Elbow-deep in dishes, with only the stovetop light for illumination, Elizabeth scrubbed the last of the plates clean. Toretto had cooked some variant of paella while Ramsey and Parker whipped up the best jerk chicken she'd ever tasted. O'Conner had offered to help wash up, but a quick 'I'll be working late' shut them all down before anyone else could try to press the issue.

With any luck, the warehouse would be vacant now. The clock on the microwave said it was close to midnight, and Hobbs had disappeared shortly after dessert. Where he went was anyone's guess, but so long as the Fed wasn't on her arse, his business was his own.

"You aren't subtle, are you?"

That cold voice was the first indication she wasn't alone. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and raised goosebumps along her arms. There'd been no footsteps, no noise to indicate a presence of any kind. You're good. Elizabeth wrapped her fingers around the handle of a kitchen knife and lifted it out of the sink, then proceeded to dry it with the tea towel tossed over her shoulder.

She turned to stare at the figure in the kitchen doorway, eyes straining to make anything out. They were completely swathed in shadows, head angled perfectly so as to hide any distinguishing features. "You know who I am."

"It's why I'm here."

Male. American.

"And you know what I'm capable of?"

Teeth flashed for a moment as he chuckled. "It's why I'm here. Cipher sends her regards."

"There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?"

"Unfortunately, she won't be needing your services this time. Her new team is…uniquely qualified."

Elizabeth helped herself to a seat and propped her boots up on the table. She twisted the knife back and forth in her hands, careful not to nick herself. "Cipher says that to all the girls," she sighed. "Is that everything?"

"Whatever you think you're playing at, Miss Shaw, I wouldn't."

In the few seconds it took her to glance down at her lap then up at the doorway, the figure disappeared through the emergency exit. Elizabeth groaned and dropped her feet to the floor then stood, returning the kitchen knife to its block. No doubt an alarm of some kind had been triggered.

Or not.

If it was rigged to the security system then whoever that'd been had to know how rapid the response time was. After a moment, she returned to the sink, washed and dried the remaining plates, and stacked them away in the cupboards.

Twenty minutes later, she descended the stairs with a steaming mug. In an ideal world, Elizabeth would've been asleep by ten o'clock, but it was not, and whoever had been standing in the kitchen doorway bore a clear message: stop.

"Not gonna happen," she murmured to herself, "and you know it."

There was no turning back now. Not when the money was within arm's reach. Certainly not because some wanker had decided he was the new Michael Myers. She walked down the center aisle, eyes scanning her orange-tinted surroundings, and drank her tea as she went.

At night, the warehouse switched over to dim safety lights, but Elizabeth could still read the plates on Toretto's car and make out the labelling on equipment. She was also perfectly able to recognise the figure lifting weights on the bench press.

"I'd ask if you're watching me," she called out, "but seeing as there's only one gym, I think it's safe to say you can't sleep."

A sinking feeling had formed in the pit of his stomach after Owen's car slipped off its jack, and no matter what Deckard tried, he just couldn't shake it. Something was off about the entire mission. The same feeling had struck him the day ETEON came calling, and the night Owen was meant to leave Spain. "You either, eh?"

"Mmhmm." She seated herself on the end of the bench press, between his knees, and drank the rest of her tea. "Scared, I guess. Wondering how it'll go wrong this time. Whether I'll lose you both."

"You won't." Deckard set the bar on the rack then slid forward and sat upright. The ache in his arms was a welcome sensation, as well as the feeling of tiredness that came with it. "Someone could gather all our enemies and they still wouldn't have enough men to stop us."

Elizabeth cast a wary glance over her shoulder. That didn't sound quite as reassuring as Deckard presumably intended it to be. "How many do we have?"

"Not including the ones who are dead or comatose?" Owen's voice came from behind them. Deckard didn't so much as twitch, but Beth jerked in surprise. It was a…disappointing reaction. At some point, she'd lost her unconscious awareness of his presence. "Three."

"Cipher," Elizabeth said. "Naturally."

Owen nodded. "Toretto."

"And Hobbs," Deckard finished.

"So are you going to tell us who that was upstairs with you," Owen said, "or do I need to call Hattie and have her pry the answer out of you?"

Son of a bitch. Owen had seen that? "You tell me. I was looking right at them and couldn't make out a damn thing."

"What did they want?"

"Cipher sends her regards," Beth mocked. "And she now possesses a 'uniquely qualified' team."

"She wouldn't send someone here just to brag." Deckard frowned. If someone had breached the base, that didn't bode well for their overall security. They needed to pack up immediately. Move elsewhere. Go as far deep underground as they could. "What else?"

"That's it." She stood and kept her back to them, taking the opportunity to compose herself. Better her brothers didn't see the worried look in her eyes. "She probably noticed Toretto on one of her satellites and sent them as a warning."

