Page 48 of Borrowed Pain
I joined him and followed his pointing finger to the street below. A white van, windows blacked out, sat parked across from the warehouse—two silhouettes in the cab.
The cookie tasted sour on my tongue.
"They're not just watching," I said. "They're waiting."
"For what?"
"For us to make contact with Hendricks or Rook. For us to do something that confirms we're active participants instead of passive observers." I moved away from the window.
Miles joined me in the center of the room. "So what do we do? Wait them out?"
"We assume they have audio surveillance and visual confirmation of our location. We assume they're tracking our communications and monitoring our digital activity." I looked around my warehouse fortress, recognizing how easily it could become a trap. "We assume they're prepared to move from surveillance to detention if we give them justification."
"Which means?"
"We can't contact Hendricks or Rook directly. We can't access additional evidence without confirming their suspicions. And we can't leave without potentially leading them to other contacts or safe locations."
It was a devastating analysis. They'd effectively neutralized us without firing a shot.
"They're good," Miles said quietly.
"They're professional. The question is, are they good enough to prevent us from finishing what Hendricks and Rook started?"
"What are you thinking?"
I turned to face him. "We stop playing defense and start playing offense—but first, we get out without them knowing we're gone."
Chapter eleven
Miles
"Service elevator," Rowan murmured, already moving toward a door I'd never noticed. "Freight access to the parking garage."
Our footsteps echoed off concrete walls painted the color of old mustard. Emergency lighting cast everything in sodium yellow, carving his face into angles.
"So, now we're a spy movie on a community college budget?"
Rowan glanced back at me. "Stay close."
The freight elevator lurched downward with mechanical groans.
"How did you know about this exit?" I asked as we descended past the main parking level into what looked like a sub-basement.
"I map every building I live in. All exits, sight lines, and potential choke points. Bureau habit that probably saved my life more than once."
The sub-basement opened into a maze of utility corridors connecting to neighboring buildings. Steam pipes ran overhead,dripping condensation that created slick spots on the concrete floor.
"This way." Rowan led me through a door markedAuthorized Personnel Only.It opened onto an alley three blocks from his building.
The late autumn air bit through my jacket. The alley reeked of garbage and diesel exhaust, but open space was welcome after the claustrophobic corridors.
A car waited under a broken streetlamp, invisible from the main thoroughfares.
"You have two cars?"
"For emergencies. Off-books title. Get in. Keep your head down until we're clear of this area."
I slid into the passenger seat, my heart racing. Rowan started the engine. We emerged from the alley system onto a residential street I didn't recognize.
