The Transporter

by Maverick, Liz

  “Can’t tell who it is,” Shane muttered. He exited the freeway and headed for a series of underpasses stretched out before them like the ribs of a whale. A flicker of a frown disturbed his impassive face.

  “Is he still there?” Cecily asked.

  “Still there,” Shane said. He shifted, and drove the car up on the side of the tunnel wall.

  “Oh. My. God,” Cecily shrieked.

  “Hold tight,” Shane said.

  And then he did it again, except this time, he took the tunnel like a half-pipe and somersaulted the entire car.

  They landed hard, slamming against their seat belts. Cecily craned her neck to see what they were up against. “Are we running away, or . . . ?”

  Shane flashed a smile, but he was focused on the road. “That would be ‘or.’ Come on, man. You can do it.”

  Cecily’s heart was beating out of her chest. She was glued to the seat mostly due to the fact that her fingernails were still stuck into the armrest and seat cushion. “You . . . you’re disappointed?” She took a deep breath after noting the frisson of hysteria tainting her accusation. “Tell me you’re not letting this crazy person . . . catch up!”

  “It’s been a while since I had some decent competition. This is more me showing off for you.”

  “Oh. Wow. Um, well, I’m very . . . um, impressed . . . so, we’re still going . . . what”—Cecily leaned over to look at the speedometer—“like one hundred miles per hour.”

  “Unfortunately, we lost him. Again.”

  “I thought we were trying to lose him,” Cecily said.

  “I thought it would be harder,” Shane said.

  “Maybe we should let him stay lost,” Cecily suggested.

  “I almost think he wants to have a chat,” Shane said.

  “What makes you think that? I mean it seemed like he was going to ram us.”

  “He wasn’t going to ram us.”

  “I really think he was going to ram us.”

  “He wasn’t going to ram us, because he had a couple of decent shots, and he didn’t ram us.”

  “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

  “Not if he wants to have a chat,” Shane said, his calm words at odds with the tremendous speed at which they were driving, which had them weaving through vehicles and dodging motorcycles.

  Cecily watched in her rearview mirror as the white sedan made some headway and then switched to the lane next to theirs. “I think he’s got hamsters instead of horses in that piece of shit. Maybe I should slow down even more,” Shane said.

  “Slow down? So, if he doesn’t want to ram us, what’s he want?”

  “Like I said, I think he wants to talk.”

  “You’re serious? Maybe he should call us on the phone!”

  “I’m not giving him my personal number, are you?” Shane asked.

  “Then what’s going to happen?”

  “I guess we’d better roll down the window and ask. I want to see if I recognize him.”

  “Shane!” Cecily shrieked.

  The white sedan labored up next to them; Cecily could tell something had gone wrong enough with the car that a bit of ugly smoke was seeping out the tailpipe.

  Shane rolled down his window as the car sidled up. He took a look and then shook his head at her as if to confirm that he didn’t recognize him. Cecily took a deep breath as Shane also popped the armrest compartment between them and helped himself to a very small, very sharp knife.

  A man with dark brown hair, a nose that clearly had once played football in high school, and cheeks riddled with chicken pox scars leaned over and glanced between Shane and Cecily. “Cecily Keegan,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Cecily sucked in a quick breath. Oh, god.

  The man looked at Shane. “Who are you?”

  “Her driver.”

  The man smiled at Cecily. “I’m a message. Tell your brother to lay off the pirozhki.”

  Shane let the words sit there for a moment. “Anything else?”

  “It’s five o’clock. Do you know where your razor is?”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Do you keep a staff writer for this shit?”

  The man shrugged, his car swerving slightly.

  “I don’t use a razor,” Shane said. He raised the hand that had lain concealed on his lap and threw the knife with a practiced flick.

  Cecily yelped as the blade sailed through the sedan’s window and nailed the passenger headrest, the hilt swinging left and right as the driver reared back in surprise. It was apparently all Shane had to discuss, because he put the pedal to the metal and left the sedan in the dust. After a quiet five minutes of driving at about a hundred miles per hour, he slowed to eighty-five.

