Rogue (Shifters #2)(57)

“I’m not going to stumble around and—”
“No.” Marc frowned. And just like with my father, that was that. I knew better than to press the point past a solid no.
Still glaring at me, Marc took off. At the edge of the park, he glanced around to make sure no one else was watching. Then he vaulted over a chain-link fence and disappeared behind the first of at least a dozen presumably empty boxcars.
The rest of us waited in the parking lot, growing more and more impatient in the September heat.
Ten miserable minutes after he left, Marc returned, issuing orders before he even got to the car. My father would have been proud.
“Parker, you stay with the van,” he said, digging for the keys in his pocket. “Spread plastic over the entire floor and cut the rope in the back into three-foot sections. We’re hoping to bring them out alive, but they won’t be pretty. Wait for my call, then pull into the rail yard from the front entrance. That’s the only way in with a car.”
Parker nodded, catching the keys Marc tossed his way.
Marc spun on the concrete to face the rest of us, while we stood in a straight line like good little soldiers. “They’re in the old engine depot. The windows are all boarded over or blacked out, so I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them talking and clanging around.”
Blood rushed through my veins, pounding in my ears in a rhythm so frantic and fast I thought I might pass out. But I was just excited, and more than a little nervous. This was the first big assignment I’d been involved in since we’d taken out Miguel, and that one was a bittersweet success. We’d lost a man.
We couldn’t afford to lose another one this time. Not even one of the bad guys. Everything had to go according to the plan. Which was surprisingly simple.
“The bay doors are barred from the outside, which leaves only two ways into the depot,” Marc was saying, eyeing each of us in turn. “One standard door in front and one in the back. Jace and Faythe, you’ll go in the front. Burst in and make some noise to get their attention.”
I couldn’t help wondering why he’d paired me with Jace instead of Vic.
“Vic and I will pick up a couple of two-by-fours, then come in from the rear when we hear you. The objective is to take them both out with a single blow to the head. Without killing them. So control your force, please,” he said, that last part aimed at Vic.
Vic nodded.
“Any questions?”
I frowned, thinking hard. Surely there was something I should ask. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? But I was drawing a complete blank.“Good.” Marc pointed toward the fence at the back of the park, where he’d gained entrance to the rail yard. “We’ll go in there, over that last panel. Give us three minutes to get into place. Then make your move. It’ll go fast from there. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. No argument, and no unnecessary communication. And keep your minds on the job at hand. Understand?” Marc seemed to be looking at me in particular for that one, which pissed me off.
Jace nodded and elbowed me in the arm. I glowered at Marc but nodded grudgingly.
Parker climbed into the van to make the preparations, and we jogged across the park. Sweat was already running down my back and gathering behind my knees. September in Texas was a really rotten time to be chasing bad guys.
We leapt the fence one at a time, then followed Marc, our shoes silent on the hard-packed earth. At the front of the building, Marc pointed to a spot between the huge bay doors and the closed front door, indicating that Jace and I should wait there. He tapped his watch, then held up three fingers, mouthing “Three minutes” as he and Vic picked their way noiselessly around the far corner of the building.
I nodded, already focused on my watch. The second hand seemed sluggish, ticking from number to number with painful lassitude. By the time it completed its first cycle, I was bored, staring around the rail yard at abandoned parts, machines, train cars, oil barrels, and countless other leftovers from the glory days of cross-country freight trains.
On my right, Jace sighed. He inhaled deeply, and I did the same, searching the air for any sign of Andrew or Luiz. I found none. Not even on the doorknob, which they’d surely touched to enter the building. Unless they’d come in from the rear.
If that were the case—if the front door hadn’t been opened in years—might it not be locked? And thus difficult to open? Hmm.
Catching Jace’s attention, I mimed kicking the door open, rather than turning the knob. Jace nodded. Glancing at his watch, he held up one hand, fingers spread. As he met my eyes, he folded down one finger. Then another. I nodded; his message was clear.
“Five…four…” The third finger went down, and I studied the door, trying to decide where to kick. There, just below the knob. “…two…one,” Jace mouthed. He nodded at me, and I nodded back. My pulse spiked. My heart pounded. My leg flew.
