We picked out a range and readied our gear.
"You really think that's a life someone like you ought to be living?" I asked, squaring up with my gun and getting ready for my shots. "Sitting around in that apartment, letting the empty whiskey bottles pile up in the corner of your kitchen?"
I fired a triplet of shots, each one going fairly wide.
"No offense," he said. "But what the hell do you care? Once we get this case taken care of and this asshole put in jail or a grave, then why does it matter so much to you what I do with myself?"
"Because you're a damn good agent." I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the tension that I felt was affecting my aim. "It'd be a waste."
Two more shots, two more holes through the target that were far too wide for my liking.
"Where'd you learn to shoot?" he said, standing up next to me. "And don't tell me it's the gun."
"I don't know what it is," I said. "But this doesn't bode well for the rest of the evening."
Jerrod gestured for me to move to the side. He took aim with his very large pistol, squared up, and cracked off three rounds. Each one was dead-center.
"Nice," I said.
"Shoot again," he said, his eyes on me. "I want to watch what you're doing."
I felt like the pressure was on, but I did as he said. I raised my gun, squinted one eye, and lined up the shot. After a slow exhalation of all the air in my lungs, I squeezed the trigger.
That had to do it.
But when Jerrod hit the button and brought back the target, I saw with disappointment that the shot, like all the others, had gone wide. This one just barely managed to stay within the upper-right shoulder of the gorilla-shaped target. He pressed the button once again and sent the target back, this time even further than it had been.
"You're too tense," he said. "You're making the rookie mistake where you're trying to guide the bullet when you pull the trigger. Here—"
He moved from my side to behind me, reached his arms around my body and placed his hands on mine. Right away, the feeling of his body pressed against mine sent shivers up my back and caused gooseflesh to break out.
"I can feel the tension in your shoulders just standing here," he said. "I know about the shot through the gorilla's eye that saved your life the other night; you're a better shot than this."
"That was total luck," I said, still enjoying the feeling of his body.
"Luck is just being prepared for an opportunity when it presents itself," he said. "If you were some civie that shot would've gone wider than the ones you're making now."
He pressed his hands against mine. "Close your eyes and loosen every muscle except the ones used to hold the gun straight and steady."
I closed my eyes and tried my best to do what he asked. It felt strange, as though I might just collapse where I stood. But I used Jerrod's body for support.
"Okay, now open your eyes, exhale, and shoot."
The shot cracked through the silence of the range. Jerrod pressed the button and when the target came back I was overjoyed to see that the shot was just about dead-center in the gorilla's head.
"You're worried about tonight," he said.
"And you're not?" I asked, taking down the paper target.
"'Worried' wouldn't be the right word," he said. "Worry rarely does any good."
"I know it doesn't," I said, "but that doesn't mean I can just will it away."
"That's what I do," he said. "Just have to train yourself. I want to see Aubrey's looking just like that target; fear will only make that harder to realize."
I looked down at the paper, focusing on the fresh hole through the head.
"We make a pretty good team," I said. "You have to admit."
He only offered a smirk in response. "Let's get this all cleaned up; we've got a hell of a night ahead of us."
CHAPTER 10
JERROD
We arrived at the rendezvous point, which was a run-down, out-of-business store in Hell's Kitchen that hadn't yet been purchased and turned into some kind of overpriced boutique. I couldn't help but be a little nervous as we stepped into the place; the abandoned nature of the store coupled with the poor lighting and out-of-the-way location struck me as the perfect place for some kind of set-up. Once we entered and had a look around, Harper and I took a seat at cheap table and chair set in the middle of the shop floor. Outside, the evening lights of the city had been gradually turning on; sunset wasn't too far off.
"You have a bad feeling about this, too, or is it just me?" Harper asked, her eyes flicking around the place.
"Not just you," I said. "But unless Armitage is planning on doing the double-cross to end all double-crosses, then I think we're probably fine."
Rationally, I knew that nothing untoward was likely to go down here. But with the night we had ahead of us, I couldn't help but feel a little on edge.
Out of the corner of my eye, as I watched Harper, a strange mix of feelings brewing inside of me. Last night was…nice; that was beyond dispute. But our evening together was the first time I'd been with anyone since Sophia was killed. I knew that a year was more than enough time to start to develop an attraction for someone else, but I couldn't help but feel as though I were doing something to tarnish Sophia’s memory by being with someone new, as though I owed it to her to have feelings for no other woman but her.
However, knowing Sophia, the last thing she'd want me to do would be to waste my life mourning her; in her eyes, that'd be as bad as if both of us died. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong.
And at the same time, I couldn't help but feel the way I felt about Harper. She was beautiful, skilled, and a hell of an agent. All of this was just too much for me to process, and the last thing I needed to be burdening myself with an hour out from a life-or-death op. I cursed myself for being so helpless in the face of my feelings.
"No sign of the wolves," Harper said, checking her watch.
"Maybe they pussied out," I said, scoffing.
