Chapter 13

13

JAKARTA, INDONESIA

Of course the Shoe Luxe warehouse was empty.

Exhausted and more than a little frustrated, Delaney rubbed her tight shoulder as they trudged back into the safe house after their nighttime sneak-and-peek.

Garrett dropped his pack in the entryway, moved into the kitchen, and pulled a soda out of the fridge. He slid onto the black bench at the gray kitchen table and opened it. He shoved over Caldwell's laptop and smartphone, which hadn't come with them. "Caldwell was obviously not the leak. Do you think I got it wrong, connecting Sachaai to Shoe Luxe?"

"I don't think so." Delaney let out a huge breath as she joined him in the kitchen. "Surge downed and gazed around the same way he did in the empty LD3s, so there must've been Sachaai vials in there, even if we found all shoes, no chems." She filled Surge's food and water bowls and signaled him to come for his dinner. Then she grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge and sat across from Garrett.

"She's absolutely right." Zim slid in next to Delaney and sipped his energy drink. "We're not Sachaai, so we didn't get the memo about loading the chems onto a semi." He frowned. "Or a boat. Or a train. Or a plane . . . How on earth are we going to find out where it went?"

"Don't know." At the table, Caldwell confiscated his laptop and phone with a scowl, then opened it up. He did some clicking and scrolling before shaking his head. "No street cams in the area to feed me intel." He eyed Garrett. "Sometimes the best plans don't work out, Bear."

Garrett did a double take. "Umm, thank you."

"You know I've been there before where things don't work out. 'Bout time you got to see how these things sometimes happen."

Sensing the quick tightening of tension—especially with the way Garrett's lips pinched into a line, Delaney wanted to explain the spook was joking. "I?—"

"Absolutely." Garrett smiled. "It happens. So, readjust, get back in."

To her amazement, the two fist-bumped. Huh. Maybe they could get along for more than two seconds.

Garrett scratched his head, gazing at Caldwell for a moment, then, "Okay, team. Is there more to discover on the connection between Shoemakers Extraordinaire and Shoe Luxe, or do any of you have another idea? Caldwell, we could use your HUMINT ASAP."

Zim started coughing. "Oh, that's bad!" he croaked.

Caldwell fanned the air in front of his face. "Whoa! Who did that?"

The nasty smell reached her, and Delaney wrinkled her nose. "Sorry. Surge has room-clearing flatulence some days." She felt herself gagging. "C'mon, dude—outside."

The Mal was a black blur sprinting to the front door, and she followed.

"Always blame the dog, right, Rogue?" Zim teased.

She turned and glared at him. "Ha, ha, ha! Y'all must be fifth graders."

The men started laughing. With a grin, she opened the door and went out with Surge.

Garrett came out into the grassy area as Surge took care of business and stank up the yard.

"That smell is worse than the river!" He grinned and lobbed the KONG to her. "Thought you might need this."

"Aw, thanks. Definitely."

Surge pounced in front of her, tail whipping through the air as he stared at his toy.

She tossed it, and he sprinted for it, then came back and dropped it in front of Garrett. She shook her head. "Y'all have really gotten to be friends."

He cocked his head. "Friends? Caldwell and me?"

She laughed and choked at the same time. "You and Surge."

He thrust out his chin and winked. "True, this dog and I are friends now. And that's thanks to your training sessions."

Somehow that warmed her, and she hoped it wasn't showing as a blush since the Jakarta evening was starting to darken the grassy area.

Surge brought the KONG and dropped it in front of her, and she focused on him. "We're taking turns, huh?" She lobbed it over by the fence, and Surge dashed after it.

"Remember when you made me play hide-and-seek with Surge so we'd get used to responding to each other?"

She smiled. "I tried not to laugh as you squeezed under the porch. Neither of you needed to learn the commands. You just needed time working together."

Surge dropped the KONG at his feet, but Garrett ignored it and raised his arms. The Malinois leaped into them, tail wagging.

Garrett's eyes widened. "He does trust me."

Staring at them, Delaney smiled. "He doesn't jump into Dad's arms. Or Heath's," she said, her voice cracking.

"He doesn't?" Garrett let him jump down, tossed the black rubber toy into the corner. Surge chased it down.

"Nope." She grinned. "Time built trust."

He whooshed out a breath. "Sure did."

Delaney faced him. "What are you thinking about?"

When Surge came running back on Garrett's second toss, he called, "Crawl!" and Surge dropped the toy, came crawling to him on his belly.

