The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Eleven

"Congrats, you're on the news," Eden said on the other end of the line.

"Hm." Fox picked the remote up off the nightstand and switched on the TV. He hadn't heard anything in particular through the wall he shared with the boys – just a few muffled thumps that could have been anything, really – but he appreciated the chance to crank the volume up and drown out anything suspicious that might be forthcoming. "Hope the cameras caught my good side."

Eden snorted. "They don't have footage."

"Obviously, since I nabbed all the files."

"Obviously." He could hear her eyeroll.

A little channel surfing found the local news, and its after-midnight repeat of the day's main headlines. The screen filled with a dark parking lot, flashing lights, and scantily-clad young people huddling on the sidewalk, talking to police behind the yellow tape.

"Here we are," he said, and bumped the volume another notch for good measure.

"...police investigating the assault of eight bouncers at local nightclub Nine. According to eyewitness accounts, two men started a brawl on the dance floor that quickly devolved into something sinister," the grave on-scene reporter said to the camera, her chin tucked for effect.

Fox snorted. "They're calling it sinister. Ten would love that."

The footage cut to a kid in a backwards cap with a glazed, half-drunk expression: one of the oh-so-reliable eyewitnesses. "Dude," he said into the microphone, shaking his head, "these were not, like, regular dudes. They were like, like, [beep] ninjas or something! They were all" – he mimed several clumsy karate chops – "kicking, and throwing guys around. It was insane!"

A girl who'd cried her mascara into dark streaks sniffled into the mic and said, "I thought someone was gonna die. It was so awful."

Her friend, much more composed – and sober – leaned in to add, "I've never seen those guys before in my life. There's no way they were students."

Back to the reporter. "It seems the cameras inside the club were down at the time of the assault, but witnesses were able to describe the assailants."

Fox choked back a laugh when the two sketch artist renderings flashed up on the screen.

"Yeah," Eden said, her own chuckle soft. "Apparently Fabio and that guy from Green Day beat up those bouncers."

"See? I told you." He tabbed down the volume and started channel-surfing. It was silent a long beat from the other end of the line. He finally landed on a mindless cooking competition and set the remote down; dragged his laptop closer across the coverlet, open to the spreadsheet he'd been trying to decipher before Eden called. "You still there?"

"Yeah." She sighed – and with a single breath captured all of his attention. The fine hairs stood up on the back of his neck. "I didn't doubt that you could get in and out without being caught. I never think you'll screw up an op, Charlie."

His insides flashed cold, just for a second. A once-unfamiliar sensation that had been steadily creeping up on him the last few weeks. Something was off with Eden. She'd professed her sense of worry and helplessness about this whole Abacus business – but worry and hopelessness weren't usually a part of her vocabulary. He'd found her in tears a few mornings ago, and she hadn't come along on this op, though it was her idea.

Something very much like dread crawled across his skin.

Had this been part of an op, he would have known just how to play her.

But this was real life, and choosing his words carefully had never been his strong suit. "But you think I'll screw up other things."

Oops. So much for careful.