Page 83 of Hunted to Be Mine
The line went hush. Blood roared in my ears. I stared at the burner like I could pull his voice out by force.
“Please,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let him return to me.”
Chapter 19
Specter
I slipped in through a narrow service door at the back of the warehouse and folded into the gap. The hinges were rusted but quiet as I eased it shut.
Inside, I stopped in the dark and let my eyes adjust. The place opened up, rows of industrial shelving fading into black. Only a few security lights. Small pools of visibility with a lot of shadow between. Dust. Old paper. Machine oil.
I touched my earpiece. “I’m in. Two guards on the perimeter.”
“Are you okay?” Selina’s voice came fast, clipped, held in check.
“Fine. Staying dark for now.” I moved deeper, kept to the wall, used the shelving for cover.
“What do you see?”
“Storage. Shipping containers. File boxes.” I took in exits, cameras, lines of sight. “Central office sits across the main floor.”
“What about the guards?”
“Lazy. Good for me.” A beam washed over a far wall, a flashlight.
Unmarked cartons surrounded me by the hundreds. Temporary holds. Oblivion didn’t want anything here easily identified.
I pushed on, deeper into the maze. “Multiple storage sections. There’s an alphanumeric system on the shelves.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Don’t know yet.” I ran my fingers over labels. MM-TR-297. BT-EC-112. Not random. My gut said that much.
A sound. Footsteps. Heavy, unhurried.
“Someone’s coming.”
“Can you hide?”
No time to answer. I slid between two shelves and pressed into a narrow gap.
The sentry entered the aisle, flashlight making slow arcs along the concrete. Three feet away. Stale coffee on his breath. Unshaven. Bored. Counting minutes.
The beam skimmed the floor and stopped an inch from my boots.
Selina’s breath picked up in my ear. Not panic, close.
He tilted his head. I set my angles: one hand for the throat, the other for his gun.
I’d done this before. Too many times.
I counted to thirty.
He sighed. His shoulders dropped. He muttered and moved on, the light drifting away down the aisle.
“He’s moving on.”
“Thank God.” Air left her in a measured stream.