He scratched behind Surge's ears. "Do I trust God like Surge trusts you? I do . . . I want to."

"But your dad . . ."

"Yeah. Dad. It's a struggle. Even though I know who God really is."

"Let me put it this way. You asked if God put dog training into my DNA. I needed that question. He did. Thus I'm here. Didn't He install SEALs into your DNA?"

One corner of his mouth rose. "True."

Surge brought her the KONG this time, and she offered a game of tug to the beautiful black dog she was somehow on a mission with. "You know, most men don't make it into SEALs," she said in grunts as Surge jerked the dog toy. "But you jumped in a hundred ten percent. I think that's a hundred ten percent of trust in God right there."

"Same one hundred ten percent trust in Him as when you jumped one hundred ten percent onto the mission team."

She threw her head back with a grin. "Once I finally did."

"True." He smiled at her and reached for the KONG. She let him take it so Surge could kill his shoulders instead of hers.

With one giant pull, the Mal yanked it out of his hands.

She snickered as he shook out his arm.

He snorted. "All right, Kongmeister, no more tug with you till I hit the gym back home. Bring it here, buddy." When Surge complied, Garrett tossed it over by the house.

A woman and a preschool-age girl were approaching outside the fence. The adorable little girl duck-walked, slapping her feet on the sidewalk, laughing and pointing at her shoes. Bright brown eyes lit on Surge, and she raced to the fence, rambling in her native language. The source of her excitement was obvious—Surge.

Delaney smiled.

But then Surge veered off, planted himself in the corner, ears pointed at the preschooler. He just sat there, staring at her. Hard.

The girl frowned and let go of the fence, stepped behind her mama.

What was going on?

"That's a hit, right?" Garrett asked softly, looking to her.

"It is," Delaney said quietly.

Realizing Surge was scaring the little one, Delaney jogged over and heard Garrett coming too. "Good boy," she said to her four-legged hero as she gripped his collar and drew him back, but his gaze remained locked on the pair. Wondering what had set him off, she angled for a better view and scanned the woman. She wasn't carrying anything. Morning light caught on something and glinted. Sparkling?—

Delaney drew in a breath. "The shoes." Her voice and realization mingled with Garrett's, and she looked at him.

He nodded at her as he lowered his phone. "Got a pic."

She smiled. While it was a nice, connecting moment between them, Delaney was more excited about the connection to the shoes. They were adorable Mary Jane–style jelly sandals with glittery 3D plastic butterflies fastened to the toe. A tag dangled from the side—likely just purchased from the nearby market. "Purple," she mumbled, her brain linking the plastic Caldwell had in his ruck.

Garrett tapped his thigh, eyes on the pair as the mama picked up her daughter. "Caldwell's plastic . . ."

"I know," she whispered.

He pulled it out of his pocket, turned it over in his fingers, looking between it and the little girl's shoes as the pair continued down the sidewalk, past the safe house fence.

That's when Delaney realized. "That tag! They're new—that's why she's so proud."

Eyes wide, Garrett pivoted. "I've got an idea. Inside."

"Surge, with me." Delaney snagged the KONG, and the three of them jogged into the dining room.

"Living room," Garrett called.

Caldwell and Zim each came wandering down the hallway, and they all took seats.

"Got a heads-up from my contact," Caldwell said. "He still knows nothing about the plastic."

"Understood," Garrett said with a nod. "Outside just now, Surge hit on a preschooler walking past the safe house, or rather he hit on the shoes she was wearing—they had glittery butterflies on the top." He held up Caldwell's plastic. "The butterfly was made of silicone that looked just like this."

Zim frowned, rubbed his chin. "Hmm. They could have been just exposed in the shoe factory-slash-chem lab. I'd like to test them."

"They looked brand new—the price tag was still on the strap, probably too hard for the mom to break off," Delaney said.

Garrett stilled, eyeing her. "Exactly. I'm guessing they just came from the market down the street." He pointed at her. "Thompson, how do you feel about going into the neighborhood marketplace and pretending you're trying to find some cute shoes for your niece. Buy a pair for Zim's FTIR."

Oh. The plan centered on her. Her eyebrows rose into her hair. "I . . . I'm not an operator, but I'll do what I can. What if I don't find the shoes?" A worse thought hit her and tied her tummy in knots. "What if Hakim is here, in the market, and he sees me?"

He tapped his finger on his chin, then nodded. "You're not an operator, but you are fearless and bold. And two gruff operators going in looking at sparkly shoes would draw attention."

