Chapter 39 Convict Metal clanked, and I winced and shushed it. Ahead of me in the dark yard, Mila snickered a laugh, and I jogged from the gate to catch up with her, both of us keeping our torches off on our break-in shenanigans. Marchant Haulage's office block rose above Deadwater's harbourside. A brownstone block with several storeys of vacant space since all the staff had been put on indefinite leave. We'd snuck in around an alley where Mila had remembered a gate being broken but hadn't made it inside yet. "Hopefully they haven't changed the codes in the past few months." Her fingers trembled slightly as she tapped at the keypad, and the glow lit her face, casting her in blue. The lock remained firmly closed. She tried again. Nothing. She pouted in annoyance then widened her eyes. "Wait. There's an old master override." An engine roared nearby, and I tensed, scanning the shadowed alley, my hand brushing the knife at my hip. A low beep sounded, and with a soft click, the door creaked open. Mila grasped my hand, and we slipped through it and shut out the night. Inside, the air was dead. Too still, like the building had gone to sleep and never intended to wake. Our boots whispered on the polished concrete, and I swept my phone's torchlight around. On the reception's ceiling, the high rafters and exposed pipes cast long shadows like reaching fingers, and the company name stood tall on the front desk in bold red letters. The overhead fluorescents buzzed to life in a slow flicker, and I jumped, whipping around with my blade palmed. Mila exhaled a shaky laugh. "The lights are motion-sensitive. They won't go off unless we stand still. I know that from late nights spent working here." "That's going to be noticeable from outside." "I was hoping we could sneak in and out unseen." I shrugged, undaunted. This was second nature to me, even if I couldn't remember any other time of doing it when I wasn't in her company. "We'll move fast. If anyone comes investigating, we'll run." She gave me a dubious once-over. "I'm suddenly realising that bringing you with me could be a bad idea. Probation and all. What if someone calls the police?" "If they catch us, I'll deal with it. Arran told me he'd handled the cops." "What does that mean?" "It means you have nothing to worry about. Now move that cute ass. Clock's a-ticking." Mila relented, and we jogged across the floor with echoing footsteps to the staircase then climbed. At the third-floor landing, the motion sensors didn't trigger. Mila activated her torch, her light sliding over the old family pictures that lined the walls. More of what I'd seen in her apartment. The family members gathered near boats or in a transport yard. All smiles. All feeling more like a front the better I understood the Marchants. "The family vault is just down here." Mila crept on until we reached a door halfway down the hall. The lock was gone, and from the smashed wood, it had been ripped out. "Oh my God," she whispered. A warning played out in my head. "Someone else has been here. With a crowbar, if I had to guess." She shivered. "Unless they guessed the code, they can't have got into the cabinets we need." "Wait here while I go in and check." I pushed the door open, treading on the splinters of wood underfoot, and entered the space. The shadowed office was narrow with a large table in the middle of the room taking up most of the space, and cabinets around the walls, many of which were opened with their contents strewn. Not many places to hide. I scoped the corners and stooped to peer under the table then gave Mila the all clear to follow. Whoever had been here was long gone, leaving a flurry of paperwork in their wake. Prowling in deeper revealed a map on the wall, or what was left of it. It was torn down the middle, the left and right sides hanging from where they were tacked to a board and the rest of it shredded. Mila stared at it. "That used to show all our trading locations. Why would someone vandalise that?" She shook her head and continued to a cabinet in the corner. It was identical to all the others, but the drawers remained shut. Kneeling, Mila poked at the dial lock built into the mechanism then yanked at the top drawer. It didn't budge. "They've had a go at trashing this, too. The code's in, but I can't get it open. I think it's broken." I dropped down beside her and gave it a sharp tug. Something cracked, and the drawer slid out. I fake-polished my nails. "Or you just ask your big strong boyfriend to do it for you." Mila gave a soft laugh, kissed my cheek, then dove in to bring out an armful of folders. She handed each stack to me as she gathered them. This was what we'd come for. The vault her grandfather had created. Why we needed it was a mystery. In the dark, the file covers gave me nothing. "What are we looking for?" Mila giggled. "You ask that now?" "What? I'd follow you anywhere. There doesn't have to be a good reason." She continued loading me with paperwork, moving on to the second drawer and emptying it. "I'm not entirely sure, but my gut tells me I need to understand why my grandfather decided to support all these people. He wouldn't just throw money away. He was shrewd. He made good decisions." Mila brandished a file and activated her