"If Cipher knows we're here," Deckard swung himself around to face Owen, "she knows we're not ready. She could hit us at any time."

"What do you suggest we do?" It was dark, late, and they were being watched. She'd never liked having to look over her shoulder, but it was something Beth had grown used to over the past few years. "If we run, she'll still follow us on satellite."

"It's the only option we have right now."

Surely Deckard didn't think waking everyone and hopping on the next plane to Alaska would actually work. "The plan stays the same. No one needs to know about tonight."

"The base has been compromised."

"They visited her." Owen pointed at Beth. "Not anyone else. If we run, Cipher knows that the only Shaw she trusts has been turned."

Playing both sides was risky. Far too risky in Deckard's eyes. One slip-up and they would all be on the receiving end of a bullet. The cost of everything going wrong far outweighed the benefits, and he had no desire to go through this nightmare again.

"If you two are done," Beth interrupted, "I'm going to bed."

"Don't tell Hobbs either."

"I won't," she lied.

Who was Owen kidding? Of course she would, so long as the Fed promised to keep his mouth shut. Elizabeth didn't want him kicking her door down in the morning once base security told him someone tripped the alarms in the middle of the night. Better to piss him off now than later. Hell, there was a slight chance that honesty would even earn her a little wiggle room.

Perhaps enough to let her leave the base and go to Los Angeles for a day.

There was no sense knocking on his door and making enough noise to wake Toretto's team, Elizabeth decided, so breaking and entering it was. Wood chips crunched quietly beneath her bare feet as she approached the rear of his motel room and the bathroom window.

It sat about five feet off the ground — not so high as to be an impossible climb, but not so easy either — and looked to be unlocked. Maybe the revolver he carried was enough of a guarantee that no one would think about attacking him in his own room, but Elizabeth doubted he'd ever had to use it.

She took one more step forward, close enough to press her face up against the glass, and began working the window upwards. The gap at the bottom was only enough to fit her nails into, but the more she pushed, the larger it grew. Eventually, there was enough space for her fingers.

Inch by inch it rose, till Elizabeth judged she had enough space to squeeze through. Now came the fun part. She gripped the bricks, dug her fingers and toes into the gaps where the mortar lay, and pushed. Climbed high enough till she could put one arm through the window and pull the rest of her body up with her.

Once she was halfway through, she grasped the bathroom sink for leverage and slipped her leg inside. A moment later, Elizabeth found herself standing in a bathroom identical to hers. Ugly salmon pink tiles, shower on the left with no curtain, and the toilet squashed in next to it.

And by some God-given luck, Hobbs wasn't seated on it.

She lifted a dry hand towel off the rack and slowly moved towards the bathroom door. Her heart was beginning to pound with every step. A lump had formed in her throat, and try as she might, it wouldn't go away. He's going to kill you, Elizabeth thought. You've tried stabbing him, threatening him, and now you're trespassing in his room. Great job, you idiot.

Fortunately, she didn't have to twist the handle. The door was ajar. A single tug, a quiet squeal from the hinges, and she could see the rest of his motel room. The outside lights filtered through the curtains, illuminating the large figure on the bed.

For once, Hobbs looked at peace. His head faced the door, left leg hung off the bed. Flat on his back, Elizabeth could just make out the waistband of his briefs. An uneasy smile formed on her face in response — Hobbs seemed like more of a boxers guy, but whatever worked.

She scrunched up the hand towel and hurled it at him. It fell just shy of the bed, beside the dresser with the alarm clock on it.

Shit.

Throwing a boot at him would only serve to get her shot. Pelting a toothbrush at him could work, Beth considered, but it would likely work out as well as the towel. And if she shook him — either Hobbs was a heavy sleeper, or damn good at pretending to be — then the first thing he'd do was toss her arse halfway across the room.

Well, that was better than getting shot, she supposed. Better than being chewed out in the morning.

Moving on the balls of her feet, she walked as softly as possible towards the bed. Her uneasy smile transformed into an awkward one as the knowledge that Hobbs was almost completely naked sank in. Beth bit her bottom lip in an attempt to suppress it, and for a moment it worked.

The next, a set of muscular legs wrapped around her waist and lifted her. She crashed face first into the mattress, grunting upon impact. Those same legs held her while her arm was almost wrenched out of its socket.

"You have ten seconds to tell me why you're in my goddamn room before I break your shoulder." He'd heard a noise, like a squeal, and then a soft set of footsteps on carpet. Instead of being shot the moment he so much as twitched, Luke had chosen to lay in wait. The figure kicked out with their legs, struggling to break free, but he held fast. "Don't make me ask twice."

Elizabeth grit her teeth as pain surged through her upper body. Through them, she wheezed out, "Hobbs!"

"Eight seconds."

