Page 94 of Under Cover
“Mm-hmm. Permission.”
Harding’s eyes grew flinty. “Nothing gratuitous. Nothing that can be traced back to us. And if you think you can avoid it, do.”
Chadwick gave an absolutely chilling smile and placed his hand on his heart. “I solemnly swear we will avoid any wrongdoing if at all possible.”
With that he wheeled about, tactical gear still on, and strode toward the elevator.
“I, uh, don’t believe he and Carlyle are going to find it possible,” Garcia muttered.
Harding turned those flinty eyes toward him. “They’ve tried to kill you once and Crosby three times. They were going to sacrifice an innocent man just to bait Crosby into a meat grinder. If Carlyle and Chadwick can get some information….” He let the sentence trail off, and Garcia nodded, understanding.
This was a silent, very deadly war. And Harding was ready to strike a killing blow to end it.
“Fine,” he said, not sure where his conscience was, because it didn’t seem to be speaking up, “but let me text Crosby and have him order pizza. If there’s no Shake Shack at the end of the rainbow, I’ve gotta have something to eat.”
THEY TRICKLEDin from different routes—tradecraft, taking different paths through the city to get from their homes to the office, had become so ingrained in all of them in the last month, Garcia didn’t think they’d ever get the stink out of their cell phones. He’d started stopping at different places for breakfast and coffee, changing the route up every day. He had three different grocery stores he ordered from, and he placed the orders at different times for different things. He knew that since that night with the Twenty Fourth, they’d all become nth level paranoid because the idea that they had tails on them—whether or not the tails were lost—was terrifying.
And tonight, of all nights, nobody could afford to be tracked.
But something seemed to have been cut loose in them, something savage and feral, now that Crosby had been attacked, because Chadwick and Carlyle may have been the last ones to arrive, but they were by no means the only ones who were… bloody.
“Rough ride in?” Crosby asked, sounding worried. They were both still wearing their vests under their long-sleeved shirts, and Carlyle had scrapes on his knuckles.
“Nope,” Joey Carlyle said and glanced at Gideon as if in confirmation.
“Smooth as silk,” he said.
“How smooth?” Harding asked, eyes sharp.
“You know that place on the Hudson where the bodies keep washing up?” Carlyle asked almost clinically. “That construction foreman keeps finding people in very nice suits without a mark on their faces?”
“Yes.” Harding sounded wary, and Joey had everyone’s attention by now.
The poor foreman—Garcia had needed to interview him once, and the guy had been legitimately confused as to which body they’d been talking about, because in five years of work, he’d recovered over twenty.
“I did an analysis of local tides and currents to see where the most likely dumping spot was for those bodies to end up there,” Gideon said. “Turns out it’s about three blocks behind one of those places that has the real good ice cream.” He held up a bag with two half-gallon cartons packed inside a wash of ice packs, and Manny stepped forward and took it from him, getting nodded permission from Garcia to put the ice cream in the freezer.
Harding took a deep breath. “So, how many bodies does that take our poor engineer up to?”
“Twenty-three,” Joey said promptly, before laughing low and deep from his belly.
“Wait,” Natalia said. “Wasn’t it only at twenty-one—”
“Turns out we were both tired of having tails,” Gideon told her. “And since they both attacked first, I’m afraid we had no choice but to fight back. Until they were… wet.”
“Very, very wet,” Joey added darkly.
Garcia tried not to gape. “Are they just attacking us now out in the open?”
Joey shook his head. “No, I think we provoked them. Not on purpose,” he added, looking virtuous. “We weren’t doing a damned thing that was illegal—or even unseemly.”
“All completely aboveboard.” Gideon Chadwick’s sober nod almost blew the entire façade.
Harding swallowed. “I don’t even want to ask,” he decided after a moment. “I….” He took a breath. “I am taking your word for it that you had no choice.”
“We responded to an attack with proportional force, sir,” Carlyle said.
Coming from the hall, dressed in Crosby’s shirt and Garcia’s sweats, Gail made a raspberry sound. “Weak shit,” she muttered. “My guy rushed me with a knife, and Swan blew him away with his drop piece.”