"Yeah," Harper said. "Maybe th—"
"Hands on the table," came a voice from somewhere around us that was at once authoritative and sly.
Harper and I exchanged a surprised look before scanning the room around us for the voice's source.
"Don't bother looking for us," the voice said. "We've got you surrounded. Now, put your hands on the table."
Harper and I looked at each other once again before slowly raising our palms in the air and placing them on the table.
"Good," the voice continued. "You just saved your lives. Now, state your names and what the hell you're doing here."
"Harper Dupree."
"Jerrod London, working with the shifters."
"And who sent you?"
"Armitage," I said.
A silence hung in the air, disturbed only by the steady thumping of my heart. Odds were good that these were the Canids –their silent entrance made a strong case for this- but if they weren't…
"Then you're the meet-up for the mission," said the voice.
"Right," Jerrod said.
Another long silence. Then, out of the darkest shadows of the store emerged three figures, men all dressed in tactical black, submachine guns in their hands. All of them had the same thin, angular faces and narrow eyes, and right away I knew that they were the wolves.
"About time," I said.
"We've been here," said a man with short, sandy-blond hair, speaking with the voice from the shadows. "Just figured we'd watch you both for a while, make sure the rendezvous hadn't been compromised."
I watched the air rush out of Harper's lungs in relief.
The sandy-haired man approached Harper and me, and the two of us rose to greet him as he did. "Smith Avery," he said, extending his hand. "The skinny fuck over there is Will Barnes, and the chatty guy is Dan Gunn."
"Always gotta be insulting me," the skinny Canid said.
"If you think that I'm ever gonna stop giving you shit for being a vegan wolf, then you've g
ot another goddamn thing coming," Smith said.
The skinnier of the two other men shook his head and gave a half-friendly wave, and the other, a hard-faced man surprisingly burly for a wolf, only grunted. Harper and I shook Smith's hand.
"So," Smith said, letting his gun drop to his side. "We've got an infiltration mission ahead of us."
"That's right," I said. "We're busting up a declaration of war against your kind. Putting a stop to it by any means necessary."
Smith nodded grimly.
"And we're going up against gorillas?" Will, the skinny Canid, asked.
"That's right," I said. "Aubrey Carver, the target, has a squad of Brooklyn gorillas on his payroll."
Another grim nod. "Well, in case either of you hasn't gone up against gorillas before," Smith said, "the key is to take them out before they shift. Once they're in their gorilla form you can drain an entire clip into them before they'll even flinch."
"Oh," Harper said, finally speaking up, "I know."
Smith turned to Harper and looked her over skeptically.
"So, you're the panther chick who's going to be leading the team," Smith said, walking over to her with a cocky stride. "Normally, I'd tell anyone who wanted to take the reins on a Canid op to fuck off, but Armitage has you highly recommended. But I gotta ask—you have any idea what you're doing?"
"I've been a Sapien for years, and I've fought and killed gorillas in the field."
Smith sorted in a seemingly satisfied way. "Fine, but only because you've got a wolf like Armitage vouching for you. But if I get any hint that you look like you don't have a goddamn clue, then I won't hesitate to take command. Got it?"
I could only imagine what was going through Harper's mind at that moment. But if she was worried, she didn't show it. Instead, she matched Smith's steely gaze. "Got it."
"Then let's not waste another minute," I said.
"Agreed," Smith said. "Let's get this shit-show on the road. And we've got an infiltration plan. Come this way."
Harper and I followed the three men out the back entrance of the store and to a van that was positioned in such a way that we couldn't see the pedestrians on the sidewalk on the other side- and they couldn't see us.
"We're going to show up in a van with the three of you dressed in SWAT black?" I asked, looking over the large white vehicle. "Might as well ask the front desk if we can make an appointment."
Smith responded with a smirk before tapping his black combat boot on the manhole cover in the center of the group.
"Through the sewer?" Harper asked.
"Through the sewer," Smith said. "They're still finishing up construction on the tower, and this route will take us right to a site that's off-limits to anyone but the construction crew—and they're all off for the night. From there, you can head in through maintenance, and the four of us can take the window washing scaffolding up to the top. Unless you're afraid of getting a little dirty."
"It's not the dirt I'm worried about," I said, my eyes on the manhole cover.
"Then let's get on with it."
The three men opened up the back of the van, revealing a large piece of machinery used for raising manhole covers. Those things were surprisingly heavy, weighing something like over a hundred pounds. The men put the machinery into place, turned in on, and hoisted the cover out of position. The disgusting stench of sewage blasted us like the heat from an oven on full blast.
"We've probably got an hour, two tops, before someone notices out little set-up here," Smith said. "So, after you two."
Harper and I exchanged another glance, and I started down the ladder. Once at the bottom, I was presented with the sight of a narrow channel of flowing sewage flanked by two narrow walkways. After a minute or two, Harper and the rest of the team were down and we were off. Smith directed us where to go, and after about twenty minutes of travel through the vilest sights and smells I could imagine, we arrived at another passage up, this one free of a cover at the top. We headed up, arriving in a construction yard surrounded by a tall barrier. Not a soul was to be seen. And in front of us, the massive, glass form of the skyscraper rose up into the air. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky around us was a swirl of purple sky, cream-colored clouds, and the orange of a setting sun.
