A/N: *waves from behind a door*
Hi guys. Really proud (not to mention thankful!) for whoever is still out there willing to read a new chapter. Life got in the way. Again, this chapter is much shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to update, and I'd rather get this done this way than not at all. The rating has moved up to M to account for language. I'm sure you all think I'm full of it at this point, and you're probably not too far off base, but I hope to get another installment up in a few days. Love you all!
Imelda got back to her apartment just three hours later, but it was three hours too long for her. Not just because she thought she'd pull her hair out if just one more person took someone else's drink. 'Underway' could only mean one thing and she was not looking forward to it.
She knew she was expected to check in as soon as possible, but surely she could have some lunch first? A busy opening shift left barely any time for herself or Tor to take a break and ingest caffeine, let alone a meal of any sort. But no, she reasoned, they would know. They knew she was aware of the gravity of the situation and she could not jeopardize her reputation or her respect by giving the appearance of treating it with any less delicacy than it deserved.
It put her in a bad mood as she stalked up the stairs to her door, barely giving a nod to her downstairs neighbor as he waved hello, walking that dog of his. He had dropped by when she moved into this place, all awkward attractiveness until she nearly closed the door in his face. Damn him. Why was he always so cheery anyway? Just what was there to be cheery about? It satisfied her much more to slam her front door behind her instead, before beginning to pace across her living room floor.
Calm, cool, collected. Cool it, Imelda. Make the call.
She let out a deep breath and then breathed in, pulling out her phone as she did so. The line rung . . . and then rung again. It clicked in the middle of the third ring.
"ID?"
"Morillo, Imelda. Number 180072."
A beep, a few taps . . . and then the line picked up.
"Okay it's me. Do I want to know what provoked an underway text?"
"Probably not. The de la Cruz case broke." Her boss sounded equal parts annoyed and stressed, and she hadn't heard that combo from Carmen since . . . a while.
"How has that broken already? We haven't heard high nor tail of that guy for the last six months." Imelda could hear Carmen's heels clicking on her end of the line.
"Yeah, well, we suddenly heard high and tail of him. We think he's gearing up for something big."
"Oh, the old disappear for six months and come back with a bang technique?" Imelda flopped backwards onto her sofa, letting out a wry laugh. "Seems typical."
"You could say that. We don't really know what exactly he's doing, but our intel has placed him at the same address for the past two and a half weeks."
"In the city?"
"Yes. This guy was hopping around from address to address before we lost him, so I don't like it that he's actually staying put for once."
Imelda ran a hand over her face. "Maybe waiting for a shipment of something?"
"Unlikely. If it was just one shipment he could get it and move on. He hasn't moved." Imelda could picture her boss screwing up her face.
"Well that . . . sounds fun. What's our move?"
"I want you to check it out. See what you can get on what he's doing."
"I imagine you don't want me to pop in on a Monday afternoon with a hi how are you doing and sit down for tea." She at least got a chuckle out of Carmen for that one.
"No. Get in, get out, do not let him know you were ever there."
"My favorite. Where am I going?" Carmen rattled off an address then, that Imelda recognized as being nearly smack dab in the business sector of the city.
Fancy.
"Okay, got it. I'll let you know." Imelda was about to hang up when she heard Carmen audibly pause on the other end. "What?"
"I think you should have backup on this one. Take someone with you. You don't know what you're walking into."
Imelda's face went blank. "It's not your fault, Imelda . . . not your fault," a voice said, and then nothing as the sky closed in on her.
She shook her head forcefully. "I'll be fine. It should just be a quick thing."
"Really, Imelda, I think you should think about-"
"I work alone, Carmen," she cut her off. "I'll report back." Imelda hung up and tossed the phone on the floor.
Imelda had long been of the opinion that agents worked best in the dark. Or rather, that she worked best in the dark. There was the obvious advantage of other people not seeing you, but she felt more comfortable blanketed in the blackness anyway. She was inescapably alone, and she liked it that way. No one to worry about, friend or enemy, but herself.
The moment night fully covered the city at eight fifteen pm, she was out of her apartment and on the way to the address Carmen had given her. She parked her car two blocks down and walked the rest of the way. The address was, in fact, within an office building, and a rather swanky one at that, Imelda noted. It looked like the kind of place executive officers frequented, the type that assistants were overworked in and probably were sent out for lunches or coffee. The lobby doors were not locked, but the lights had been dimmed, and she saw no one on the entire floor. The place was like a courtyard, all airiness in the middle with desk cubicles, all currently vacant, along the left and right walls. The back wall served as home for a row of elevators.
The dead silence of the place made Imelda uneasy. Quietness was one thing, but this place was drop-a-pin-and-the-next-four-blocks-hears-it quiet.
Calm down, girl. It's eight thirty and these people go home at five. Go. Go do your job.
