Shay glared at the image of the French retrieval specialist on the screen. “If Durand and Project Nephilim are after it, it might be better for her if she didn’t have that wheel when they showed up.”
Peyton chuckled. “So you’re saying you’re doing her a favor by taking it from her?”
“I’m saying that the world’s an imperfect place.” Shay nodded toward her car. “Guess we should get to Warehouse Three and get my gear ready.”
Shay continued marching down the dock in her search for the bait shop. Everything she’d told Peyton was true. She wasn’t about to gun down some old woman for an artifact, but she wasn’t leaving Russia without the wheel. It’s not like some babushka needed the damned thing anyway.
Better not to ever mention to James that I’m robbing old ladies. I don’t think he’d understand, even if I gave him the speech about the Men in Black.
She’d also have to explain what the hell Project Nephilim was, and how his alien amulet might even be connected to a greater secret. The OCD man could barely stand his house having a few stray particles of dust. There was no way he could handle being at the center of some massive history-changing revelation like that.
That’s your problem, James. You want life to be simple. KISS and all that, but life’s never simple, and the more you try to force it to be that way, the more it snaps back and makes things even crazier.
Shay sighed. For once in her life, one of her lies wasn’t self-serving.
She shook her head and looked around. The damned shop was supposed to be close, according to the information Peyton had provided. She grabbed her phone to call him.
No bars.
Even if she ignored the cell tower she could see a few hundred yards away, her phone should have automatically switched to satellite mode when she lost the cell signal. There were several possible explanations for the glitch, but given the situation, one seemed most likely: someone was jamming the phone.
Pulling that off in the middle of a city took balls, since it’d draw the attention of authorities sooner rather than later.
Shay slowed her pace and surveyed her surroundings. The area was empty, the nearest dockworkers far behind her. It wasn’t like farther up the docks there was a huge crowd, but the sudden absence of anyone was notable.
Three black SUVs with tinted windows had parked farther up, past rows of storage buildings, small shops, and the occasional maritime office.
Too shiny. Too fancy. The vehicles didn’t fit the docks at all.
Shay jogged toward the vehicles and slowed when she caught sight of three large suited men standing near a small shop sandwiched between two shuttered stores with cracked windows. She couldn’t understand any of the Cyrillic writing on the store’s signage, which was otherwise only decorated with a small picture of a silver fish.
One of the men frowned at her, and she turned around to walk the other way. She ducked around a corner so she could come up on the shop from behind.
A muffled scream came from the shop. Shay pulled her gun from her purse, regretting not being in her jacket and pants. She’d hoped to blend with the local fashions, but the dress wasn’t the best for tactical movement.
She closed on the back door of the shop, gun raised. A woman shouted in Russian and someone spoke back, their voice calm and measured. Shay couldn’t make out the second speaker through the door.
Three… Two… One…
The tomb raider knocked the door off its hinges with a solid kick.
Let’s see Marcus pull that shit off.
Shay rushed into the back room, her gun at the ready. Stacked wooden crates lined the walls, and a shelf filled with cleaning supplies was in the center.
She ignored the room and ran to the next door and threw it open. She turned the corner and spotted an old woman, her face weathered by the decades and salty air.
An all-too-familiar athletic blond man with close-cropped hair loomed over the babushka. He had her backed up against a wall.
The three goons stood outside, their backs to the front windows, but Shay had no idea how long that would last.
“Francois Durand,” Shay spat.
The man glanced at her with a smile. “Aletheia. We finally meet.” His French accent was slight but still noticeable.
Shay narrowed her eyes. “You know who I am?”
“I knew you’d come sniffing around eventually. You’ve made such a name for herself. Curiosity compels you maybe, but you shouldn’t stick your nose into this matter, tomb raider.”
Shay lifted her gun. “Fuck you, Durand. I’ve got a job to do.”
The babushka rattled off something in Russian and glared at the Frenchman. She looked like she wanted to tear him apart with her teeth.
“I’ve got a job to do as well.” He nodded downward as if pointing to something.
Shay’s jaw tightened. The man already had his gun out and had aimed it at the old woman.
What an asshole. This is gonna get bloody. Got to convince him to back the hell off.
She sneered. “Whatever. She’s not my problem. I’m just here for the artifact, and I’m not leaving without it.”
Durand gave Shay a sly smile. “Ah, I have heard about how ruthless you are. All those men you killed on Oak Island, for example. They say it was a massacre. How cold.”
“You think I give a fuck about killing a few mercenaries?”
“No, I suppose you don’t.”
Shay smirked. “If you know all that, then you should know that I’m not to be fucked with.”
Keeping his gun pointed at the old woman, Durand shrugged. “And you should know I have the backing of powerful people. You’d be wise not to attract too much of our attention.”
“Project Nephilim? They’re nothing but a bunch of idiots who can’t figure shit out, which is why