"Fearless?" That word almost took her breath. "But you're right . . . it would look odd for you two to go in." She cocked her head, then circled back to one particular thought that still had her heart jammed in her throat. "You really think I'm fearless?"

"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't." He quirked an eyebrow. "You said I was a good leader."

She had meant it too. "I did."

His eyes held hers.

Fearless. Bold. That's how Garrett saw her? Not frozen, incapable?

Zim snickered.

Oh yeah, Zim and Caldwell were standing right there.

Delaney lowered her eyes, biting her lip, halfway grinning. What had this turned into between her and Garrett?

"So, you good to do this?" Garrett asked.

She looked around at the team. "I am." She drew in a steadying breath. "So, do I say, ‘I'm looking for chemical weapons—where are the shoes?'"

Caldwell snorted, rolled his eyes.

Garrett chuckled. "You probably wouldn't get very far with that, Rogue," he teased back.

Flashing him a smile, she nodded. "Okay, so I'll find a friendly booth owner?—"

"Who speaks English," Garrett added.

"That'd be helpful." Her nerves were playing havoc with her. "And I say, ‘My niece is infatuated with shoes. Is there a booth selling any little girls' shoes here?'"

"Something like that. Keep it simple. Buy a trinket from the booth."

Caldwell nodded. "If anyone asks why you're in Jakarta, say you're visiting Southeast Asia with friends. Best lies are the ones based in truth, and they're easier to remember later."

"Good point. I'm definitely not good at lying." She twisted her lips to the side. "I am actually in Southeast Asia with friends"—she stole a peek at Garrett, and she felt the heat of his gaze to her toes—"so that's not a real lie."

"We'll be near and on comms, so you won't be alone," Garrett said. "Nice and easy. No worries."

Yeah, despite her feelings for him, they were friends. And that was enough. "No worries." They high-fived.

Caldwell walked over to the corner and reached into the durable plastic bin where he kept his tech, pulled out comms pieces for everyone. His eyes were tight as he handed her one.

"Sorry about getting into your duffel," she said. Not that she'd done anything wrong, but they were teammates. Making peace was right.

Caldwell shrugged. "It served its purpose—if you hadn't, you and Bear wouldn't have recognized the plastic outside. Violation of property forgiven." He pointed at his laptop on the coffee table. "I'll have oversight from her and will have eyes on you at all times. Comms are short range, but you should be fine at the market. Check the map and get familiar with the location." He pulled up the map on his phone and showed it to her.

"Thank you." And she stuck the earpiece in her ear.

Garrett picked up his SAT phone from the table next to him, held it out. "Of course, there's Surge's tracking device." He stuck it in his pocket. "We've got your six, Thompson."

Feeling a tremor in her hands—nerves—Delaney glanced away from the men. She wasn't going to freeze. Just wasn't going to. Good thing she happened to have put on her olive green jacket and her soft black jeans this morning—the clothes she'd had on when Heath had made her an official trainer at ABA.

She threw out a prayer. Don't let me freeze up, God. Fearlessness, please?

She centered her attention back on the team. "Okay, anything else?"

Garrett gave a slight shake of his head, but there seemed something more in his expression. Like . . . worry.

No. He was confident, the plan-maker. The team leader.

"Okay, then . . ."

"Just get in, get out." He squeezed her shoulder. "You'll do great. Just another walk in the city with your dog, okay?"

"Right." She took Surge's lead and clipped it on. She hoofed it out of the safe house, working hard to feel the boldness Garrett saw in her. She was with Surge anyway. They would find the shoes and confirm them positive for Sachaai lipids. Call in the team. Just do it. Get in and out.

It was only a half mile from the safe house to the marketplace, and she stopped shy of it, awareness springing through her that she was alone. Not alone. I have Surge. And the guys in comms. "I'm at the marketplace," she whispered.

"Copy that—we can see you," came Garrett's calm, smooth reply. "Remember, get in and out. You've got this, Rogue."

Firming her grip, she smiled at how much his confidence in her fueled her own. Nudged her into action. Garrett wouldn't have trusted her with this at the beginning of this mission. But he did now.

No hiding in a store aisle. No freezing in fear. Not today.

"Okay, Surge," she said to her gorgeous Malinois as they strode past the first stall. "Let's make Garrett proud."

A voice cleared in her comms.

Mortified she'd forgotten the others could hear every word, she cringed.

"Make yourself proud, Rogue."