She strode towards the nearest upward elevator and summoned it with the button. It arrived a few seconds later with a ding, and she marched in, pressing the button for the second floor. As the elevator whirred to life and started up with a slight jerk, Imelda pulled the paper with the address from her pocket.
2nd floor, suite 146.
It nagged at her that someone as adept at escaping trails as de la Cruz had allowed himself to be so specifically pinpointed. A building was one thing, but a floor and the goddamn suite. Why don't he just invite her and the entire division over for coffee? The elevator doors opened just as she finished that thought, revealing a completely dark floor. Every single light in the place was off and the shades must have been down too, because while Imelda considered herself somewhat good at seeing in the dark, she couldn't see a solitary thing.
She groaned and pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket before stepping out. There were no offices on this floor. Just . . . boxes.
Storage?
It was odd. The address had a suite number but it seemed to almost encompass the entire second floor of the building, for there were no other visible suites to be seen. The area was nearly as large as the entryway courtyard setup as far as she could tell. But then, there were so many damn boxes, she noted with annoyance as she walked right into a low stack, there was really no way to be sure.
What the hell is the guy doing, setting up for opening day in a stockroom?
The boxes she had walked into had fallen over, and she kneeled to pick one up. It fell out of her hand. Empty.
What the-
The next two stacks were all empty too. Imelda moved gingerly between the precariously balanced rows, ensuring nothing was disturbed.
If I was carrying out some vague ominous plan, I think I'd put things the farthest possible distance away from anyone possible and-
She made it to the nearest wall and pried the top box open.
Bingo.
There was something in it. She wasn't sure what it was. There was only two small vials in this comparably ridiculously large box, each measuring maybe 2 inches long. Imelda was just about to photograph one when she heard it.
Frankly, she wasn't even sure what the damn noise was, but it was a noise, and that meant someone else was here. Boxes do not move on their own. Muttering a quiet 'shit' in her head, Imelda snapped off her light and ducked behind the tallest row of boxes.
Squeak.
A shoe. Definitely a footfall. And probably de la Cruz or one of his guys. No one even knew the dude was here. Except her. And Carmen. And apparently whoever the hell this was.
She didn't move a muscle, but maybe fifteen seconds later, she felt an uncomfortably harsh grip on her shoulder.
SHIT.
There was no time to think, and definitely no time to even consider turning on a light. Not like she could get to one anyway. Imelda grabbed the hand on her shoulder and the arm attached to it, rising from the floor as she did so. It wasn't like judo flips were useful in the field, but in the pitch dark, it was enough to disorient someone enough to get her the upper hand. The person hit the ground with an audible groan and Imelda grasped for her flashlight, giving her enough visual to deliver a perfectly aimed blow at the side of their head, right between the hairline and eyebrows.
They were definitely out.
She knew it wouldn't do any permanent damage, but whoever it was would have one hell of a headache when they woke up. And probably be plenty pissed at her too.
Okay, Imelda. Get the hell out.
She shone her light on the now unconscious person.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
The slightly shaggy hair, the small goatee, and those eyebrows. Her neighbor.
You are so screwed, Imelda.
De la Cruz had to have known where she lived, she reasoned. Even tailed her. Cute. Very cute.
She still needed something though. She rubbed her shoulder, and reopened the vial box. There was no way she was leaving with nothing.
Just in case, a quick photo of the box and its contents was snapped on her phone, and then she gingerly lifted one of the vials. It was odd; it looked almost clear on first glance, like there was nothing in it. But when she held it up to her flashlight, the liquid inside took on an almost brown tinge. She furrowed her brows. It was doubtful that anything de la Cruz went to this much trouble to hide was something she wanted to get any closer to, especially something in a damn vial. It might burn her skin off for all she knew. But neither she nor Carmen could get any closer to answers with a picture of liquid they couldn't identify. She replaced the vial in the box and closed it, everything back to as it had been. Not that it mattered. She was pretty sure the guy on the floor was going to remember being knocked out.
A quick sweep of her light around the room revealed a desk on the opposite wall, and she gasped a little bit with exhilaration. Thank god. Something she could use. The desk was positioned directly in front of a window that, as she had thought, had the shade pulled nearly all the way down. Imelda kept her head beneath its line of sight though, just to be safe.
The desk was almost excruciatingly well organized. Each drawer was full of filing folders, each labeled and home to a stack of what looked like receipts and business correspondence. On the third drawer, an unlabeled folder was wedged between its labeled associates, and there was only one sheet in it. That was interesting.
What was even more interesting was that it was filled front and back with handwritten addresses and phone numbers.
Amateur.
Imelda couldn't decide if this guy was completely ignorant or wanted someone to find this thing, but it reeked of a contact list. Two more photos added to the phone.
She glanced over to the man on the floor but he hadn't stirred. A glance out the sliver of window, though, revealed a masculine figure walking towards the building. He wore a hat and the angle obscured his face, but she heard the elevator's whirring after he disappeared from sight, and that made her fairly certain of who she had seen. Time to go.