  It took her that long to calm down, and when she looked over at Shane, she was surprised to find he didn’t look calm at all. If anything, he looked way more agitated than he had driving up the side of a tunnel.

  “Shane,” she said, trying to keep it together. “What’s in your head?”

  “Manhattan,” he said tightly, shooting a glance in her direction. He looked spent. Bleak. It was like the thrill of the chase was gone and reality was setting in.

  “What about Manhattan?” Cecily asked.

  “It’s hitting me. All of sudden . . . just . . . do you have any idea what you’re . . . ?” He broke off then, shaking his head.

  No, she didn’t. “What did he mean? How did he know my brother? And pirozhkis? What the hell was that about? And the razor thing.”

  Shane stared out the windshield. “The razor thing was his way of saying he’s been shadowing us. Which I already knew since he’s been trailing behind since I picked you up in Minneapolis.”

  Too shocked to answer for a moment, Cecily sat frozen next to Shane as they continued to drive in silence. “Are you serious? Why is this happening?”

  Shane gave her a look. “Ask Dex. You’re going to have to ask Dex about a lot of things.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cecily said.

  Shane shook his head, and then it was like he just exploded. “Wake up, Cecily. Why do you think it is that you know me better after two days than after a year or whatever with your ex?”

  Cold fear moved down Cecily’s spine. “You’re different,” she said.

  “You bet I am,” Shane said. “I’m not a Russian spy who lied to you about everything from where I went to school to what I like to eat.”

  “What?” she blurted, absolutely reeling.

  Shane looked up at the sky through the sunroof. “Dex will fill you in at the Armory. I think I’m done throwing bombshells today. I think I’m just . . . done.”

  Cecily couldn’t breathe for a moment. “James isn’t Russian.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Shane said dully. “He’s a Russian spy who’s been using you over the past year in a long-tail attempt to get information about Dex and his team. My team. The Hudson Kings. Which just so happens to be working on a contract to uncover Russian sleeper agents in New York City. That guy we just smoked is probably someone James hired to follow you.”

  “James has never even met Dex!” As soon as she said it, though, it clicked. James constantly asking questions about her brother. What was he like? What did he do for a living? How was his work going? Had she talked to him recently . . . the times she caught him looking at her e-mail and she thought he was worried about her cheating . . .

  “That’s gotta be on purpose. He took you to Minneapolis to isolate you, I’m sure. Probably couldn’t take a chance that Dex might recognize his picture in a file somewhere, although I’m sure he makes a point of changing up his appearance.”

  “But everything I know about the Hudson Kings and Dex’s work, I just learned on the road with you.”

  “James doesn’t know that. And for all he knows, still, you’re just a girl going to stay with her brother after a bad relationship. You’re not useless to him yet. Not by a long shot.”

  Cecily watched Shane’s face. “How long have you known thi
s?”

  He went silent.

  “Shane!”

  “I didn’t know how it was going to be with us.” He stared doggedly ahead.

  “That’s it? By the way, Cecily, your boyfriend James was a fake? He was a Russian spy? And I’m only now just telling you?” It was all starting to hit her. The crazy was all starting to hit her now. From the moment she’d gotten into Shane’s car, it was like she’d entered another world. Five-star hotels and illegal deals in seedy gyms, car chases and having the best orgasm of her life in an alley with thousands of dollars under her feet . . . this is not real life. It was a dream that sounded a little too much like it could easily turn into a nightmare.

  “Like I said. I didn’t know we were gonna . . . that we . . . damn.” He tried again, in the same gravelly voice: “You’re gonna be tough to forget.”

  Cecily stared at him in disbelief, trying to decide how she felt about the bombshell, as he called it. Trying to decide, as they sped toward Dex and the end of her time with Shane, how she felt about all of it. Him.

