Page 87 of Fuse

“Of course I do.”

The guy grunts. “Great.” Then elbows me in the gut. “So let’s get this show on the road before you trip over your nose, Pinocchio.”

“Fuck you,” I mumble, with Alex and Fersh’s snickers as my backdrop.

“Sorry, broheim,” Lydia cuts in. “That’s my job, remember?”

“And on that piece of TMI…” Sawyer snorts. “That’s going to earn a certain brat a visit from my spanking hand.”

I copy his elbow jab. “And that piece of TMI, none of us should have heard…”

He snort-laughs before leading the way out of the bushes and onto the mansion’s property line. We stick to the shadows along the far perimeter until spotting the power breaker box that Alex located on the satellite overview of the place. Not that his task was easy, since the thing is shrouded by an eight-foot-high Bird of Paradise, but the guy didn’t quit enhancing shots even after we took off in the Rover, and he finally found this intel when we were ten minutes out from the house.

It’s our critical key to moving faster now.

After buzzing the flowers down with some effortless lightning blades, I have to zap a little more effort into slicing the padlock from the breaker box itself. But a few seconds after that, Foley has the backyard lights and security system completely shut off.

And then, we brace.

Through twenty seconds.

Thirty.

Forty.

At just over fifty, we’re rewarded for the patience—“reward” being relative, since it’s in the form of at least fifteen of Faline’s minions who scurry like chickens in the path of a hurricane, clearly attempting to troubleshoot the security system breakdown before their mistress on high takes over to do it. Because with Faline, “troubleshooting” usually carries a much different meaning.

“Uh-oh.” Foley’s comment is no more than a snarky vibration on the air, though even if he’d gone full volume, nobody would’ve noticed. It’s pandemonium inside the house, for which we have a full ringside seat thanks to the towering glass windows along the ocean side of the structure. “Looks like Mom won’t be letting the kids have dessert tonight, dear.”

It’s ripe for a good follow-up, but my sarcasm is eliminated as soon as my logic kicks in. “But where is Mom?” I lean out from behind the pool equipment hutch now providing our cover, though I’m hardly sure we need it. For a bunch of chickens facing a Cat Five rager, the goons are weirdly oblivious about anything outside the mansion’s physical boundaries. Almost as if they don’t see what’s outside…

“Damn good point,” Foley mutters, joining my scrutiny of the scene.

“Could she just not be here?”

Fershan’s huff comes over the line. “But would the worker bees get that frantic without the queen in the hive?”

“Damn great point,” Foley answers.

“Agreed,” I add.

A new grunt from Alex roughens the line. There’s a sound of the comm piece being muffled but not thoroughly enough to drown out Trestle’s spitting passion for the F-word. “Uhhhh…Alex?” Fersh ventures. “You okay? You need me to come up to the lab or some—”

“Trestle?” Foley’s already dropped his demand to a growl. “Talk to us, man.”

Suddenly, as soon as memory hits me in a rush, I blurt, “The infrared.” And then double-palm my torso and thighs before explaining to Foley, “The detectors aren’t just in the Rover anymore. The guys wired a bunch of them into the battle leathers a few weeks ago.”

Foley eyes my leathers with an approving nod. “Sweet.”

But we celebrate only a second longer, since the line is roughened to static by an explosive snarl from Alex. “Jesus Clark Kent Christ with a Kryponite dildo,” he finally spits out.

“Trestle?” Foley sputters.

“What the hell?” I demand, rising all the way. There’s not a single double-take from any of the goons inside, so I stalk all the way out into the open. The backhoe scoop of gravel in Alex’s voice has buried any remaining cell of calm in my body. All that’s left are the nerves that blaze in trepidation and the senses straining to see or hear anything unusual.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

Is there anything “usual” about any of this?