27. Chapter 27

27

" H ere you go." Soren handed the other half of the roast beef sandwich to Rowan.

"Thanks." Rowan accepted it and ate a third of it in one bite.

Soren and Rowan had been sitting for two hours in the car, which was positioned in the dark beyond the reach of any street lamps, a half a block away from the entrance to the warehouse. The moon was also covered by clouds tonight, so it was the perfect evening for surveillance.

They had followed Vincent to this location earlier that day, the first time they had followed him to a place other than the office, his home, or one of his businesses. The property was surrounded by a wired fence, and a security checkpoint was situated at the entrance to the property. These were Soren's first clues that this location held something that needed to be hidden. The warehouse itself sat one hundred yards further in, so it was impossible to peek in from outside the fence.

Soren and Rowan ate in silence. Rowan was an ideal surveillance partner; he was comfortable with quiet, never talking for the sake of it, and he was extremely observant. Soren prided himself on his own ability to focus, but Rowan took it to another level. Between the two of them, he was confident that no detail would be missed.

"What do you make of the list of characters and numbers?" Soren asked Rowan. He had shown him the picture that Ilaria had taken at Vincent's house a few days before, after which Rowan had immediately started making calls to his contacts about this aestrium-x.

"If aestrium-x is a weapon, they could be part numbers," Rowan theorized. "If it's a drug, they could be ingredients. Either one could be made here in the warehouse."

Soren had come to the same grim conclusion. A name and strings of meaningless characters on a piece of paper could be dismissed as innocuous, but now that a real location was in the picture, they had to assume the worst. Especially given Vincent's ongoing bitterness with Galen.

"And the next questions are: does a weapon or drug have anything to do with Vincent's plans for vengeance against Galen, and if so, how?" Soren added.

A call came in from Galen. "Uncle Galen," Soren greeted, holding his phone to his ear.

"Soren," Galen responded. "I was hoping to catch you. Is it late out there?"

"Not too late. Rowan and I are on surveillance." Soren narrowed his eyes. "But it's the middle of the night for you. Anything the matter?"

"I received a message from a little birdie last night," Galen began. "An anonymous note. I have a feeling it's from Fraser, but that's just a gut feeling. Anyway, the note suggested that we have disloyalty in the family, that I need to watch my back."

Rage rose fast and furious within Soren. Disloyalty amongst the ranks was intolerable. Even minor disloyalty meant removing the offender from the employ of the MacGregor organization. Treason was punishable by death.

Rowan must have sensed a change in Soren because he looked over with his brows lifted.

"I need to get back to Edinburgh." Soren was seeing red.

"Not yet," Galen replied, tone quiet. "We don't know if this is true. It could be one of the other families stirring up trouble."

"But that's exactly it," Soren argued. "If it's a rumor stirring up trouble, I need to squash it. And if it's a real threat, then I need to be there to uncover it."

"I need you to stay with Ilaria." Galen said. "Don't forget, she's still the priority. Vincent appears to have something up his sleeve, and I cannot have her get hurt."

"But—"

"That's an order, Soren." This time, Galen's tone allowed for no argument.

Fuck. If something happened to his uncle, he would never forgive himself. But he would not disobey a direct order.

"Alright, understood." Soren hated the words even as he voiced them, his hands gripping the dashboard in front of him. "But let me at least review the security plan with Ewan."

Galen went silent for a beat. "Am I on the speaker?"

"No," Soren said. He trusted Rowan but conversations with his uncle were for his own ears.

"I know you trust Rowan and Ewan," Galen hedged, "but I need to keep this between the two of us. So just listen right now. I have a plan, not only to catch the source of this particular threat, but any others whose loyalties are not where we need them to be." He paused. "I'm not going to tell you the details yet."

"Galen, if it's my fault—"

"Soren," Galen interrupted. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. We need to purge the ranks. Every so often it's necessary. I've done this a few times before, clearing the ranks, so don't worry about me. I need you to focus on finding out what Vincent's up to. Understood?"