Man, the guy knew what to say, didn't he?

Drawing up her courage, she kept moving. Smiled at Surge, who hauled in big draughts as they navigated around a vendor with meat and rice. More than once, he diverted toward some of the trash lining the narrow street that housed the marketplace, but she didn't let him stop to linger.

A lady bumped into her as a motorcycle weaving around the throng of people jostled her. " Saya minta maaf ," she said, pressing her hand to her heart.

Delaney didn't know Indonesian, but she could see the apology.

"She's just saying sorry." Caldwell's voice came through the comms.

With a smile, Delaney accepted the woman's apology and watched as she disappeared into the crowd. And that's when she spotted tables lining the street market with everything from chilies to T-shirts and sarongs. Just what she could see from the entry.

This is your chance.

"I think I found where they probably got the shoes." Bending to pet Surge—and to hide her update with the team—she rubbed the thick fur around his neck.

"Doing good, Rogue. Slow and steady wins the race."

Having him in her ear was an anchor in the chaos. She felt Surge nudge her hip, as if telling her to get moving. "Okay, okay. Let's go shopping."

They entered and wound their way among the crowd in the narrow street lined with booth after booth. It felt like forever, and she had nothing, no sign of the shoes. Feeling a bit demoralized, she decided to ask around like they'd planned.

She slowed at a table that offered fresh cut-up mango coated with chili powder, cayenne, and sugar. The vendor joked with customers in broken English. She got at the end of his long line. Ten minutes later, she and Surge reached the front. He sniffed around the corner of the table, then sat, body in full alert as he stared at something.

Oh no. Not now . . .

But then she spotted a cute preschooler playing with a doll behind the table—and she wore glittery jelly shoes, a purple butterfly on each. Of course.

"Out," she whispered to Surge. He huffed, but sniffed around the other side of the booth at the end of his lead as she looked over the menu board.

The owner wore a bright yellow shirt reading Mangga Berbumbu, the name of his booth. The owner waved. "You American, yes?"

"I am. How are you today?" She forced her nerves back down and firmed her grip on Surge's lead, more a reflexive act than any concern he would do something.

"A good day. Sorry my English not good, but talk to tourists like you make good practice."

She laughed. "You speak English well."

"Thank you." He pointed to his shirt "You want spiced mango?"

"Absolutely. That's what I'm in line for, please."

"Popular today," he said, and spun around to fill a baggie with mango, then the spice mix. He shook it up and handed it to her.

She withdrew the cash Garrett had given her and handed the owner a bill. While he got her change, she took a bite. The spice heated her mouth, and the mango sweetened it. "This is remarkable!" He handed her the change, and Delaney stuffed the entire amount into his tip jar.

His smile was huge.

"Oh," she said, putting syrup in her words, "is she your daughter?"

"Yes, yes."

"I love her cute, glittery shoes," Delaney said, trying to act natural. "I think my niece would love them! Can you tell me where you got them? Was it here?"

"Yes-yes—today. There, where we came in." He pointed down the avenue, away from the marketplace entrance.

"Yay, thanks! Let's go, Surge."

This was undercover, but Delaney wanted to pump her arm in victory. She hadn't lied. Nothing bad had happened. She'd scored directions to the shoe vendor.

"That was epic," Garrett said.

Reveling in his praise, Delaney couldn't keep the smile from her face. "I'm headed to the shoe vendor now. It's on the opposite side of the market from the entry."

"Copy that," Garrett said. "We're coming around the perimeter. It'll take us a few. Meet you there."

She'd done it—though she was no operator nor operative. Exultant still, she did have to actually find the shoes. Locate the vendor. Sobered that this wasn't over yet, she walked down in the direction the vendor had pointed, under string lights and streetlights that gave the place a vibrancy. Delaney eyed a booth of bright floral sarongs, another with gorgeous handmade teak bowls. She would've bought one or two under different circumstances—maybe later.

At first she didn't see the shoes, but then she spotted LD3 containers sitting on the bed of a semitrailer. The container nearest the end had its rear doors sprung open, and men were selling from the back of it.

A small stream of people passed by, headed into the marketplace. A few stopped to take a look, and a couple even bought some shoes.

"I found it," she relayed to the team. "Semi at the rear, selling from the back. Pretty busy . . ."

"Stay there," Garrett said, his breath huffing. "We're almost there."

Delaney watched, worried people were buying shoes with chemicals. Her heart raced as a mother slipped shoes on her daughter. A grandmother did the same with a toddler in stroller.