  “Tough to forget” was one hell of an understatement, at least on her side. The whole affair was about to end before it had even begun, but Cecily felt like she was tied in knots. Not even an “affair.” A nonaffair. A nonevent. He’s right. There is no “we.” We fooled around in an alley. He didn’t even get off. I’m an idiot for being even remotely sad about this.

  He’s going to pull up to Dex’s apartment, pop the trunk, drop my suitcase at my feet, and leave me there. He won’t look sad. He probably won’t be sad. And then he’ll tuck himself back into the cocoon of his car, drive off to more interesting adventures that require duct tape and secret fancy dress pants.

  Oh, god. Cecily now knew exactly how she felt. Violated by James. Scared that she’d gotten mixed up in something bad that she didn’t understand. Spooked by the idea that James wasn’t going away. Pissed that Dex and Shane had kept such a big secret from her. And devastated by the realization that Shane was going away.

  They drove in silence for ages, the pastoral mountains of Pennsylvania finally giving way to New Jersey’s concrete hodgepodge of buildings, punctuated only rarely by the vintage charm of white-lettered signage touting businesses shuttered decades ago.

  At last, the Lincoln Tunnel loomed up ahead. Shane cracked his neck. Cecily’s heart raced. She recognized the facade, with its huge arches framing inky passageways, from driving in as a tourist here once before, years earlier. When they finally passed through the tunnel, the traffic closed in on them even more. Soon, they were sitting in gridlocked traffic in the middle of Manhattan.

  Shane dialed his cell phone and spoke: “Incoming. Say five minutes, if my shortcut’s not blocked. Give Dex the heads-up, yeah?” Then a terse “Thanks,” and the phone went back into its little charger well.

  “Well, Cecily,” Shane said in near monotone. “Welcome to New York. Welcome to your new life. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Cecily stared at Shane’s profile. “I hope you do too, Shane.”

  His head whipped around. “Didn’t know I was looking for something,” he said.

  I know, Cecily thought. I know.

  CHAPTER 12

  The Armory was one of several built over the course of Manhattan’s history. A place for living, training, strategizing, and storing weapons and equipment, the one used by the Hudson Kings was as true to form in its current incarnation as it had been during the city’s earliest days.

  A few of the city’s armories were public tourist attractions, event spaces even. Some of them had been turned over to private buyers and had been lost over time to history. Even if you managed to wind your way to the proper location and got past the massive brick walls shielding Rothgar’s complex from sight, you’d still probably think you were looking at crumbling history and some nondescript warehousing unless you had the right map. Get past the barbed wire, security cameras, and camouflage, and you had something very different.

  Shane’s favorite part was the thirty-thousand-square-foot garage that had been a drill hall in the 1800s courtesy of President Lincoln’s request for troops during the Civil War. Now it housed the Hudson Kings’ vast collection of personal cars, trucks, and motorcycles in addition to a stable of mission-oriented ex-military vans, armored transports, and the odd piece of artillery or bomb squad equipment.

  How Roth ended up owning this much Manhattan real estate was a question Shane hadn’t asked; whatever the case, it was Roth’s, and he’d opened it up to the men who formed the Hudson Kings, so Shane had a room here. It was the one place in this world, besides the interior of his car, where he felt comfortable.

  And the only thing Roth had asked of the circle of men who knew the entry codes was that they keep the location on a need-to-know basis and give to the team the same balls-to-the-wall loyalty that they got.

  Shane swung the car through a tunnel made out of glass and steel and came out the other side into a courtyard that still held what was obviously part of the original structure; the heart of the Armory looked like a castle. A massive brick castle.

  “Dex lives here?” Cecily asked doubtfully. “I don’t know whether to hug him or hit him. Same goes for you.”

  Before Shane could answer, Dex appeared at the top of the front steps, brace on his leg and cane in his hand. “Oh, my god, I’m definitely going to hug him first.” Cecily squealed and waved and jumped out of the car as soon as it came to a stop. She raced up the steps like a bolt of energy, the gold in her hair glinting in the sun. She tackled Dex on the landing, and Shane smiled in spite of himself as she nearly took her brother down.