We kicked at exactly the same time, in near-perfect form. My father would have been ecstatic.
Wood splintered. Metal creaked. The door flew open, tilted at a crazy angle. We’d ripped the top hinge from the frame.
For a long moment, we stood still, staring into the building, waiting for our eyesight to adjust to the darkness within. When it didn’t adjust, I glanced at Jace and stepped into the depot. That’s when the figure inside came slowly into focus. The only figure. One body. Not two. 
Frowning, I squinted at the form standing in the center of the floor, maybe thirty feet away. Something was wrong. The figure was too short to be Andrew, and too thin to be Luiz. And had way too much hair to be either of the men in question.
I sniffed the air and found a familiar scent—but not the one I was expecting. It wasn’t a stray scent. It wasn’t even a male scent.
“Stop,” she ordered, in a beautifully lilting, lyrical accent. And as my eyes adjusted further, I saw that she was pointing at us with both hands. “I don’t want to shoot, but I will if I must.”
We hadn’t found Andrew, or Luiz. We’d found Manx. And she had a gun pointed right at Jace’s head.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Whoa.” Jace held both hands up in the familiar defensive posture. “Manx, right? We don’t want to hurt you. We’re looking for someone else.” His voice gave no indication of the half truth in his statement. “Probably the same person you’re looking for.”
Where the hell are Marc and Vic? I stared furiously at a rectangle of light in the dark, the outline of a closed door ten feet behind the tabby. Beyond the door, something moved, blocking part of the light. Marc and Vic were waiting. They’d probably heard the tabby speak and knew she had a gun. Bursting in behind her would only get somebody shot, so they were waiting for a better opportunity to make their entrance.
The tabby frowned at Jace, but her gun never wavered. “I look for no one.” Her accent was thick, but her English was perfectly understandable. And her lie was as transparent as a pane of glass.
“We have a common goal,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t want to shoot potential allies. “We can help each other.”
The tabby growled and swung the gun my way.
My pulse jumped and my throat tightened. I took a deep, calming breath, and the tabby’s scent filled my nostrils, thick with that odd element I couldn’t quite place. My mind flashed back to my mother holding the red-and-gold afghan up for my inspection.
Was I smelling wool? Or cotton? Or whatever the blanket was made of?
“Is your name Manx?” Jace asked louder than necessary, trying to draw her focus—and her gun—away from me.
She hesitated, her gaze shifting between us as she tried to decide who was the biggest threat.
“What’s that scent?” I asked Jace beneath my breath. Her scent suddenly seemed very important. “She smells weird. What is that?”
The tabby’s eyes widened in surprise, then quickly narrowed in fury. Her lips pressed together. She adjusted her aim, and my breath caught in my throat.
Gravel crunched behind me. Had Marc and Vic circled the building?
Manx cocked the hammer.
“No!” Jace threw himself in front of me. The tabby pulled the trigger. A blue flash sparked. The blast echoed through the building.
Jace flinched violently, all over. He stiffened, then staggered backward.
“No!” I screamed, tears blurring my vision. I stepped forward to catch him, but a hand grabbed my arm from behind, jerking me off my feet. Jace fell to the ground. The scent of blood saturated the air.
Manx stared at Jace, mouth wide in horror. She dropped the gun. The door behind her flew open, and Marc rushed into the room, a jagged two-by-four in one hand. The tabby whirled toward him and froze. Vic ran in on his heels, wielding a steel pipe.
So who the hell was hauling me away from Jace? “Let go!” I yanked on my arm, trying to pull free with no success. I whirled around, expecting to see Luiz and prepared to re-break his nose.I saw Andrew instead.
Adrenaline shot through my bloodstream like a jolt of electricity. I jerked furiously on my arm. Andrew’s sweaty fingers slipped from my skin. His nails ripped my flesh. I hissed in pain and stumbled out of his grasp, already crawling toward Jace.
Jace blinked up at me.
Stunned, I tried to clear my vision.
Andrew leapt into my path. His face twisted into a vicious snarl. He bore almost no resemblance to the man I’d once known. The man whose life I’d ruined.