Page 102 of Redemption

“Obviously.”

“Let’s set Russia aside.” Victoria regained her composure, working her arms back and forth. This was what she needed. “Things go wrong. I’ve been in pickles before. I’ve been surprised, jumped, bullied, maced—”

“None of which I like,” Seven countered.

“Which is why you work at the Perky Cup, and I do what I do.”

“You’re an adrenaline junkie.”

“A trained, savvy-as-fuck, adrenaline junky who needed this to get back on her feet.”

“You sound like you want someone to come from behind and bop you on the head.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Give me a break.”

“Just sayin’.” Seven moved about the room, putting her mild undiagnosed obsessive organizing skills into action with tidying and straightening things that had been just fine as they were.

Everything she was doing and saying was driving Victoria nuts. “Me too.”

“Bop.” Seven made the “P” pop as she flounced on a pillow, and Victoria stifled the urge to take the closest throw pillow and bopher. “Bop.”

Barely stifling would be a better description.“If someone doesbopme, I will deal with it.”

“Bop.”

Exasperated, Victoria turned to her best friend, who apparently forgot who the heck she was. “Are you done yet?”

Seven smiled like a Cheshire cat. “You bet your ass I am.”

Then it clicked. Victoria had played right into her hand. “Well done.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Her best friend believed in her, even if she got bopped on the head. “I love you, Seven.”

“You love Holy-Shit-Aussie-Boy too. Now there’s something to live for when you insist on running around and sticking your nose into trouble, all in the name of being a do-gooder.”

That was so damn true.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The location was rural, and cell service was spotty, but Victoria found the best spot. She drove a quarter mile past where she needed to be, grabbed her gear, and hiked through the fields to get closer, passing smaller farm buildings before coming upon a massive working barn that appeared to be the headquarters of the night’s activities.

If she could get closer, all would be easier. Quickly, she moved through the field, staying low and out of sight. Despite Seven making fun of her, Victoria did have night vision goggles as she kept an eye out for Russians keeping an eye out for her. Seeing none, she advanced until she came to the first building. The door was unlocked, and a quick search yielded nothing but a heavy stench of unorganized tools, motor oil, and tractor parts.

Victoria skirted the edges of the splintered wood building and moved to the next. The larger was a two-level barn, and a bevy of expensive cars seemed to be parked in the front of it. To the side was a row of work vehicles. She moved by each one. They were in use, none rusted out, and all currently plated. A few had plastic bottles filled with dip-spit in the bed of trucks, while a Jeep Wrangler had a week’s worth of candy bar and cigarette wrappers on the floorboards.All in use vehicles.

Whatever the Russians were doing at night, this was a working farm during the day, and a big one by the looks of it. How could anyone not notice if women were held captive inside a barn? Still, Victoria needed to take a look to rule out what was inside.

She crept to the corner and crawled up a wooden ladder to an abandoned hayloft hatch. The barn wasn’t for livestock or horse use, at least not anymore. It didn’t have the right scent, and she didn’t pick up the sweet smell of hay recently moved inside during the summer months. Crawling along the side of a ledge, she worked her way to a window.

A set of headlights turned on, and she froze. Under the cover of the moonlight, she blended in mostly, but if someone drove by, she was done for. No way could she drop to the parking lot without injury. Instead, she prayed for them to turn the other way.

The car did, and her heart started up again. Almost to the window, she reached and pushed, dangling and pushing, reaching. She grasped the edge, swinging over. Maybe Seven was right; she was a ninja tonight.

Victoria pulled up. There were the Russians. She could’ve painted the pictures. It was almost too cliché. They sat around the table, cigars in their mouths, vodka on the table, playing cards. No girls though.

Except. What was that?

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