Page 68 of One Knight Stand

“It’s locked,” I whispered.

“Figures,” Wally responded. “You know what to do.”

I carefully pulled the homemade j-hook out of the small pouch strapped around my waist. Clamping a small flashlight between my teeth, I began to work on it just like I’d watched online on the dark web’s version of YouTube. It was much harder than the video maker had made it look. Also, Remington’s window was a lot newer than the one I’d practiced on at the farmhouse.

Ugh.

I wiggled the hook some more. Why hadn’t I thought to practice using only one hand? It had taken the guy in the video only a few seconds to jimmy open the window. Of course, he wasn’t in the dark, hanging off a trellis, and getting ready to break into the house of a senior federal government official, all while holding a tiny flashlight clamped between his teeth.

Sure. No pressure.

After a few minutes, I had to take a break. I eased back from the window and rolled my neck, telling myself to calm down. My hands were shaky, and despite my best efforts, the weather stripping was preventing my tool from reaching the hook to unlock the window. It was just frustratingly out of my reach. I wondered if the window had ever been opened and if it would be stuck even if I unlocked it. Recognizing my negativity, I scolded myself and got back to work.

“Come on, put some muscle in it,” Wally said in my earpiece. “And hurry up. If anyone sees your light, we’re dead meat.”

He was right. I needed to hurry and get this done. I gritted my teeth tighter against the flashlight and did what Wally told me to do. I looped my arm holding the trellis through an opening and used my elbow to keep me from falling. Then, using my second hand, I was able to push hard enough to hook the latch and yank. I swallowed a scream as the tool suddenly gave and flipped out my hand, hurtling to the ground.

“Crap,” I hissed, which actually came out like “kak,” since the flashlight was still in my mouth.

“What happened?” Wally said.

I looked down at the ground and saw Jax in the shadows rubbing his head. I lifted a hand before he gave me a thumbs-up. I reached over and took the flashlight out of my mouth, holding it closer to the latch. “I lost the j-hook,” I whispered. “But I think I got the window open. Stand by.”

I carefully tucked the flashlight back into my pouch. “Where’s the target?”

“The target remains in living room,” Wally assured me. “Now, get in, and be careful. No heroics, okay?”

That wasn’t a hard thing to promise, as I was definitelynothero material. “Okay.”

I wiggled the clamp a bit more with my fingers, then pushed at the window. It stuck a bit, but after a couple more pushes, it finally slid up. I held my breath, waiting for an alarm, but nothing happened. I positioned myself in front of the windowsill and pulled myself up and over the sill.

I landed quietly on the floor.

It was clear, even in the dim light, I was inside Isaac Remington’s home office.

Chapter Thirty-Four

ANGEL SINCLAIR

My heart was beating so loudly, I was certain Remington could hear it all the way downstairs.

I pressed a hand against my chest, willing it to slow down. This agent stuff waswayscarier than it seemed in the movies. I needed to focus and look at my current situation like I would a cyberattack. Focus on the immediate danger and handle what was in front of me. Then I could press forward with the next step.

I could do this.

Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I gently closed the window and took a look around the office. A huge desk sat in the middle of the room. A couch, chair, coffee table, and credenza rounded out the furniture. Stuff hung on the walls, but it was too dark to tell if they were paintings, diplomas, or photographs. There was a closet with a partially opened door. I peeked inside and saw a spot where I could hide if he came upstairs.

I glanced over at the open doorway, walking gingerly toward it in case a floorboard squeaked. His office was not carpeted, which made hearing me more of a danger. Luckily, I could hear the television from the living room. It would cover any little sounds or squeaks I might make, but it also might interfere with hearing his conversation if he didn’t mute the sound.

I set the case down on the floor and pulled the mic out and carefully assembled it, thankful I’d practiced putting it together numerous times, even blindfolded. Once the mic was in one piece, I inserted the earpiece in the ear that didn’t contain my comm link. I held out the device, turned around slowly and listened. There was still too much static. I adjusted the tiny knob on the device until I could hear the television as if I were standing in front of it. Remington was listening to the news.

I pressed the Record button and whispered, “Testing.”

“Working,” Wally replied after a moment.

I gave a small breath of relief. Now I just had to wait. I closed up the backpack and wondered where to hide it so that I could easily retrieve it. There wasn’t an obvious spot, so I pushed it way back into the kneehole under Remington’s desk. He’d have to lean far down to see it if he came into the room.

I rested against the doorjamb. If Remington stayed on the first floor, Jax and Bo could also hear and record him from their positions outside the house. But if he moved upstairs or downstairs, I alone would be responsible for capturing the conversation.

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