Page 6 of Wrecked With You

I do have a problem, though. Because when I flipped, the camera shifted. Now it’s hanging from my arm, tethered only by the strap I’m wearing across my body.

Considering I’m currently upside down, this isn’t the most secure of positions. “What the hell are you doing up there?” I demand.

“Got a jam in the recoil system. Give me a—there.”

His final word is unnecessary, because I can hardly miss the fact that I’m now zooming upward, the crank’s motor having obviously re-engaged.

The camera starts to fall, but it can’t go far because the strap is around my body.

Except that it’s not. I realize too late that the metal clip that attaches the strap to one side of the camera has come loose—and now the weight of the camera is pulling the damn thing free faster than I can scramble for it.

“Goddammit,” I snarl as my fingers brush the end of the strap, but I can’t get a grip. And I watch, helpless, as the camera tumbles through the night to smash unseen on the dark parking lot below.

There’s a chance—a slim one—that the SD card survived. But I’m not holding my breath. Instead, I growl into the mic. “Tell me the wifi was working. Tell me you got the image transfer.”

“No glitches,” Quince assures me. “I’ll confirm the images were transferred once you’re up here. Can you see where it landed?”

“More or less. We’ll retrieve it when we exit the scene.” A moment later, my feet have reached the barrier that marks the edge of the roof. I pike up and re-orient myself with my head up, as if I’m some sort of trapeze artist.

I grab hold of the ledge around the roof and pull myself up and over in time to see him standing beside the now-locked crank, his attention on the tablet in front of him.

“Got them. Let’s go.”

To his credit, he says nothing else as we pack the equipment in seconds, then use the utility elevator to get to the basement. We exit through a service entrance, both keeping our heads down and shielded by black, generic baseball caps.

Only after we’ve retrieved the broken camera, confirmed the images transferred safe and sound to the remote tablet, and are miles away in the plain, black Toyota—without license plates—does Quincy turn to me and say, “What the bloody hell is going on?”

He’s driving, and he pulls into a deserted bank parking lot. I don’t even grimace. It’s not like I wasn’t expecting this.

“It’s personal,” I tell him. “And sanctioned. Don’t worry. There won’t be blowback.”

“Sanctioned,” he repeats. “But not by my company.” He kills the engine and looks at me, his expression as hard as glass. He glances to the backseat where our gear, including one of Stark Security’s tablets, are safe and sound in a go-bag. “I’m assuming the photos are important and you weren’t just practicing your artistic composition skills before taking out the guy.”

I cock my head, not even bothering to answer.

“So here’s what happens. Tell me what this is all about, and I’ll get the images for you. Keep me in the dark, and you’ll have to steal the bloody tablet and hack the passcode. And no offense, but I don’t think you’re that good with tech. I’m not sure anyone is. The SSA has serious security. You might find someone to eventually hack it, but I wouldn’t want to take those odds.”

“Quince.” Over the years, I’ve cultivated a firm and intimidating voice. Unfortunately, my sister’s boyfriend isn’t the type to be intimidated.

“No.” His voice is harsh. No nonsense. This is the man who withstood torture. The man who saved my sister. And the man who now protects her, just like I once did.

I feel my resolve shift.

“This isn’t an SSA mission,” he continues. “And despite suggesting as much when you asked me to come with you, you aren’t actually on the cusp of joining the SSA, are you?”

I say nothing.

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck’s going on, or this whole exercise was for nothing.”

“Eliza said you were a principled hard-ass.”

“She knows me well. Talk.”

“It’s personal. Me and Eliza.”

“That makes it personal to me, too.”

“Oh? Have you proposed?”