22. Oh Dark Hundred （Micah）

22

OH DARK HUNDRED (MICAH)

T he very last thing I need to be thinking about right now is Talia Grey.

Yet as I strap myself into protective Kevlar, she's it.

The only thing on my mind.

I can't tell if what I'm feeling is anticipation, grim determination, or the urgency of the ticking clock. Every second it takes us to prep is another second closer to our window slamming shut, Xavier and the Jacobins slipping through my fingers yet again.

I'd definitely breathe easier if I could see her, feel her soft fingers against my face and have those bright-blue eyes looking at me with the same innocence that saw a better man than I actually am.

I've tried.

I've tried like hell to tell myself our breakup was for the best.

That it wasn't real.

I was living a lie, and she was steeped in this fantasy with a man who doesn't truly exist.

Too bad the heartache tells me that's the furthest fucking thing from the truth.

Talia saw me.

She accepted me.

And maybe, just maybe, she saw me in a better light than I ever saw myself.

Then I went and fucked it all up.

Hell, once this is over, maybe I can try to undo the damage.

I throw on my tactical gloves and check the spare clips strapped to my bulletproof vest. We're hoping to get through this without a firefight, but the Jacobins can get a little trigger-happy.

If they're going to be down at the docks, they'll probably be packing a little more than old shotguns chock-full of buckshot, too.

Grant clears his throat to get my attention and passes me a Colt M4. "You certified on this thing, Mr. DEA?"

"Very funny. I recertify at the firing range once a year, which is more than you small-town cops do." I grab the Colt and put it away.

Lucas, looking like a goddamned assassin in his own black tactical gear, flashes me a feral grin. "Watch it, Mikey. We small-timers can outshoot you city boys any day."

"Let's hope we don't have a reason to find out," Grant says sharply.

"What's the plan?" Henri asks sharply.

"For now, play it by ear," the captain responds, adjusting his Kevlar vest. "I've called in to Raleigh for backup, but we'll get there first. We go in quiet, get the lay of the land, see what we're up against. Then we figure out the rest." He turns a sardonic hazel eye on me. "If that's okay with the Feds, of course."

"You guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?"

Henri smirks. "Not in a million years, mon ami."

"You know your French accent sucks, right?" I snort.

"Hey!" He jabs a gloved finger at me. "It's Creole . Technically, the bastard cousin of French, and completely foreign to anyone outside the Atchafalaya Basin."

"That thing you just said was not a word. I refuse to believe it was," I retort.

"All right, all right, time's wasting," Grant says. "Let's move, you clowns."

I'm jonesing to get this shit show over with.

Even if I left broken hearts and damage in my wake, I've been waiting for this day for too long.

Finally.

I'm finally going to get to see blue sky again, instead of the endless dark clouds of purgatory, my home since Jet died.

As I stand up with one last tug to check the fit of my gear, my phone goes off from inside the vest pocket.

Fuck.

I almost ignore it.

I don't have time for anything now but the mission, and it's annoying as hell to fish my phone out in this bulky mess. There's no ignoring that hot prick of warning, though.

Something that says anyone calling me this late shouldn't be ignored.

Everyone stops, eyes on me, as I pluck my phone out and look at the screen.

Unknown number?

What the hell? If this is some clown calling to ask if I'm happy with my long-distance carrier, I'll bite their goddamned face off.

"Hello?" I answer the call.

"Officer Micah Ainsley?" It's an unfamiliar male voice. Breathless, urgent. A slight New England accent. Probably around my age, but I have no idea who the fuck this is, calling me by name. "You have to hurry. He took her."

If I had ears like Rolf, they'd be standing up like spears.

"…who is this? Who fucking took who?"

"Please, I can't," he answers quickly. He's whispering, I realize. "I couldn't even call 9-1-1—you know they pay the phone bills. But he took Miss Grey . He knows, Officer Ainsley. He knows she took the camera."

Shit, shit.

It all clicks together instantly like a gruesome puzzle.

It's him .

The valet Talia told me about.

Joseph Peters.

And Xavier found out Talia took the camera, and he took her .

I'll fucking kill him.

He already took my brother, and now he's taking the woman I love?

"Where?" I demand. "Where has he gone? Is she hurt?"

"I don't believe she's injured," Peters answers swiftly. "She seems to have passed out from fright. He didn't tell me where he was going, no. He has me drive him locally, but when he goes on his endeavors, out of town, he never takes me along."

"No point creating a witness," I mutter grimly. "What direction did he go? Dammit, give me something."

"North," Peters hisses. "I'm sorry—someone's coming, if anyone overhears—"

"You'll disappear next."

"Or end up like Cora." There's grief in his whisper. "Please, Officer Ainsley. Please , hurry. "

He hangs up before I can thank him.

I stare down at my blank screen.

Cold sweat slicks my brow.

My heart feels like someone's drilling screws into it.

There's no doubt in my mind that he aims to kill Talia.

I just have to hope he's more focused on making his shipping window first, to buy us some time.

I want to fucking call her.

I want to hear her voice, to know she's alive. Only, if she's in a delicate situation and her phone rings, if she can't silence it, if I endanger her—

No, I can't take the risk.

"Micah?" Grant growls. "What's wrong?"

I snap up from zoning out, looking at the three men who stare back resolutely.

"Bad news. Xavier and the Jacobins have a hostage," I snarl.

"Talia Grey?" Henri whispers.

I can only nod.

Lucas and Henri both wince, dissolving into curses.

Grant's stormy expression hardens into death.

"He's taking her to Mariposa Cove, I assume?"

"Maybe," I say, but there's doubt eating me. "Can we risk it if he's not? What if he dumps her off somewhere along the way, and we miss our chance to stop him because we're chasing him to the docks?"

It takes a second for the raw desperation in my own voice to sink in.

My throat's tight, scratchy, hurting.

I feel like I've caught Talia's asthma.

But I can't be wrong.

I can't let him hurt her.

I love her too goddamned much and she doesn't even know it.

"Hey." Grant steps closer and claps one big hand to my shoulder, his steady gaze locking on me and holding me firm. "Trust your instincts, man. What are they telling you?"

My jaw clenches.

I stop as my phone buzzes again in my palm.

This time, no ringtone.

It's the safety app I made Talia install.

It lights up, blinking with a GPS location pinpointing an emergency signal, somewhere east of Raleigh and speeding up the coast.

It's not just urgency erupting inside me now.

It's hope .

My fingers clutch the phone until they burn.

"My instincts say we're damned lucky Talia Grey is a fucking genius," I say breathlessly. "Load up. We'll cut them off at Mariposa Cove."