was staring. Seven stitches. Not terrible. I could probably cover it by curling my hair.

My uncle shifts. “Three young men, all at or under six feet, and ranging from 150 to 200 pounds. They all had the same haircut, faded temples and mopy blonde streaked tops, but no defining tattoos or insignias.”

“So the cartel,” I tell him.

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