2
Jakob
Gun in hand, I scan the broken windows and crooked doorways of the warehouse, searching for signs of movement. Once upon a time, I was the one meeting in deserted places such as these, fearful that Varga’s men were skulking outside in the dark, poised to arrest me.
Around me, my men of the City Guard are crouched in the bushes. They did well rounding up the protestors last week, but they’re inexperienced when it comes to operations like this. Archduke Levanter makes it look easy, commanding soldiers, but all his King’s Guard have to do is march up and down the parade ground and stand at the palace gates. Out here is where the danger is. In the dark. In the dirt. He languished in prison while I was out here slitting throats.
I signal for one squad to circle around the warehouse to the south side. I lead the others to the north, slipping from shadow to shadow. I turn around and see that my half-dozen men have gathered behind me. They wear gray uniforms and berets, blending seamlessly into the shadows.
“They’re likely to be on one of the top floors of the warehouse,” I tell them in a low voice. They are a group of dangerous people my informant has told me all about. Pro-Varga insurgents. Potential terrorists.
I’m interrupted by sudden gunfire. It seems to be coming from the top floor of the warehouse. Jesus fucking Christ. The other squad was meant to wait three minutes for us to get into position. Not bothering to keep my voice down, I fling an arm toward the door and shout, “Get up there and grab anyone you can. Now.”
They run up the steps single file, weapons drawn. I’m about to follow them when I spot another rusty door a few feet along the warehouse. I stride over and yank it open. Another staircase. I peer upwards through the twisting bannisters. There doesn’t seem to be anyone coming down the stairs, but I climb them anyway, two at a time.
I reach the second-floor landing just as someone dressed in black barrels into me. I grapple with them one-handed while they fight furiously, twisting and squirming. The hood of their coat falls back, revealing a dark ponytail.
A woman. She makes a dash for the stairs, but I snatch her around the waist, then trip on the uneven floor and we both go down, crashing into the metal floor, her underneath me. I hear her yelp in pain as I shove my gun back into it holster. There’s a black mask across her face and nose, and I yank it down.
Her eyes widen. Sparkling violet eyes framed by dark lashes. A few strands of dark, shiny hair have fallen across her cheeks and her lips are parted in surprise.
Lady Sachelle Balzac.
While I’m frozen with shock, she wriggles out from beneath me. I leap up and grab for her, but miss. As I lunge for her again, Sachelle sticks out a booted foot and sweeps my legs out from beneath me, then puts both hands on my shoulders and shoves.
I go sprawling backwards. How the hell did she do that?
The last sight I see is Sachelle pulling her mask up to her furious eyes then turning and running down the stairs. She’s gone with a flick of her coat before I can draw another breath.
I pull myself to my feet, trying to drag air into my winded lungs, and lean over the railing. “I know where you live, Lady Sachelle.”
I wait, chest heaving, listening for a reply, but even her footsteps have faded away. My mind races, trying to come up with an innocent explanation as to why Lady Sachelle would be miles from home in the middle of the night at this godforsaken place with these dangerous people.
I do a sweep of the warehouse and then gather the men outside. My men only. No captives.
“What happened?” I say through my teeth.
The corporal steps forward and explains that the insurgents were already running when they made it to the third floor. My men fired warning shots at the roof, but that only made them run faster. Everyone escaped.
I push my fingers through my hair. They’ll be even more cautious now, and it will be almost impossible to catch them.
I order the soldiers back to the City Guard barracks, file some paperwork about the raid until three in the morning, and then head home to my empty apartment.
I sink heavily onto the sofa with a glass of whiskey, and stare out the window into the darkness, seeing Lady Sachelle’s shocked eyes staring into mine. Her father’s at death’s door after a massive heart attack and she’s running around with these people. My informant never mentioned Sachelle. I’m going to have a talk with them again as soon as possible.