Chapter Three — Predators and Pawns
974 Words
The rain had turned from a whisper to a drumbeat, each drop cold enough to sting. Darcy didn’t move for a moment after Michael’s words. They settled in her mind like a sniper’s bead, steady, certain, and pointed exactly at her.
“They want us to run,” she said finally. “Then we don’t.”
Michael gave a half-smile. “Standing still is a great way to get shot.”
Before she could respond, the echo of boots in the alley behind them snapped both their heads around. Three shapes, black-clad and purposeful, were closing the distance. No hesitation in their stride, professionals.
“Guess we’re running after all,” Michael said.
Darcy’s pistol was in her hand before the words left his mouth. She fired twice, controlled and clean, forcing the figurehead to dive behind a dumpster. Michael grabbed her elbow, pulling her toward the side street.
They broke into the open, blending with a trickle of late-night pedestrians. Darcy forced her shoulders to relax, tried to make her breathing seem casual, though her pulse was pounding in her ears.
“Where’s Quinn?” she asked between breaths.
“Last I heard, two blocks south, trying to shake a tail.”
“You’ve been following him?”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “He’s been following you.”
They crossed into a busier thoroughfare, neon signs buzzing, street vendors still working under plastic tarps, the scent of fried dough and diesel mingling in the damp air. It should have felt safer. It didn’t.
Darcy kept scanning the reflections in shop windows, the movements in her periphery. “If you’ve been watching Quinn, you know what he wants.”
“That’s the problem,” Michael said. “I don’t. Either he’s protecting you… or delivering you.”
The thought lodged in her chest. She didn’t have time to untangle it. From behind, a voice cut through the rain.
“Darling.”
She turned before she could stop herself. Quinn stood at the edge of the crowd, coat collar up, hair plastered damp against his forehead. His eyes locked on hers, unreadable in the shifting light.
Michael’s body angled just enough to put himself between them. “You’re popular tonight,” he murmured.
Quinn didn’t approach right away. He let the crowd carry him forward until he was a few feet away, close enough for his voice to drop.
“You weren’t supposed to open it yet,” he said.
Darcy kept her face neutral. “It’s my name. My life. I’ll open what I want.”
His gaze flicked to Michael. “I see the ghost found you.”
“You two know each other,” she said flatly.
Quinn’s smile was humorless. “We’ve crossed paths. Usually with guns drawn.”
Michael didn’t rise to the bait. He simply said, “They’re onto both of us. If you want her alive, we move. Now.”
Darcy’s instincts screamed against standing in the open with two men who could each be playing their own game. But for the moment, she needed both alive.
“Fine,” she said. “We move. But I pick the route.”
They fell in behind her as she wove through the crowd, cutting down a tram stairwell that opened into the underground. The air was warmer here, thick with the smell of wet concrete and old oil.
The platform was nearly empty, just a sleeping drunk, a vending machine humming in the corner, and the faint echo of a busker playing somewhere down the tunnel. Darcy led them to the far end, where a blind curve shielded them from the main entrance.
She turned to face them. “Start talking. Both of you.”
Michael’s arms folded. “You’re on a list. Quinn’s name is on it, too. The coordinates in your envelope? I have a matching set.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Convenient.”
“You’re saying this is about both of us?” Darcy asked.
Michael nodded. “And here’s the twist, they don’t want us dead. Not yet. They want us there.”
“Why?”
“That’s the part we haven’t figured out,” Michael said. “But I can tell you this: if we keep running blind, we’ll walk right into their hands.”
Quinn’s voice was low, measured. “And if we don’t, they’ll take someone else. Someone close to you. Leverage.”
Her throat tightened. She hated that he might be right.
The rumble of an approaching tram filled the tunnel. Darcy glanced toward the lights in the distance. When she looked back, both men were watching her.
Michael’s gaze was steady, protective.
Quinn’s was sharper, like he was measuring how far she could be pushed before she broke.
She hated that her pulse jumped for both of them.
The tram screeched to a stop, doors hissing open. A handful of passengers stepped off. Darcy caught the reflection of a black coat in the glass, one of the men from the alley.
“On,” she said, stepping through the doors without looking back.
The three of them took seats near the rear. The tram jerked forward, the city sliding by in blurred streaks of light and rain.
Darcy leaned in, her voice barely audible. “We have twenty-four hours before those coordinates become more than numbers. That means we find out who set this up, and why, before we get there.”
Michael nodded. “Agreed.”
Quinn’s eyes stayed on her. “And what if you don’t like the answer?”
She didn’t blink. “Then I make sure I’m the only one who walks away.”
The tram clattered on, carrying them deeper into the city.
Somewhere out there, someone had planned every step they were taking.
Darcy intended to be the one to rewrite the ending.
- Writer