Whoever they were, he was sure to get a good look at them now. With one hand, he reached for the touch-activated bedside lamp. Luke's fingers brushed the base, illuminating the room with dim light, just as the figure slapped their hand against his legs. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. Long dark hair tied back into a ponytail, a very much female form, and a tattoo of a star on their knee.

A woman? Someone had sent a—

Luke's eyes tracked back to her face and that somewhat familiar gaze. Oh shit. This had to be a joke, right? Either someone was pranking him or…

Son of a bitch.

In disbelief, he asked, "Shaw?"

She struck his leg harder this time.

"Jesus Christ." He released her arm and unlocked his legs. "What the hell are you doing in my room, woman?"

Elizabeth took in a few deep breaths and nodded. She gave herself a moment before sitting up and rubbing her neck. "Needed to talk. Didn't want to…wake the neighbours."

"About what?"

A few more seconds and Luke would've dislocated her arm. Messed up her shoulder. An injury like that would've required weeks to recover from. What the hell had Shaw been thinking?

"Cipher." She wriggled her way across the bed and turned the lamp off. It was better that no one knew she was in here, or that Hobbs was awake. And…underdressed. "She, um, sent a message."

"And this couldn't wait till morning?"

"No." Elizabeth shook her head despite the darkness. Better to get it (and him) off her chest now. "Someone paid me a visit while I was in the kitchen. Cipher knows where we are. I'm guessing she noticed Toretto's car, but yeah. She's found us."

"And what was the message?"

"She's gotten herself an upgrade, so I'm obsolete."

"Did you get a look at their face?"

"It was too dark. And they stood so the light only cast more shadow." There was a possibility she'd recognise the voice, but what were the odds Elizabeth would ever hear it again? "Whoever he was, he didn't blink when I pulled the knife out."

Luke groaned and wiped his face with his hands. Of course she'd gone for a knife. Alone in a room, confronted by someone whose face she couldn't see? Despite how useless one was in her hands, Shaw had given herself a fighting chance, however miniscule it was.

"What else?" He moved to the edge of the bed and sat there, waiting for her to talk again. Avoiding two ass kickings in one night had to be a record for Shaw. "Accent? Height? Footsteps?"

"Until he spoke, I didn't hear a thing." She felt the mattress sink. Hobbs had moved. In the dim light, she was just able to make out the shape of his head. "He used an American accent, and when he laughed, I saw his teeth. Stood about Deckard's height, if I had to guess."

A tall male wasn't much of a description, but the fact he could sneak up on someone suggested military training. Or some kind of elite taskforce. Stealth wasn't usually something civilians concerned themselves with.

"How'd he get in?"

"Emergency exit, I guess. He also said…'Whatever you think you're playing at, I wouldn't.' I don't care if Cipher knows I'm coming for her money, but if she thinks some creepy bastard in a—"

Quiet footsteps sounded on the pavement outside, then a faint knock and an English accent that called, "Hobbs!"

"Oh great," Luke whispered. "More of you. Does Deckard know about the intruder?"

"He and Owen both."

"Just a minute," Luke said, loud enough for Shaw's brother to hear. Then he turned to Elizabeth again and stood up so as to answer the door. "Alright. You need to hide or…something. I'm not in the mood to explain why you're in my bedroom."

"Fine." She pushed the bedsheets down then slipped beneath them, rolling onto her left side to face the tiny kitchenette. After freeing her ponytail, she snagged one of Hobbs' pillows and tucked it under her head. Without another glance at the Fed, Beth pulled the sheets up to her neck and closed her eyes.

There wasn't a chance in hell she could make it to the bathroom, shut the door, climb out the window then subsequently circle back around the building. At least not without being spotted by either Deckard or Owen. Both of whom likely thought she was already asleep in her own motel room.

Another insistent knock, and slightly louder this time. "Hobbs!"

"I said a minute, you impatient sumbitch." Luke glanced over his shoulder and scowled at the shape of Elizabeth 'don't make me cut your dick off' Shaw curled up beneath his sheets. He shook his head in disbelief before finally reaching the door. Luke eased it open, careful to block Deckard's view of the room with his body. "You better not have woken me up to complain about the room service."

Deckard stood on the top step looking none too impressed. "Cipher sent us a message."

"I know. The asshole triggered one of the silent alarms. We'll talk about in the morning, Shaw." Without another word, Luke shut the door in his face and slid the lock into place. Tomorrow, he'd have to secure that bathroom window so no more surprises could come through it. Quietly, he groaned and approached the bed. Elizabeth was still, but he could hear the even, shallow sound of her breathing. "Goddamn," he muttered. "You're asleep, aren't you?"

Naturally, there was no response.

"Alright." Luke eased himself down onto the mattress and stretched out on top of the sheets. If anyone else woke him up or interrupted his sleep tonight, he was shooting first and asking questions later. "You better not roll around or I'll throw you out myself."