Ten seconds might be enough to blow their whole plan, especially if the B-block guard showed up early. Maya watched the corridor for him, her heart rate quickening with the pulse of the music. “I always do crimes to classical music,” she told Conall, her foot bouncing lightly from the increased adrenaline. “It’s my personal fuck you to all the assholes up on the Hill.”
Conall snorted. “Can’t argue with that. The suits would be appalled. How utterly gauche of you.”
Yeah, Conall understood. Neither of them had attended the fancy parties in the elegant ballrooms frequented by the TechCorps elite, but they’d been raised by the assholes. Trained and molded into perfect tools with finely honed edges. Wielded without compassion.
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis …
“Once the cursed have been silenced, sentenced to acrid flames…” Maya translated under her breath.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” God, she’d love to burn the TechCorps to the ground. In lieu of an apocalyptic rain of fire, though, she’d take the crime. Every job they pulled, every law they broke, every bit of pre-Flare data they liberated, every credit they earned and funneled back into their community …
Pulling heists to fund a library might not be everyone’s idea of a righteous good time, but Maya lived for those middle fingers thrust firmly in the TechCorps’ faces.
The B-block guard passed his checkpoint right in time with the music, and Maya started to exhale with relief. But a smudge of movement on the bottom right camera caught her attention, and she switched the image to full screen.
“Oh, shit.”
Her tone caught Conall’s attention. He leaned over, and together they watched as the perimeter guard broke from his route and headed for the parking lot.
Straight toward them.
Conall checked his watch and bit off a curse. “They’re almost to the package. I need to pop the doors and manage the cameras.”
Maya twisted in her seat to snatch up her shiny, new stun gun. Rafe had given her this one and trained her extensively in its use. His passion for combat training made even Nina look reasonable, but Maya couldn’t fault his zeal now.
“I got this,” she assured Conall, then tapped her earpiece. “B-block guard’s right on time. I’m stepping out to deal with an issue, but you should have a straight shot.”
“Tell the issue I said hi,” Dani murmured.
“Remember the best target areas,” Rafe chimed in.
Maya rolled her eyes. As if remembering had ever been her problem.
She reached for the door to the van, but Conall stopped her with a hand on her arm. “If you don’t think you can handle this…”
He meant well. So had Rafe. A month together had been enough time for their blended teams to fall into a routine, but not enough for the Silver Devils to stop worrying about her.
She supposed she couldn’t blame them. They were literal supersoldiers. Rogue supersoldiers, no less, former members of the fearsome Protectorate. In all of Maya’s years on the Hill, she’d done her best to avoid members of the TechCorps’ standing army. The biochemical implants hardwired into their brains gave them unbelievable speed, enough strength to lift a car, and the stamina to go days without rest or sleep.
Of course, they weren’t the only ones with superpowers. Nina was the product of a genetic engineering project that produced soldiers with all the same perks but none of the biochemical drawbacks. And Dani was faster than all of them put together, thanks to her rewired nervous system. She’d escaped from the TechCorps, too—but not before they’d put her through their brutal Executive Security training.
The difference was that Nina and Dani never treated Maya like she couldn’t handle her shit. But Maya wasn’t tall and commanding and capable of lifting a car like Nina. She wasn’t a ripped, back-flipping, not-so-former assassin like Dani. She was soft and squishy, something Conall and the others couldn’t seem to forget.
They’d learn. She’d make sure they learned.
“I’ve got this,” she promised him, squashing down her irritation. “No supersoldiers out there, just a nosy guard. I can handle a nosy guard.”
“If you need me…”
“I will not be subtle about screaming for help.” She patted his hand, then gave him a push. “Go on, you have a job to do. They’re depending on you.”
With a final worried look, Conall turned back to his work. Maya checked the camera for the guard’s position one last time and then slipped from the van.
The night was warm and muggy. The start of September had brought no relief from the relentless humidity, and sweat beaded on Maya’s skin almost immediately. Atlanta rarely cooled off before late October these days, though when winter hit, it would hit hard. She was almost looking forward to waking up to frost on the windows.
For now, she had to deal with the stagnant night air. She leaned back against the van. The approaching footsteps were a whisper across asphalt, the leather soles crunching across fine gravel.
She tried to focus on the sounds, on what they told her about the world around her and the obstacles in her path. She could tell the guard was favoring one foot by the uneven crunch of gravel. She could tell that he wasn’t scared by the unhurried pace of his steps. She could tell the sound was getting louder.
She had no fucking idea how close he was.
Conall swore she should be able to tell. He’d given her shit about it just last week, swearing that anyone who could calculate trajectories in her head or crack a vault combination by the sound of the keystrokes should be able to accurately judge distance.
If her genetically enhanced brain had the ability to triangulate distances from the echoes or vibrations or whatever, no one had given her the key to unlocking that superpower.
The footsteps paused, so loud that he had to be near the front of the van. Probably peering in the windows. The front seat looked innocent enough, and the tinted windows hid the rolling command station in the back. The steps resumed, and Maya forced out a silent breath as she rolled her shoulders, trying to keep her limbs loose for an attack.
The second the guard rounded the van, she jumped him.
“What the—?”
She rammed her stun gun into his side and smashed the button, reducing his words to a grunt. Not exactly the shriek of pain Maya expected, and she had a half second to panic before a giant arm flailed at her. She twisted out of the way of a meaty fist, but pain exploded through her face as he clipped her with an elbow.
At least she’d been trained for this. She stumbled back a step but didn’t lose her grip on her weapon. The eye he’d hit was watering, but through the tears she recognized his uniform—a thick polyester blend popular with people too cheap to equip their guards with real body armor. It wouldn’t do shit to stop a gun or a knife, but it would make it harder for someone to turn his own Taser against him.
Of course he wouldn’t go down easy.
The perimeter guard was still shaking off his confusion. No doubt he was staring at Maya—young, half his size, with a body that was a lot more soft curves than hard muscle—and wondering what the hell was going on. She probably didn’t look like the kind of person who jumped security guards outside highly secure facilities.
In fact, she looked like what she was. A woman who spent most of her time scanning books, obsessing over metadata, freeze-drying food, teaching people how to use their tech, and sitting up half the night swearing at antiquated video file formats.