Game of Dust and Ashes (Book Two in the Covert Operations series)

Ten

Livingston, New Jersey. January 28, 2021, 8:32 pm.

The GPS led me to a sports complex in Livingston. It was tucked behind a new strip mall and lines of cars filled the parking lot. I rolled to a stop next to a big pickup truck and cut the engine. For just a moment, I sat there. Fiddled with the phone and texted the address of the complex to the others. Turned on the tracker.

"I'm here," I said to them through the comms. "It's some kind of sports complex. My phone is on. I've sent you the address. I'm going in."

"Be careful," Lia said immediately.

"I'm looking for a way into the security cameras now," Tasha added. "Seems like a hockey rink from what I can tell from a quick online search. If they have cameras, I should be able to get in fairly easily."

"Excellent."

Max added, "Lia and I are heading to you now, Mel. Don't do anything stupid."

I rolled my eyes and ripped the comms unit out of my ear before jumping out of the car and striding for the front doors. It was a small place. Only one ice pad which meant that there were fewer exits to canvas. Strategically picked.

There was a viewing window so that people could watch the game without being in the cold of the rink. I stepped to that window, looked through the glass for just a moment until I had figured out my exit strategy and spotted him.

James Hawke was sitting in the middle of the arena, a few rows up from where the scorekeeper was manning control of the board. He was dressed in a simple black jacket, blue jeans, and sneakers. There was a toque on his head, covering up most of his hair, though strands of dark locks tumbled out the side.

Spectators had gathered to watch the game, mostly parents and other children, but he was sitting alone. A bit too stiff, eyes shifting frequently but never settling on the game, as if he were surveying the surrounding area. There was a bag of popcorn on his lap that looked as if it been bought from the vendor stand. A steaming cup of what I assumed was coffee was sitting on the bench next to him.

I pushed through the crowd slowly, trying not to drawn attention myself as I strived to take a closer look. He was immediately familiar, tall and broad, grim featured with square jaw and slightly crooked nose. His eyes were so brown they were almost black. And pale – almost ghostly white, as if he'd been spending time in a place where sun was hard to come by.

Even though I'd seen his photo before, it still surprised me how young he was. A few years older than I was. No older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight at any rate.

I'd first seen his photograph at the police station. The Chief of police had showed it to us. Cedric had managed to scrounge up a few other photos of him, mostly captured on security cameras and while walking through the background of social media posts, so I could definitely confirm him.

Hawke hadn't spotted me yet so I kept to the shadows and flipped the GPS tracker on before tucking my phone back into my pocket. I doubted that he would make a move here. There were too many people which meant that he wanted to talk—actually talk. I took an extra minute to determine the best exit routes and alternatives in the event that I needed to make a run for it.

It was only a few minutes into the second period, more than enough time for me to duck into one of the locker rooms to rearrange the weapons I was carrying. It wasn't much – just what I'd been able to pull from the car I'd driven to the airport – but it made me feel as if I wasn't walking into a situation I couldn't get out of. I'd encountered worse in areas that were more secluded and with fewer defences. The knives I had strapped to the inside of my jacket on the opposite side of where I was keeping the file and the gun that had been holstered beneath my pants against my ankle would have to be enough. For safe measure, I slipped a switchblade into the pocket of my jacket.