Page 132 of Collateral Love
Silence like that didn’t come from waiting.
It came from losing control.
We pulled to a stop a block short of the warehouse. Engines cut one by one. Doors opened without a sound. Men moved into position like they’d been doing this their whole lives. Miles stayed beside me, hands cuffed together, so he couldn’t try any stupid shit.
Still talking.
“You know,” he said, lowering his voice, “Cameron’s whole angle is exposure. If Charles disappears, it might give her what she wants.”
“That’s a theory,” I said.
He leaned closer. “It’s a good one.”
The warehouse loomed ahead—corrugated metal, rust streaks like old wounds, one light burning near a side door. It looked abandoned, the way predators’ dens always did. Charles loved places like this. He loved the symbolism and loved pretending he was still the kind of man who moved weight out of shadows.
I signaled for perimeter hold.
No breach yet.
Inside the warehouse, movement flickered behind grimy glass. A silhouette crossed. Another followed. Nervous pacing. No discipline. No system. Charles was scared.
Scared men made bad decisions.
“How many men does he have?” I asked quietly.
Xavier’s voice came through the comms. “Two inside. One-armed. One shaking.”
I nodded.
We stood there in the wet dark, men posted, city breathing around us like nothing was wrong.
I thought of Kenya.
Thought of the way she warned me about pressure. About men who tried to solve everything by collapsing timelines. About how speed was the first lie people told when they were losing.
I met Miles’s eyes again.
“Stay close behind me,” I told him. “I don’t want you out of the loop. If you make one dumb move, X will shoot you in the back of the head, then shoot your daughter and her mother.”
He nodded, but his hands weren’t steady anymore.
Inside the warehouse,something crashed. A raised voice. Charles’s voice sounded ragged, angry, and desperate.
I turned back toward the building and spoke into my headset.
“Contain the building,” I ordered softly. “Nobody goes in unless I say so.”
The men moved without sound.
Miles swallowed. “Zay…if Charles panics?—”
“Then he panics,” I said. “And shows us who he’s really listening to.”
I didn’t need to look at Miles to know he was calculating. Rewriting. Adjusting.
Good.
Let him.
