Page 11 of The Puppet Master
“Do you have any idea how important this is?” he asks, so worked up you’d think his life was at risk instead of his wallet’s waistline. “The Shadow Sanctum isn’t yourdentist. They don’t reschedule appointments.”
He fidgets beside me, his body leaned toward the wheel as he eagerly winds out of the parking lot onto the road that’ll lead us to the compound of the richest cult in North America. Maybe even the world.
Their compound sits on a rhodium mine—the world's most precious metal—and Wilcox’s cousin who works at the town’s bank claims they take nothing but cash. Which checks out considering they’re a cult. They’re not known to believe in banks. Or taxes.
They’ve got piles of cash so high, the biggest concern is figuring out how to get it all out on one trip. It’s a big job.Huge.
And he’s right. I know he’s right, and Idocare. I’ve only known him for six months, and I’m not interested enough to pry, but I can guess I need this money more than he does.
Right now, though, I have shit to get out of my brain.
I bring up my notes app to type in Duncan Thomas’s account number.
“What were you doing in there anyway?” Wilcox throws me an annoyed scowl.
“I need you to get an account number to Vera.”
Vera is his… girlfriend. Sort of.
“What?” He slams the center console shut when I open it to look for a pen. “We’re about to pull off the heist of the century, and you’re still snatching pocket change?”
I move the wallet to the cup holder and pat it. “When she’s done with the account number, have Vera mail this to the address on the license.”
“Sawyer.”
“Relax. I’m just warming up.”
“Warming up…” His grip on the wheel pales as he stops at a light. A minute passes before I realize he isn’t going to say anything else. It isn’t difficult for me to figure people out, but I still haven’t decided if Wilcox is a delusional coward or if he’s smart. Delusional because he thinks he’s the one person in the world I haven’t deemed a mark or smart because he knows he needs me to get what he really wants. Which is rich.
Either way, he bites his tongue. I don’t know what I would say if he didn’t. The truth is, I have a compulsion. I can’t stop.
The other truth is, I need him too… For now. He’s my ticket inside The Shadow Sanctum. The contact inside is his, the meeting was set up by him.
But honestly, our partnership expires as soon as I’m a member.
CHAPTER 3
SAWYER
SIXTEEN HOURS BEFORE…
The trek to the Shadow Sanctum isn’t without design.
Blindfolded, filthy, and off-balance, Wilcox and I walk two miles through a forest—our escorts more shovers than guides, letting us trip over every fallen branch, hole, and rock—before my shoe finally scrapes smooth concrete.
A woman’s distant giggle turns my head. Even far away, I know it’s directed at Wilcox and me. Charred pine cuts through the cold, and I picture the woman in a white robe, smoke swirling from the burning stick in her hand. About to chant whatever brand of nonsense this cult sells.
I’ve spent the last hour tracking every shift in direction, counting every step, and listening for how many pairs of feet crunch through leaves. I’m confident there are seven, including mine.
We were told to park by an old abandoned barn—leaving the car for Vera to pick up—and blindfold ourselves. Five men arrived and threw us in the back of an SUV where they then drove for twenty-seven minutes, taking three turns and one veer before parking and marching us into the woods.
“Walk,” a man with a deep voice commands, shoving me forward.
My shoe connects with raised concrete—a step I stumble on before catching myself. I climb four more and reach a small porch, where a cat lets out a string of loud, pained meows.
“Get it out of here,” someone sneers. The cat’s pitch rises abruptly (someone must be carrying it off).
Left turn, right turn, right veer, left turn. Four thousand nine hundred thirty-five steps through a forest.