"Maintenance is up ahead," Smith said, gesturing to a set of doors. "Just head in and the service elevator is on the right. Go up to the eighty-ninth floor; the meeting will be taking place one floor above you. Get into position, but don't make a move until we give the all-clear."
"Got it," I said. Then I turned to Harper. "Good luck up there, kid."
"Same to you," she said.
There was a moment of silence. Looking at Harper, I felt something that I hadn't felt in years, and I couldn't deny it any longer. With a fast motion, I tugged her close and gave her a hard kiss on the lips. When we pulled apart, Harper looked at me with an expression of delight and surprise.
"See you on the other side," I said, turning around and jogging toward the building, a flurry of emotions running through me that I didn't understand.
But through the confusion, there was one feeling that stood out loud and clear: my need for revenge.
CHAPTER 11
HARPER
To say I was "nervous" as we rode the window-washing scaffolding up the side of the building would be the understatement of the millennium. Heights had always been one of my most primal fears, and as we raised higher and higher, the view of the city becoming more dramatic by the second, it took everything I had to not faint right then and there. But I had a team to lead, and avoiding showing anything resembling weakness was a priority.
"It helps to look over the side," said the skinny team member, Will, to Dan, the agent who must not've said more than five words since this whole thing started. "You know—it helps you face your fears and shit."
"Fuck off," Dan said.
Then, he leaned over the side of the rising scaffolding, snorted, and let a massive wad of spit drop from his mouth. He gestured to the spit, then to Will. Will raised his hands, as if to say "message received."
"Stay focused," I said. "We're about five minutes away from taking out a squad of gorillas."
Smith said nothing, and I got the distinct impression that he was wondering if he should've let Armitage talk him into letting some twenty-five-year-old panther lead his squad into an op like this. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking the same thing. The closer we got to do-or-die time, the more the memories of the other night flooded into my mind. I had nightmare visions of leading yet another team into the slaughter and again not having the basic decency to die at their sides. I grit my teeth and did my best to slow the beating of my heart through deep, full breaths. I had a war to stop, and team members to avenge—this wasn't the time to let my anxiety get the better of me.
Eventually, the scaffolding came to a stop. The motor now silent, the only sound was the low howling of the wind. Against my better judgment, I turned and looked out onto the city and was greeted with the length of Lower Manhattan. Looking down, I nearly stumbled in place when I realized just how high up we were.
"This is it," Smith said, tapping with his fist onto a black latch on one of the windows. "We can get in through here. An office is on the other side, so we should be able to catch our breaths in there."
"Then let's do it," I said.
Smith pulled open the latch, which opened a small section of the window big enough for the four of us to crawl through. I went last, and when I put my feet on solid ground a wave of relief rushed over me. I pulled the window shut behind me.
"Plan, boss?" Dan asked, his voice more like a grunt.
"We're going to split up," I said.
"You serious?" Will asked. "Against gorillas? If one of them shifts, it'll take all the firepower we have to bring them down."
"That's why we're not going to let them shift," I said. "We're going to sweep this floor, taking out the gorillas as we go. Silenced rounds to the head while they're in human fo
rm; don't let them see you. That's what you Canids are trained to do, right?"
"Damn right," Dan said.
"If one of these gorillas spots us and hits the alarm, then we're screwed. Aubrey will call off the declaration ceremony and fly the fuck out of here on the roof. So, we clear each floor slowly but thoroughly. Not one of these assholes better be left standing twenty minutes from now."
The three men all nodded in agreement. From Smith's expression, I could sense that he was softening up a little more toward me. I think part of him though I'd be some girl who was afraid to spill a little blood. But he didn't know me very well.
"Then let's do this," I slipped out my silencer and screwing it onto my pistol.
Smith sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything around us; now's the perfect time."
"On my mark." I placed my hand on the doorknob. "Now!'
I opened the door and the four of us rushed through, splitting up and heading in separate directions. I moved with quick, quiet footsteps down my hallway, listening carefully for the sound of anyone nearby. Then, I heard soft chatter in those rough same rough, Brooklyn accents that I'd heard from the gorillas before. Peeking around the corner, I spotted two men, both armed to the teeth, talking to one another. I moved up to a shelf between them and me and took position. Just like Jerrod said, I let the tension drain out of my body along with the air in my lungs. Then, whipping out of cover, I raised my gun and fired two shots, each one hitting home and dropping the two mercs where they stood.
I took a slow breath, pleased at my work.
I swept the floor along with the rest of the team, taking out one more merc on the way to the stairs. Once I arrived, I saw that the group was already waiting for me.
"Clear," Smith said as I approached. "How many you got?"
"Three," I said.
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