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With a perfectly placed shot, Charlie sniped out the front left tire of our enemy’s vehicle. They swerved, unable to gain control of the vehicle and went straight into a cement divider.
We weren’t in the clear yet.
“Alpha Team,” Liam snapped into his earpiece. “High alert, I repeat, high alert. Just flanked by unknown mercs. Taking our package to Safe House Indigo, over.”
I was breathing hard, head spinning uncontrollably. “What’s Safe House Indigo?”
“We need to lie low,” Charlie said, checking his cartridge to count the bullets he had left. “Someone’s after the duchess.”
16
Liam
Credit where credit was due, Charlie always had a backup plan for his backup plans. He’d secured a handful of safehouse locations in the event that we’d need one.
We were on strict radio silence. The only time we needed to communicate was to provide any updates with regards to our situations, or once Kris had given us the all clear. In the event of an emergency, Alpha Team was to take the principal to an alternate safehouse location whose address was unknown to us. That way we wouldn’t be able to give up their location under duress should our attackers manage to track us down.
Not that I would ever let it get that far.
Sam paced back and forth across the motel room floor. It was an unassuming place. Cheap. Hidden amongst the jungle of concrete buildings of Macau. From the outside, the motel didn’t even look like it was in operation. It was a far cry from our base at the penthouse, but it was just as safe with two entryways ? the front door and another that led into the back alley in case the three of us needed to make a quick exit.
Charlie finally exited the bathroom with a damp cloth, a needle, some thread, a lighter, our requisite first aid kit, and a small bottle of vodka from the motel’s mini bar. He’d bled through his shirt some, the area turning a brownish red. He’d been grazed by a bullet. A mere flesh wound, but it was better to take care of the injury now than risk infection.
“Let me,” Sam said quietly. “Please.”
He relinquished his medical supplies and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. “Do you know how?”
“Yes. I took basic first aid training after my son was born. You know, just in case. Can you take your shirt off for me please?”
Charlie moved gingerly, undoing the buttons before shedding his shirt altogether. I stayed near the window, keeping a watchful eye out through a crack in the dusty curtains.
Sam worked efficiently, gingerly wiping his injury before placing the needle in a small bowl of vodka. After a few seconds, she retrieved it and lit it with the lighter. She got to stitching up his skin without so much as a squeamish noise.
“Ow,” Charlie mumbled.
“Sorry.”
The air was tense, but to no fault of our own. There wasn’t any point in trying to play this off, no sense in trying to convince ourselves that everything was okay. We had definitive proof that someone was after Duchess Arianna. Charlie was hurt and Sam could have very well been killed if I’d made even so much as one miscalculation behind the wheel.
I clenched my fists and buried the thought.
Sam’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her brow furrowed with worry.
“How long do we have to stay here?” she whispered.
“Until Kris gives us the all clear,” I said.
“And what does that entail?”
“He’s in touch with the local police. Securing routes back to the penthouse. Putting feelers out for any information about the attack. Until then, we stay put.”
“What if they find us?”
I couldn't blame her for her questions. I was used to this sort of thing. It wasn’t long ago when my team and I had to take turns keeping watch so the others could sleep, always under threat of attack in the middle of enemy territory. Sam, for the most part, was doing exceptionally well considering her lack of experience in such matters.
Still, she couldn’t hide the fact that her hands were trembling, and her breathing was shallow. Not from me.
Sam wrapped a clean bandage around Charlie’s arm. Her work was neat and surprisingly professional. “There,” she murmured.