  Watching the show, he wondered how in the hell he even gave a shit about what she did to Dex. All of Cecily’s goodness was literally walking away from him, being aimed at someone else, and it burned. He had no idea how the woman had gotten under his skin in such a short time. He half wished he could go back to the way he’d been before he met her, but he wasn’t willing to give up laughing with her, kissing her . . .

  All the more reason to be glad she wasn’t his anymore. Shane, he thought, shaking his head, you crossed more than one line on this trip.

  “Hey, Shane!” Just ahead of where Shane parked, Nick was hanging out in the front courtyard watching Chase operate a drone. The man raised a hand and gave a wave, that solid-gold old-school watch of his shining brighter than Cecily’s hair. Nick’s screwed-up freelance gig must still have been plaguing him, because the man usually breezed in for team meetings and right back out again without so much as tweaking the polish on his expensive brogues.

  “Money in the back?” Nick asked.

  “Yep,” Shane answered. “It’s unlocked. Same percentages. Thanks.”

  “Good to see you,” Nick said. The financier shook Shane’s hand like he always did—like they were sealing a million-dollar deal—and headed for the BMW.

  Chase steered the drone carefully through a maze of tree branches, lowered it to the ground in front of Shane’s feet, and then took a small pad of paper from his pocket and penciled a note. Along with Shane, the guy was a go-to floater and team generalist, but his specialty was building whatever it was you could dream up. Most people didn’t guess that behind the trickster smile, beat-up cowboy boots, moth-eaten Super Bowl T-shirt, and jeans so worn you could see the outline of his cell phone straight through the pocket was a serious-ass engineer.

  “Yo.” Chase bumped fists. “Welcome back, man.”

  From the top of the stairs, Cecily shrieked with delight as she roughhoused with her brother. Dex’d picked her up with his free arm and was throwing her over his shoulder. She was laughing her ass off.

  Shane pulled Cecily’s suitcase from his trunk and set it down, mesmerized by the sound.

  “Put me down,” Cecily screamed joyfully, beating on Dex’s back. Shane watched her fuss over Dex’s leg and point to the cane. And then she pointed to his stomach. Her brother gestured for her to hit him. She did and then shook out her “hurt” fist
in mock pain, laughing, always laughing. Dex rolled his eyes at her for the benefit of the guys watching, but he was pleased.

  Dex should be pleased. Cecily was just lit up with joy.

  “Long drive?” Chase said with a grin, following Shane’s gaze.

  Shane ignored him. Nick walked up with the money bags and set them against the tree trunk next to the drone gear, chuckling. “His mind is on short and sweet.”

  Rothgar came out on the stairs, the corner of his mouth tipping up at the siblings as he breezed by them. Roth had maybe ten years on Shane, but the big man was fucking built like a ring fighter and still looked like he’d be a formidable competitor against any one of the Hudson Kings. He was wearing what the team liked to call his “office uniform”: boots under dark jeans and a dress shirt that he said was to remind him that even if the Armory was his home, he was always on the job. Of course, sharp as he made an effort to look, the salt-and-pepper in the scruff on Rothgar’s cut jaw made it difficult to resist the urge to tell a grandpa joke during team meals. And that said, far as Shane could tell, the guy’s looks fell squarely into the asset category when it came to women. Shane had seen him work more than one bar like a magnet without even trying.

  “One piece,” Roth said gruffly. “Always a plus. You already got some plans we’ve got to work around, or can I count on you for an indefinite period of time?”

  “I’ll stick around,” Shane said, turning away from the sight of Cecily tucking her hair behind her ears. “Gonna get the car to the garage for a tune-up.”

  “I’ll get a meeting together,” Roth said, picking up Cecily’s bag and heading back up the stairs.

  Shane turned and headed back to the car, feeling strangely empty. He got back into his car and shut the door, but the silence wasn’t a relief, not when he could still see Cecily smiling on the steps.