~ Author's Note ~ I hope everyone enjoys the chapter!! Please Comment, Vote!! I don't own the title or the lyrics. They belong to the song, Home by Machine Gun Kelly, Bebe Rexha, X Ambassador
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Nothing here feels like home Crowded streets, but I'm all alone
. . .
Lagos, Nigeria
Natasha's forest-green eyes sweep over the crowd of people walking around in front of the café, while she slowly swirls the metal spoon through her hot, steaming cup of lemon balm tea.
She marks all the faces into different categories in her mind. The middle-aged man across the street, talking frantically through his phone, registered on the side of caution. The clenched fist and tightened muscles. He was angry.
Meanwhile, the children in front of her, those running through a set of sprinklers, registered as non-threatening.
Though she would keep an eye out for them.
Children can surprise people with their capabilities.
She knows that better than anyone.
The redhead glances down, as her earpiece crackles alive. They had been alerted of a location on Rumlow by an anonymous source. Steve had assembled the team, afraid of losing the only lead they have been able to find for months.
"All right, what do you see?"
Wanda glances around covertly, pouring the sugar into her coffee. "Standard beat cops. Small station. Quiet street." She slowly twirls her spoon around the liquid, glancing behind her at the cops laughing in their conversation. "It's a good target."
Steve nods, watching out the window from the hotel room he was hiding in, while he listens over the com unit. He guides, "There's an ATM in the south corner, which means?"
"Cameras."
"Both cross streets are one way."
Wanda nods slightly, as she fills in the blanks. "So, compromised escape routes."
"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out." Steve tilts his head slightly, "You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?"
"Yeah, the red one?" Wanda smirks innocently, her accent thickening. "It's cute."
Natasha cuts Steve's reply off, "It's also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody." She takes a sip of her tea, which she had brought up to cover her mouth as she talks. "Probably us."