"Oh, Father . . ." Delaney felt sick, thinking that those might have chemicals in the butterflies. Chest squeezing, she fought the desperate panic, so badly wanting to tell them to leave the shoes. Don't buy them. So many doing the same, trying on the shoes.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw that the vendor sported wire-rimmed glasses and slicked-back hair.

But when he turned, she could see his face. Thank You, God. It wasn't Tariq, whom she'd seen outside Shoemakers Extraordinaire in Singapore. He didn't have the same long, sharp nose. Or anything else. The other man unloading shoes wore a backward baseball cap. She didn't recognize either of them.

She shook her head. That semi had six LD3s. Six Sachaai logos. Okay, let's just make sure . . . Delaney led Surge along the truck, and he sat. A knot formed in her stomach. Then the next LD3 container. Same. And by the last one, the knot had tightened into a hard ball.

She started looking at the few jelly shoes they had on display, all purple. Absently, she picked up one and squished the butterfly, watching the glittery swirl of gel in the toe adornment, then let her gaze track over the rest of the shoes.

Suddenly Surge planted his rear on the ground. He alerted on the shoes in her hands. Then he turned and nosed another pair of shoes.

Stomach clenched, she stared at the sandals she held, jiggling the odd-shaped butterfly. Same as Caldwell's plastic . . . but . . . She felt it again. Yeah, each side of the butterfly's body was hard. She played with one side a little more, then it popped open a bit. That side gap—pocket? whatever—held a vial! Same on the other side of the body too.

Surge nosed her hand, hauling in stiff draughts from it. No wonder he'd even hit on Spook's purple plastic.

She blinked her eyes hard, put back the sandals in her hand. She knew what to do.

"These are adorable. I want some. Let me check my money," she called over to the vendors. She waved to get their attention. They looked over and waved back, continued chatting.

She took Surge away a few feet where the men couldn't hear her and keyed her comms. "The semi has six Sachaai LD3s," she said. " Six , Bear. Surge hit on all of them."

"Wow. We're almost there. Eagle Three's being jammed, so stay there until we can get eyes on you."

With his words, she felt the protective barrier around her vanish. "Think they know we're onto them?"

"Unknown. Stay there."

She swallowed. "Will do." She turned around and walked back to the vendors. Slowed her approach.

The men were in a panic, loading the boxes back into the last LD3.

Baseball cap guy wiped his hands down his jeans as they reached for another carton. "I can't believe he called. We're dead. He threatened us if we sold any."

"We didn't sell enough for him to even notice," the wire-rimmed guy scoffed. "Besides, he's paying us almost nothing. We deserve a little extra."

"He's going to rip us apart if we're late." More hand-wiping.

Wire-rimmed guy shrugged. "Let's lock up and get out of here." The hatch of the LD3 slammed shut, and the men trotted up to the semi's cab.

She pushed back the thought of all these kids with the contaminated shoes and how many Americans these terrorists wanted to kill with six LD3s full of chemicals. The poison could be headed anywhere nationwide, anyway. Maybe even to Dad.

Delaney's heart picked up speed. She had to stop this shipment from going anywhere—or maybe she should go with it. Yes, came a deep knowing. If she didn't and this got away . . . the repercussions would be large-scale lethal.

But she'd already crossed Garrett once. "They're leaving," she hissed. "Where are you?"

"Stay with them." The urgency in his voice ratcheted her heart rate even higher.

How was she going to stay with them? In her crouch, she pivoted in a circle and spied a woman climbing from the back seat of a car. "There's a Grab dropping someone off. I could catch it . . ."

A long pause. The truck pulled off.

"Snag it," Garrett said. "Stay with them and keep us updated. We'll track you via Surge. Right behind you."

When the Grab started pulling away, she ran behind it, waving her hands. The driver stopped, and she jumped in with Surge, wondering what to say. Well, that boyfriend phone story had worked last time. "My boyfriend forgot his phone. He's driving that semi up there."

"Sure," the driver agreed, and pulled out, following the semi.

As they merged with traffic, she had this nagging sense that her last line of defense—being close to Garrett and Zim—was gone. But they had to do this. Her concern didn't have long to breed doubts, because they were pulling into a train depot.

The semi drew up to the long silver train with eight cars so sleek they were aerodynamic. Both the engine and the caboose were shaped like bullets.

