Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

Guerrero hated this. He hated every part of it. This was meant for thugs who tried to mess with him, not for young girls who were good at math.

It made sense, yes. A windowless van would have been too obtrusive. But that didn't mean he had to like it in any way, shape or form. He pulled into the parking garage they had agreed upon as a meeting place.

Aquam's people had cleared the level of all civilians. Not many to park here anyway, this was a pretty seedy part of the city. Everybody knew the guards on duty were bribed and the cameras not working.

A couple of cars just like the one Guerrero was coming in, same model, same color, were already waiting. Aquam was taking no chances.

When Guerrero got out of his car, Aquam was standing a little apart from his muscle, his daughter by his side. He had a hand on her shoulder. As Guerrero approached the two, the big man crouched down so he was at eye level with his kid. "We talked about this", he said, gently stroking her face. "There's no need to be afraid. These people are the best. They'll take good care of you and this is just for your protection."

Shakeema nodded. The way she stood there, self-controlled, calm, accepting the things to come… suddenly Guerrero could see the similarities between Aquam and his daughter. Sure, ruthlessness, the will to use uninhibited violence when necessary and pretty much the total absence of anything resembling a conscience had brought him to the top of San Francisco's underworld, but there was more to it: Determination. Self-discipline. The willingness to work harder than everyone else. Shakeema had inherited that.

When her father pulled the black hood over her head she didn't even flinch. Cautiously he lifted her up and carried her over to Guerrero's car. Guerrero had put a pillow and a blanket into the trunk, after spending half the afternoon with reinforcing the trunk lid.

Rear-end collisions, even the mild ones, were extremely dangerous for someone riding in the trunk. Trunks were part of a car's crush-collapsible zone, meant to give in to outside force. Without seatbelts, airbags, stable walls a person inside a trunk was at great risk during a crash. With his usual passengers Guerrero couldn't care less, but this was different.

Aquam lowered Shakeema onto the provided blanket as gently as possible. "The drive won't be long, will it?"

Guerrero didn't answer and Aquam didn't expect him to – the whole point of this dreadful exercise was to prevent the daughter from figuring out where Chance's lair was. The team had discussed this matter long and intensely. On the one hand no place was safer than the warehouse, on the other hand it was not wise to let Kareem Aquam know where the team had set up camp. In the end the concerns for the girl's safety had outweighed the concerns for their own.

… … …

"Why are you canvassing the windows?", Ash asked Ames, frowning.

"A new client is coming in. She's the daughter of a gangster boss and we don't want her to know where the office is. Too dangerous for Chance, you, all of us… and her… if anyone finds out she knows and tortures her… it's better this way." With the elegance of the practiced thief Ames descended the ladder and moved on to the next window.

"While she's here, make yourself invisible", Winston told Ash.

"It's not my fault mom's away for a job and I have to stay with Dad", Ash snapped back.

Winston rolled his eyes. Ash was sounding more and more like a real teenager lately. Sullen and objecting as a matter of principle. "I know, but that doesn't change the fact that you'll have to stay upstairs for a while. Use your father's bathroom, stay in your room as much as possible. With all the internet and TV shit Guerrero has set up you shouldn't be in danger of dying of boredom soon. We'll provide you with enough food so you won't starve to death either."

"Great, being imprisoned in my own home!"

Winston thought of Guerrero's secret prison cell downstairs and shook his head. The boy had no idea what he was talking about.

… … …

Guerrero left the parking garage in a convoy with the other cars before they spread out in different directions. Unless whoever was after Shakeema had a small army of drivers at hand he'd have to pick one of the cars to follow and leave the others alone. Statistically, his chances of following the wrong car were good. Nevertheless Guerrero did more than one extra turn to make sure nobody was in pursuit.

Things looked good.

When he pulled up in the warehouse's loading bay, Chance was already waiting. "The scanner in the trunk indicated no secret tracker or other bug on her", Guerrero told him. "Kareem was being truthful."

Careful not to scare Shakeema, Chance opened the trunk.

The girl hadn't touched her hood. She was lying curled up in her blanket, head on the pillow. "Are we there?", she asked, voice muffled from the cloth.

"I'm Christopher Chance, the man your father hired to protect you. I'm going to lift you up now. Once we're in my office, I'll remove the hood, okay?"

"S'okay."

Shakeema was light as a feather. She kept very still in Chance's arms, apparently willing to accept whatever they were planning to do with her. But even through the thick denim of her jacket he could feel her heart beat wildly.

Upstairs she tried some of the food Ilsa had ordered for her, most likely more out of politeness than out of any kind of appetite, then retired to the guestroom Ames had cleared only a couple of hours earlier.

Guerrero and Chance sat down to go over the plan for the coming days once more. As Guerrero switched on the TV, news of more killings just came in. A gruesome shootout at a corner near an elementary school.

"This stinks", Guerrero told Chance.

"I know, but we owe Aquam and it's not the girl's fault her father is a bastard."

"Not Aquam's methods. The hit on the girl. There's something wrong about it."

Chance looked at his friend with knitted brows. "It doesn't make much sense, attacking Shakeema to hurt Aquam, does it? Everyone in his right mind, especially Wagner, would know he'd strike back with everything he's got. His daughter's death would not destabilize him, it would sent him on a retaliation campaign… Hitting him directly would make a lot more sense…"

"What if…?" Guerrero slowly began.

Chance nodded. He knew exactly what he was thinking and he had to agree: It was a possibility.