Soren rubbed his forehead. He should be with his family. Instead, here he was in Chicago, playing spies and sleuths and wasting time.

Well, not completely wasting time. He believed there was a threat to Ilaria's life, and if Vincent was planning something against Galen, he needed to be here too.

"Understood." He tried to sound assured for his uncle's sake. "Keep me updated."

"I will," Galen said. "How's everything else going? Are you and Ilaria getting along?"

"We're doing fine." A little white lie, again for his uncle's sake. "Don't worry about us."

"Good."

A large box truck came rumbling up the street. "Galen, gotta go. Say hi to the family for me."

"Talk soon."

Soren hung up and watched the truck drive up to the security gate. It was white, unmarked, and generally nondescript. From their vantage point, he couldn't see any distinguishing characteristics of the driver. After a brief exchange, the gate arm rose to allow the truck to drive through.

Rowan snapped several pictures on his phone.

The truck drove around to the loading dock and backed in. The roll-up door opened, and five men came out of the warehouse, opened the door of the truck, and unloaded what appeared to be fifty-pound bags and large, four-foot rectangular crates, all plainly marked. Bags and crates were then moved into the warehouse storage area, where they were stacked.

"That truck's a twenty-six footer," Rowan murmured. "Must be holding quite a supply."

"And it looks like that's just a holding area in there," Soren murmured. "Can't see what's beyond that."

After thirty minutes of unloading, the truck's doors were closed, along with the warehouse doors. The driver hopped back into the driver's seat and drove off.

"I counted sixty bags and twenty-five crates," Rowan said. "For the size of the bags and crates, whatever they're doing is pretty large-scale."

Soren nodded with a sinking feeling. "Let's follow that truck."

***

Soren wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm, catching his breath. He wished he was back in his usual gym with Alistair so he could work out until he was too tired to think.

As it was, he had to make do with the punching bag he hung in the basement and the cheap gloves he bought. This was a temporary situation, anyway. He wasn't planning to be in Chicago for very long.

His earlier conversation with Galen served as reinforcement that he belonged in Scotland with his family. There would always be dangers; they were inherent to this business. His responsibility, first and foremost, was to protect the MacGregors.

Soren had not expected the dangers to come from within his own family's organization, from people he had personally vetted and hired. He felt responsible for bringing in someone who could hurt his family from the inside, for exposing his family to a weakness that could tear them apart. And he had a desperate urge to fly back to Scotland to right the wrong. If not for his uncle's explicit order, he would have.

He could justify being in Chicago temporarily. Vincent was planning something that could also be a threat to Galen, which made it his responsibility to find out what it was and eliminate the threat.

He could even justify being here to protect Ilaria. He was following his uncle's orders, after all.

But beyond these two reasons, Soren couldn't justify being away from home longer than necessary. Regardless of his personal feelings for Ilaria—however unclear and complicated they were—they were not enough of a reason to shirk his obligations. So once the threat that Ilaria's uncle posed was gone, and she was safe, he would consider the job finished. He could go back home to Scotland, conscience clear.

Soren sent a flurry of punches to the bag, as if he could drill in his decision once and for all and never waver. His wrist and fingers aching, he yanked off his gloves and tossed them aside, sweat dripping to the floor.

He made his decision. So why did that leave him with a hollow feeling?

***

Soren: Everything good? Rowan, Elowine, and I are going to grab some beers right now, so you don't have to come over. Just text me later.

Ilaria: Where are you going?

Soren: Stag's Head.

Ilaria: We'll meet you there.

Soren: I don't think that's a good idea.

Ilaria: Why not?

Soren: It's not safe. And you shouldn't be driving if you'll be drinking.

Ilaria: Jesus, DAD. Then Wallace and Murray will drive us.

Soren: You should stay home tonight.

Ilaria: So you can go out and have fun and I can't?

Ilaria: If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to avoid me.

Soren: Don't be ridiculous. Do whatever you want. I don't care.