Page 138 of X Marks the Stalker
“How long?” I demand.
“They’re arguing about jurisdiction. FBI wants in before they breach. Something about national security concerns with Blackwell’s files.”
“That could buy hours, maybe days of bureaucratic red tape,” Darius murmurs, a hint of approval in his voice.
I picture Xander trapped in darkness, air growing stale, waiting. My chest tightens. “We need to get him out of there.”
Chapter 33
Oakley
“Four hours and twenty-seven minutes.” I tap my watch face, pacing the dimly lit chamber beneath the Beacon Hill Gentlemen’s Association. “That’s how long Xander’s been trapped in that vault. Every minute brings him closer to?—”
“Ms. Novak.” Thorne’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “If you could channel that nervous energy into something productive, we might actually save him.”
Five professional killers surround me, their faces lit by the blue glow of monitors showing Blackwell’s penthouse swarming with police. None of them looks concerned enough about Xander suffocating in an airtight vault.
“We need to get him out. Now.” I rip open a packet of Red Vines, stuffing one in my mouth and chewing like I might extract a plan from the candy.
“And waltz right past the twenty officersprocessing our crime scene?” Calloway raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps we could distract them with a cheese plate and some small talk about the weather? ‘Lovely evening for finding a corpse, isn’t it?’”
Ambrose shakes his head. “If Xander was stupid enough to trap himself in a vault?—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll show you what he taught me about pressure points.” My Red Vine snaps between my fingers.
Ambrose’s mouth closes with a click.
“Storming a building filled with law enforcement requires precision,” Darius says, his voice level as he types on his laptop.
“We don’t have time for precision,” I say.
“The first rule of the Society is that we operate alone,” Darius continues. “Everyone knows the risks. No one gets rescued.”
“I don’t care about your rules,” I say, my voice cracking. “He’s running out of air. And I’m not leaving him there.”
The thought of Xander trapped in darkness, gasping for breath while Blackwell’s corpse sits displayed outside, sends fresh panic racing through me. I’d left him there. I’d walked away when he told me to go.
He’d told me he loved me. And I said nothing.
Thorne steps into my path, forcing me to stop pacing. “Our agreement has always been that each member assumes their own risk. That said...” He pauses, scanning the room. “I intend to extract him. But I won’t order any of you to take part.”
The room falls silent, tension crackling between them.
“You’re breaking your own rules?” Calloway asks, genuine surprise in his voice.
“I’m making an exception,” Thorne says. “Ms. Novak and I will attempt the extraction. The rest of you maintain plausible deniability.”
“Fine.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “What’s the plan?”
“First,” Thorne says, turning to face the monitors, “we need to draw officers away from the penthouse.”
Lazlo perks up from his corner, where he’s been checking his pulse for the third time. “I sense an opportunity for a medical emergency.”
“No one’s buying your hypochondria this time, Lazlo,” Calloway says, not looking up from his phone. “Last week, you diagnosed yourself with Tibetan mountain fever. We live in Boston.”
“No. Not mine this time.” Lazlo grins, patting his medical bag. “There’s a difference between faking illness and staging one. A big one. Like a biohazard.”
Darius nods. “A biohazard situation would trigger evacuation protocols.”