Driver paid, she grabbed the handle. "Thank you! C'mon, Surge," she urged as they slipped out of the car. Though she felt haunted by the last time she'd done this, she couldn't lie her way through why she didn't get out of the car. Especially since she'd told the driver her boyfriend was in the semi.

Keeping to the shadows of the depot building, hoping they would provide enough cover, she kept her voice quiet. "We're at a train depot." Her stomach plummeted, seeing that they'd already loaded most of the containers. "They're loading the last LD3 now."

A curse sailed through the line—sounded like Zim.

The semi's rig pulled away.

Oh no. No no no. Rig leaving, train closing up, and no Garrett yet. "What do I do?"

Silence crackled in the comms.

"Gar—" She winced. "Bear? Eagle Two, Three?"

Nothing. That's when she recalled Caldwell saying they were short-range comms. But she wasn't that far away.

So . . . what do I do?

Stay with them , Garrett had said. Pulse jacked, she scurried across to the track, verified nobody was aware of her, then tapped the grate landing for the caboose. "Hup," she ordered Surge, who sailed up. She hiked up after him.

She'd either just done the stupidest thing ever or the best thing. Time would tell.

Get in, get out.

Delaney led Surge into the half-lit sleek silver train car. She rubbed the back of her sweaty neck. They only had a few minutes before that employee she'd seen whistling would get to them as he walked down the train, checking each car.

She unclipped Surge's leash, stuck it in her hoodie pocket. She wished she had the baggie of chem vials. It didn't matter. At this point, Surge knew what they were looking for. "Surge, seek!"

He sniffed the air and jogged down the eighty-five feet or so to the end of the car, right up to a stack of silver LD3s, each with the purple Sachaai S logo. All six she'd followed here, in three stacks of two. But he didn't just sniff like before.

He sat and pointed his ears at the first shipping container.

"That was quick." Delaney ruffled his ears. "Thanks, buddy." She wiped the sweat from her forehead. She pointed at each of the rest of the six, and he alerted on each one.

She walked to the loading door and peeked out from beside it, saw nothing but the semi at the far end of the street. Back at the LD3s, she signaled Surge to turn and be her lookout. "Watch," she cued.

Standing at her side, he faced behind her, watching her six?—the loading door—his whole body tensed, ready to defend her.

What would she do without this Mal? "Thanks, buddy," she whispered as metal against metal screeched through the air—the loading of other cars. She needed to hurry.

Delaney reached to slide open the bolt of the first container, but it was padlocked. She didn't have a key. Nor a saw or hammer. How would she . . . Wait—pocketknife. She pulled it from her jeans pocket and poked it into the keyhole on the padlock, jiggled it a little, twisted it a little. Heard a click. Opened the door.

Amazing. What she'd seen on TV had actually worked for her.

She glided her pocketknife through the tape on the first carton in the box to reveal shoeboxes. "Surge, seek." He immediately inched forward with a woof, ears pointing. Positive for the Sachaai lipids. She pulled out the top shoebox and opened it.

Glittery purple Mary Janes, each decorated with a purple butterfly, plastic tubes on each side of the body. Another Surge hit. She didn't have an FTIR, but she trusted her boy's hit on Sachaai lipids processed with toxic chems.

She quickly opened the next Sachaai container in the LD3.

More Surge hits on more boxes of shoes. Yes! "Good job. Give me a bop," she said, and he gave her fist a bump with his nose.

Get in, get out.

"Okay, Surge, watch," she said, pointing back at the loading door.

She took a couple pics with her SAT phone. All she had time for. She stuck one of the shoes from the first box in her pocket, returned the other to the shoebox, and scooched it into its spot in the carton. She closed the LD3s hatch and signaled Surge to stay with her. They headed toward the opening of the train car, but the whistling employee was approaching.

"With me, Surge," Delaney hissed, and they dove behind the stack of Sachaai containers. Surge's hackles rose from neck all the way down his back as he stood in front of her.

She'd jump out of the car as soon as whoever it was got past. Back to her and Surge just "taking a walk." She peeked out the container door just enough to see the whistling man wearing a railroad employee uniform. He walked toward the car they were in. She was ready to jump out the instant he passed and went around the back of the train. But when he whistled his way to the door, he looked in, made notes on his tablet, reached up, and clanged it shut.

Darkness fell over them. She was rooted to the spot. Frozen.

Oh no.

She leaped up and ran over to the door, tried to open it. Nothing. She pried with her pocketknife at the edge of the door, and the knife broke. Surge scratched at the bottom of the door.

How on earth was she going to get out?