Kicking It(21)
It was the only way to survive in her desolate new world, where everything that mattered had been ripped from her. Who wanted to hire a thief who was always just one heartbeat away from snapping under the strain of her grief?
Then again, maybe those who were desperate, stupid, or slimy enough to hire a professional thief didn’t give a shit how unstable she was so long as she got the job done.
Which she did. Every time. And this one would be no different.
After she finished setting up their safety net, she hurried back to the RV on top of the hill and lifted her binoculars.
Red lights flickered below before steadying out in a constant glow once more.
Simone knew what that flicker meant. Some poor humans down there were being squeezed dry of every spark of magic coursing through them. As they died, the stream of power faltered, causing the lights to flicker.
Either that, or the ’Gasts were firing up something that sucked a lot of juice.
“Time to go,” she told Brighton as she lowered her binoculars.
He loped down the RV stairs, carrying the red purse and balancing a wood-chopping ax on one wide shoulder. The wedge gleamed under the moonlight, its edge honed to razor sharpness.
“Really?” she asked. “An ax?”
He slipped the haft through a leather loop at his belt. “Don’t scoff. It works.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just keep that thing swinging away from me. I’m not looking for a haircut. Or worse.”
He tossed the red purse toward her. She caught it and held it close. “You’re not worried I’ll just turn and run?”
“Not if you want the magic to keep working. It’s a gift. For the night.”
“Or if you die,” she reminded him.
His dimple appeared as a flicker of a smile came and went. “Sure, though I’m not planning on letting that happen tonight. Sorry.”
“How do you know I won’t just kill you?”
“Guess I don’t. You ready?”
His trust made her pause. After a too-long moment, she nodded, pulled her attention away from Brighton, and put it where it belonged—on the job. “We’ll approach from the south. There are fewer shells on that side. Plus there’s a light out, which will help.”
“Why should we care about the light? You have magic boots that make us invisible.”
“Yes, but they don’t do squat for hiding footprints. The pavement around the building is wet. Each step we take will cause water to wick up as we step away, making our prints shiny and visible for a few seconds.”
“Right. Guess I didn’t think about that.”
She transferred a few necessary items she carried to the purse and looped the leather strap across her chest. “Which is why you hired me—to think of the things a law-abiding citizen doesn’t.”
“Southern approach it is. What about when we get inside?”
“All you have to do is follow my orders. Do what I say, when I say, and we’ll get out alive.”
“You get off on being bossy, don’t you?”
She gave him a level stare—the one she knew could render most men mute. “No. When I get off, I’m a lot louder than this.”
His jaw went slack, but to his credit, he recovered almost immediately. He gave himself a little shake and repositioned the ax. “You enjoyed that far too much.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I love my work.”
And before he could call her out for her lie, she broke into a jog.
Simone skirted the edge of some trees and brush that hadn’t been mowed down for development. The air had cooled from the rain, leaving her fingers chilled. Her riding gloves were back with her bike, so she shoved her hands in her pockets while she waited for Brighton to catch up.
His footsteps were quieter than she would have expected for a man his size. The damp leaves and twigs covering the ground kept the crunch factor down, but his sheer weight should have caused sticks to snap underfoot.
From the corner of her eye, she caught the gleam of his ax as he moved in beside her. “I see three shells,” he said.
She pointed toward a stack of rotting wooden pallets. “There’s a fourth. The way he’s leaning makes me think one of his legs might be out of commission.”
“No shoe, either.”
“I don’t see any weapons.”
Brighton pulled in a deep breath, and the expansion of his chest made his jacket graze hers for a second. She didn’t know what it was about this man, but he demanded way too much of her attention.
“They don’t really need weapons,” he said. “Besides, fingers and toes are often the first parts to give out after the eyes. Most of the older shells couldn’t hold a weapon if they wanted.”