Chapter 1077
“Is it?” Skye asked softly. “Think about it, Lee. Lucian Graves is a high-value target. You’re just the delivery boy. Why would Harper Cole leave a loose end like you alive?”
Lee stared at her. She could see the gears turning behind his eyes. The fear was taking root, choking out his logic.
“I can protect you,” Skye lied. “But only if you give me the location. Right now.”
“I… can’t,” Lee whispered. “They’ll kill my family.”
“They’re going to kill you in about five minutes,” Alistair said, checking his watch. “Unless we get you out.”
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted from outside the warehouse. Real gunfire—or at least, blanks that sounded terrifyingly real, fired by Gabriel’s team.
“They’re here!” Alistair shouted, feigning panic. “Skye, we have to move! Leave him!”
“No!” Lee screamed, thrashing in the chair. “Don’t leave me! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!”
Skye looked at Alistair. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Where is he, Lee?” Skye demanded, leaning down and grabbing his collar.
“The Rig!” Lee shrieked as another explosion rocked the building. “The Trident Platform! It’s in international waters, off the coast! They’re moving him through the Atlantic City airfield! Neptune’s Palace is the transfer point!”
“Got it,” Skye said, releasing him.
Alistair cut the zip-ties. “Run, you idiot. Before they find you.”
Lee didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled up and bolted toward the back exit, sobbing.
As the door slammed behind him, the gunfire stopped. Silence returned to the warehouse.
Alistair wiped the scalpel on his trousers and looked at Skye. “That was… effective.”
“He bought it,” Skye said, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Neptune’s Palace. Atlantic City. Then out to the rig in the Atlantic.”
“We need a jet,” Alistair said. “Wheels up in thirty.”
But as they walked toward the exit, a single, sharp crack echoed through the alleyway outside.
A real gunshot. Not a blank.
They froze.
The echo of the gunshot hung in the damp air like a physical weight. Alistair shoved Skye behind a concrete pillar before her brain could even process the sound.
“Stay down,” he hissed, his weapon already drawn.
They crept toward the side door and peered through the grime-encrusted window.
In the alleyway, Secretary Lee lay face down in a puddle of dirty water. The back of his head was gone — a clean, professional kill.
“Sniper,” Alistair said quietly. “High rise across the street. Harper Cole’s cleaners.”
Skye’s stomach lurched. The game they had played — the fake “clean up” crew — had just become reality. They had terrified Lee into talking, but someone had been watching. Someone who had decided that Lee really was a liability.
“They were waiting,” Skye realized, her voice trembling slightly. “They knew they’d come for him. They used him as bait.”
“And now they know we have the location,” Alistair countered. He looked at her, his eyes hard. “This changes the timeline. They won’t wait to move Lucian to the rig. They’ll expedite the transport.”
“Then we have to be faster.”