torch, holding it low. She ran a finger on the name on the front of the cover then flipped it open. "This is one of the families we went to see, the Marchant-Smythes. It lists their basic details and also their previous employment. They ran a taxi service thirty years ago. No sign of them doing so now." "Does it include their son?" She traced down the page. "It lists their child, Presley, with his birthday, so yes." "Meaning your grandfather was in the habit of updating his vault." I set the stack on my lap and leafed through it. "They're colour coded." She swung the light across to my files. My top one had a green tab on the cover, while hers had an orange one. I opened mine. The single page listed an elderly couple, both with the words 'Deceased' underneath their names. Mila regarded it then checked through the other folders, sorting them between us. "Some have an orange tab, some are green, and some are yellow. I need to work out what that code means." "We're taking them, right? Better to do that detective work in the safety of your apartment." She hesitated. "I can't just steal them. Can I?" A rattle came through the open door, a distant sound from somewhere deep in the bowels of the building. Both of us stiffened. Mila's eyes met mine in the dim glow of the torch. "Please tell me that was the pipes." I shook my head once in silent disagreement. Someone was down there. Leaping up, I snatched a box from on top of another cabinet, dumped the contents, then stacked the files inside. Mila did the same with hers, her stealing question neatly answered. She clutched the file box tight to her chest, and I reached for my knife, holding it low to my thigh. "Mask up," I ordered. Both of us covered our lower faces with the skeleton crew bandannas we'd already tied around our necks. We moved to the door then checked the empty hallway before scurrying out, the sound of our steps muffled by the cheap office carpet. Behind us, the clank came again, closer this time, metal on metal. A dragging sound. Instinct told me it came from the floor below. The air changed. Heavy. Electric. Mila made a small sound of fear. "Don't run," I whispered. "Not yet. Am I right that there's a fire exit this way?" Like any good thief, I'd noted it from outside when we'd approached the place. Her reply was barely audible. "It runs down the east side of the building." "Get us there." She led me down the hall in the opposite direction from where we'd come in. If someone had entered behind us, they'd likely expect us to double back. My bet was Mila knew the building better than anyone. Another sound chased us. Footsteps. Not rushed. Steady. As if the owner knew they didn't need to hurry. Mila's breath caught. "Can we run now?" I reached back and threaded my fingers through hers, pulling her into a jog. Down the corridor, we slipped past abandoned cubicles and a toppled desk chair, my grip tight around the knife hilt. "Stairs." She pointed. We rounded a corner and burst through a door into the stairwell, the light above flickering once before dying. A soft click chased us. The unmistakable sound of someone entering from the floor beneath us. I didn't hesitate to peer into the dark. I dragged Mila up. Higher, towards the roof. The footsteps followed. Not stopping. Getting closer. We burst onto the roof with a slam of metal on brick. Wind caught Mila's hair, and she let out a shuddering breath. Behind us, the door slapped closed. "There." She pointed to a caged ladder on the side. We sprinted over, and I hauled open the cage door and peered down. Just a zigzag of ladders and platforms that dropped down the side of the building. Easy. I helped Mila onto it, holding the file box under one arm so she could climb more easily. I followed, fast, grasping the wet metal rung, and just in time to see the figure emerge from the roof stairwell. Black-clad, material hiding their face. Not all that tall, but it could've been the angle. As I stared at them, they didn't follow. Just watched. Whatever, weirdo. We descended in a hurry, rattling down each floor then fleeing to the alley behind the building, our breath fogging in the cold. Mila took back the files and held them tight, her eyes wild on our jog back to the car. "Did you see them? They just stood and stared. Was it security?" I scanned the dark street for backup or any signs of pursuit. "Security wouldn't cover their faces. I don't know who it was, but they weren't trying to catch us. Just scare us." "Creepy bastard." Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I didn't answer. But the way my skin crawled told me one thing for sure. Whatever we just took, someone else had been after it. At the car, I closed Mila in then got us on the road fast. "We're going to the warehouse. Whoever that was wants those files, and if they recognised this," I tapped the bandanna once more around my neck, "they'll know the skeleton crew has them. Safer to visibly carry them inside and lock them up there than take them to your place." Mila didn't argue. In slowing heartbeats, I drove us across town, then at the warehouse, we entered purposefully through the front, Cassie meeting us to take the box. We returned to the car. In the seats, Mila mangled her fingers together. "Are you sure you want to go out for part two of my investigating? I already feel like I've put us in danger tonight." "I live for this. Besides, it's important, right?" She shook out her hands as if trying to rid herself of tension. "It is." "Then that's all that matters." I pulled the wheel and set tracks for location number two. Granny's house. The place that had sparked my curiosity and featured in any number of my idle daydreams about how I'd break into the gated mansion. Looked like I'd get to use that imagined practice after all. The dark countryside swallowed us whole, and a couple of hundred metres out from the house, I killed the headlights, burying the car in an off-road field entrance. I hopped out and tried the gate. It gave, and I drove across the grass, leaving the car under the cover of trees. Through the woods, we approached the property, "house" being too humble a word. Visible through the fence, the place was a Bond villain's retreat. Stark white render. Geometric lines. I'd caught a glimpse on our previous visit, but soaked in how the huge glass panels swallowed moonlight and how the boxy edges cut across the rugged Scottish countryside. There were lights on. Someone was home. Which meant I needed to find us a way in. A cable ran along the high fence, a clear sign of power going to a security system. Any neighbours were far enough away so there was no chance we'd be seen. Until we stalked out across the open ground. The wind picked up, uncaring that we were about to commit yet another crime. Beside me, Mila folded her arms tight. Her expression was calm, but her foot tapped the woodland floor. "Nice place," I murmured. "Totally pictured your gran as a minimalist ice queen, so it tracks." "She always was, though when my grandfather was alive, it felt warmer here. His office is the one room in the place that's done out in his style. All wood panelling like a ship and old records everywhere. I've only been inside once since he died. His office had been cleared out and felt like a mausoleum." I squeezed her hand, sensing the sadness hanging over her. Together, we stalked down the perimeter towards the entrance. Cameras in every corner. Motion sensors by the front gate. High-tech. Discreet. Expensive. "She's paranoid." "She's wealthy. Same thing." I grinned. "Come on. If she has any kind of staff, there'll be a service entrance. Gardeners don't use retina scanners." We cut across the front and into the hedgerow on the other side. Twigs snapped underfoot, the night air damp. Along the edge, I found what I was hunting for, a lane leading to an outhouse of some kind that bisected the fence. No digital lock on the entrance. Just two motion lights and an old-fashioned deadbolt. Someone on the security design team had missed a spot. I pulled my skeleton crew bandanna from my throat. "Give me yours. The motion lights love to ruin the mood." She handed it over. "These are endlessly useful." "I planned for this. I plan for everything. Except you. You're the chaos variable." She snorted. "Flatter me more." "I will. Later. When we're not about to be arrested on the grounds of a billionaire fortress." I wrapped the material around the lights and dropped to a crouch, examining the lock. It was then that I spotted what I'd missed. The outhouse wasn't just bolted. It had a camera hidden at the top of the doorframe and staring right down at us. Fuck it. If anyone was monitoring that, they'd be calling the cops faster than we could escape. More, there wouldn't just be this single, breakable lock. I dropped it. A sound broke over the stillness, tyres on gravel. I yanked Mila down, my heart thumping. Through the fence, a white car skidded down the drive, headlights slicing up the dark on its way to the road. The vehicle moved too fast to be sure of the occupant. "Did you get a look at them?" I asked. "Nope. Speedy driver was too busy burning holes in the driveway." The gates clanked, opening, and I gave a short laugh. This was our chance, handed to us on a silver platter. Still grasping Mila's hand, I said, "Run." We belted down the tree line and to the edge of the road. The car bombed past us without slowing, and we waited a beat then sprinted on through the open gates, just as they began to slide shut. We kept going, down the grass and all the way to the house. Pressed against the smooth white render, I exhaled. Mila laughed softly beside me, her eyes wide but alive. "That was slick," she breathed. I smirked. "Told you. I'm Bond. If Bond had a record and unresolved mother issues." She gave me a side-eye. "You're more like Bond's evil twin who got banned from spy club and started a sex cult." I grinned. "Still got the girl, though, didn't I?" She didn't answer. Didn't need to. Her fingers hadn't let go of mine. There was nothing for it other than to enter the property. Mila indicated a side door. I could have gone with stealth, but we were there to be seen, not to steal this time. Pulling her clear, I reared back and barged the door. It gave. I fell through and rolled to my feet at the end of a wide, white corridor. Lining the walls on both sides were black-and-white pictures of a beautiful woman, tastefully draped over furniture or posing on a bed, and very, very naked. Every single one was of Mila.