It’s about the same, right?
And no matter how many times we do this, it’s nerve-wracking to wait, watch, and stay calm.
We can’t fuck this up. I can’t lose the girl or the assholes.
This is it. Our last chance to get a lead on the trafficking cell that has been kidnapping college girls in Portland. Classes are over. Everyone is in the middle of finals. In a few days, everyone is either going back home or starting a summer job. When that happens, these fuckers will disappear. They might come back when the next semester starts, or they’ll move the operation to another big city.
It happened last year in Atlanta. We were so close. I don’t want them to get away—again—but having Grace as bait is fucking killing me. I want to toss her over my shoulder and take her away from harm.
If she could hear my thoughts, she’d be so fucking upset. The woman knows krav maga, jiujitsu, and karate. She knows how to use a knife. That’s her weapon of choice. They are easier to use than guns, according to her. She can take care of herself, but that doesn’t take away my need to protect her.
“You know what would be easier?”
“If you shut up?” Lang responds. “I have at least seven different cameras to monitor.”
He’s in Seattle in his home office looking at the monitors on the wall. I bet there’s one where he’s playing a video game while we wait. As usual, he watches everything from a safe distance. The guy flies the drones.
The aircraft is several feet above Grace. It’s far enough that no one in the ground can see it. The video technology installed in the drone makes it possible to film and take pictures of everyone around the quad. It should be able to capture the faces of whoever tries to take our girl.
“You know what we should be doing?” Fish asks.
“Recording an album, figuring out how to get Beacon out of his father’s will, or playing video games,” Mane answers. “Why did I sign up for this shit? I swear you said, ‘We will form a band.’ Not, ‘We will be working as—’ What are we? Some fancy look-a-like of a CIA-Interpol-FBI private agency with no retirement plan, dangerous working conditions, and a fucked up schedule.”
San laughs through the communicator.
His question is complicated.
We’ve been friends for a long time—since preschool. Grace’s mom likes to pair up people she thinks might have things in common, including music. One thing led to another, and we found ourselves learning martial arts with Mason Bradley. Several years later, here we are, working for him. I can’t say that we do this during our spare time because sometimes we play in specific venues to scout or work on a mission.
Mane is right. There are times when it is confusing to understand what we do—even for us. Are we musicians or agents?
We can be both. Our band is renowned worldwide. We love playing—just like we love working for The Organization. They shouldn’t complain about the working conditions. Today is a lot better than other missions.
“This reminds me of Moscow four years ago,” San says.
Well, this is a lot better than being in the middle of Red Square having a red laser pointed at my chest. Back then, I was the bait and not in charge of the team. Yet, I feel a lot more anxious. G’s safety is on the line. One mistake and…I don’t want to think about what could happen to her.
My heart picks up its pace when I spot a guy talking to Grace. She tosses her head and laughs. Then she tilts her body just a bit to the right.
“That’s the signal,” I remind them.
Sure enough, there are two more guys close by watching their conversation. A prickle climbs the back of my neck as she nods and walks willingly with him.
“Got a few shots of the four guys,” Lang says over the communicator.
“I only count three,” San, who is on the highest point of the area with a rifle, announces. He’s a trained sniper. “Where’s the other one, Lang?”
Lang sends a text with the pictures of the suspects. One of them is the guy walking beside Grace.
“He’s taking her to an alley. There’s a van parked there,” Lang alerts us.
Fuck, it’s taking all of my self-restraint not to run and stop the operation. It’s not because I don’t trust her. I do. I’m just irrational.
“We get them, we pursue them…what’s the deal?” asks Mane. He’s the closest to the van.
“Follow her lead,” I answer.
One of our drivers is ready to tail them if she decides to get in the van with them. I pray that she doesn’t do it. The last time this lady let someone kidnap her, it was a fucking challenge to rescue her. It’s not impossible, but I don’t want a repeat.
Grace stops right in front of the restaurant that’s next to the alleyway. The guy pushes her slightly. She steps back. He grabs her arm.
“Wrong move, buddy,” San mumbles. “I’ll shoot him if he tries something else.”
“He’s about to get his ass kicked,” I murmur when he pulls her.
She takes off one of her hair pins. She stabs him in the side. Then, with gracefulness, she twirls, lifts her left leg, and kicks him in the shoulder. Once her feet are back on the ground, she lands a short jab square on his nose. This woman loves to break noses. The guy drops to the floor.
“Okay, we have the other three guys making a run for it and leaving their man on the ground,” Lang alerts us.
“God, you have to stop talking so much,” Grace complains as she starts walking away from the scene. “The guy is down. I swear I barely touched him. There are two more inside the van. I’m not sure if they are the ones we’re looking for, but these guys are up to no good. I had time to toss a couple of knives to the tires. They can’t go anywhere.”
I text the team, assigning new duties for everyone. The police should be here to pick up the van and the guys in a few minutes.
“Everyone stays away from the scene. The cleaning crew is approaching. They’re taking him into custody,” I order.
“I can shoot the other guys,” San announces. Knowing him, his finger is on the trigger and he’s targeting one of them.
If this was an isolated place, I would say go for it and shoot the guys in the van. Since my orders were very specific and the quad is filled with people, I say, “We can’t draw attention to them, or us. I’ll let the boss deal with the rest—as he requested.”
“G, walk away slowly,” I command. “Get lost in the crowd.”
“I’m not new at this,” she protests.
She shrugs out of the black jacket she’s wearing and hands it to a homeless person. She takes off the hat and wig, tossing it into a trash can. She pulls off the skirt she’s wearing and shoves it inside her backpack. By the time she meets me, she’s a different person.
She’s now my G.
“Hey,” I say, taking her into my arms. “You were going to get in the van, weren’t you?”
When I release her, her gray gaze finds mine. She smiles, and there’s so much mischief in her expression.
“You’re either going to get me killed or give me a heart attack,” I say, pulling her close to me and kissing the top of her head.
She takes off the earpiece, turning it off. I do the same, and she finally speaks, “You would’ve done the same.”