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“We have to stop her,” Hale growls.
“Stop her?” I frown. Surely, Daisy feels the same way as Ivy? After what Spencer put them through, I see no reason why she’d want to keep that piece of shit alive.
“Get the car, Hale,” she orders like we’re about to depart on a major military operation. “We’re leaving.” She grabs my arm, digging her talons into my skin. “And you’re coming with us.”
CHAPTER 3
FREDDIE
“Well…” Callen slaps me hard on the back while I catch my breath. “That was close.”
I stand straighter, stepping back into the shadows as blue flashing lights and sirens wail past our hiding spot on the other side of the wall.
“Too close,” I growl, wiping the sweat from my brow as my mind rattles through every possible scenario.
To say Ivy’s departure left us in the lurch is an understatement. Between us, we managed to pry open an ossuary and stash Trout’s body alongside a dusty skeleton. However, the blood spatters and pools on the floor we left behind were not ideal. Thank fuck for Callen’s penchant for pyrotechnics and the drunk who stashed bottles of vodka close by. Hopefully, the police are fooled by the bush Callen set alight as a distraction. With any luck, they’ll think teenagers were messing around and judge that the call was a false alarm. If worse comes to worst, we have a few connections in the Met who owe us a favour if we need it.
“Woo!” Callen exclaims, hooting into the air like a crazed owl, overcome by adrenaline. He gets a buzz from shit like this, which drives me insane.
I barge into him, tempted to tackle him to the ground if it means he keeps his big mouth shut. “Quiet!”
We’ve narrowly escaped the police, but they’d have no qualms about stopping us if they looped back and saw two men covered in blood suspiciously loitering.
“We need to change,” I hiss, thrusting Torean’s kill kit into Callen’s hands. Thankfully, it has a few spare t-shirts stashed inside, and our dark trousers will hide the worst of the stains while we return to the car.
“Wanting to see me naked again so soon?” Callen teases.
I glower at him and change quickly while we’re still hidden by the undergrowth.
“How do I look?” Callen asks, spinning on the spot.
I frown and use my old t-shirt to wipe blood specks from his face roughly. “Better. Now, let’s move.”
After stashing our dirty clothes in the bag, we head to our parked car. As we walk, a group of young kids standing in a huddle point and whisper behind small hands.
As we get closer, one kid says, “What is it with strange people today?”
I start to approach them, but Callen grabs my arm to hold me back. “Let me.”
“Lads!” He greets them with an uncanny friendliness that sounds weird coming from him. It’s easy to forget he was a father when he acts like a crazed psychopath most of the time. “Have you seen a lass with red hair come down here?”
They narrow their eyes. Judging by their well-worn, two-sizes-too-small clothes and shrewd expressions, they’re used to living on the streets. Snitches get stitches.
“What’s in it for us if we answer, Mr?” the boldest of the group asks, throwing the football in his hand up in the air and catching it.
Callen takes a deep breath. I ready myself for damage control, but he pulls a lighter from his pocket. “How about this?”
Their eyes widen in the way young boys’ eyes do when they see fire as he flicks it on and off.
“She went that way,” the smallest of the group pipes up, pointing eagerly.
“Yeah,” another agrees. “And then she got into a car at the end of the road by that sign?—”
“A car?” I interrupt. “What kind of car? What colour was it? What model?”
They take a few steps away warily.
“Easy boss,” Callen murmurs.
