Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock #11)(91)
The tension that had gathered across my shoulders at the first sight of Rick eased. Eli glanced at Gee’s wings and raised his brows. I returned a minuscule agreement. The sight of the wings was an indication of how things had changed recently. Of the secrets that had been revealed for all of us.
Bruiser watched the exchange with a soft smile on his face, as if he knew how I felt about family, though we had never talked about the subject. That was a discussion for after the three-magical-words conversation. He crossed his legs and I realized he was wearing Enforcer garb, but his wasn’t leather. It was some kind of water-wicking poly-nylon-plastic-something material.
I caught a fold of cloth between my finger and thumb and rubbed it. The crackle of magic snapped between the pads of my fingers. “Nice,” I said.
Bruiser’s smile widened. “Then you’ll be happy with the package beneath your chair.”
Trying not to grab it like a kid with a present, I reached under and pulled a brown grocery bag out. Inside was a folded block of charcoal-and-black cloth. I grinned at him. He laughed softly at me. I did not look at Rick. Not once. Until Bruiser said, “PsyLED provided us with their newest gear. Spelled and top of the line.”
I remembered what Rick had said when I let him in. I set the uniform back into the bag and took my chair. To Rick I said, “Thank you.” If my voice was a little cold, well, I forgave myself. The mug filled with comfort tea said, ME? CRAZY? I SHOULD GET DOWN OFF THIS UNICORN AND SLAP YOU. I hadn’t seen it before. I liked. I said, “The warehouse on the videos. Is it in the circled section of the city provided by the local witches?”
Alex spun a tablet to me. “Here.” He pointed. “Building was bought and paid for by the Marchands when they were consolidating their power base. It comes with a lightning rod, like a nice pretty bow.”
I studied the maps, seeing the rod and the surrounding area. It was within two miles of the place where the car transporting Grégoire had been ditched. For the first time, a small flame of excitement blazed up in me. All the pieces had come together. “What do we know about the inside of the building?” I asked as I took my mug and drank.
Alex said, “Nothing on file anywhere since original construction. Building was designed and erected with the ability to move walls around and add drop ceilings, and it’s been owned by seven companies since it was built, so the inside floor plans could look like anything.” He pointed to the sat map of the block. The warehouse and its property took up most of the space, with a high metal gate around the parking area. One corner of the grounds was planted with dying banana trees and lemon trees. The lot was mostly broken pavement with weeds growing through. School buses and bread-truck-sized trucks were parked there.
“The building itself is U-shaped,” he continued, “with the wider, longer body on the side street. The arm of the U on St. Louis Street seems to be the front, with a public entrance, connected with a metal-roofed, unwalled passageway to this other building at the side”—Alex tapped the screen—“which turns out to be a taqueria called Pepe’s that sends food trucks into the city.” He tapped still shots of the bread trucks and showed us photos of the restaurant’s employees taken from security cameras along the nearby streets. They were all dressed in black jeans and black long-sleeved tees, with black hats with Pepe’s logo: a bunch of red and green peppers. “The addresses are owned by the same privately held property company but are under different rental and lease agreements, with a shared parking area. Also, there’s nothing to stop them from sharing internal space or entrances, though we only see the shared parking.”
“So collateral damage concerns may have gone up,” Eli said. On the other tablet was a floor plan schematic with electrical and HVAC diagrams, showing the original plans for the warehouse site when it was built in the sixties. “Roof supports are here, here, here, and here.” Eli tapped the screen. “Walls could be up anywhere between, in any configuration.”
Derek pointed, indicating the arms and body of the U. “Front arm on St. Louis is alpha, side is beta, back is gamma. St. Louis entrance is six. This door”—he pointed to a narrow door off the parking area, one on the entrance arm of the U that faced the front of the building—“is five. Probably was originally an employee entrance and checkin office.” He was assigning Greek alphabet names to the parts of the building and clock-face numbers to entrances. Even I could follow that. “Side entrance near the taco joint and parking lot is three.” He pointed to a garage door inside the parking area on the small, back side of the U-arm. “Let’s call it two o’clock. Odd location. Can’t see a reason for it to be here. No way for trucks to back up to it easily for offloading. Along the back side of the property.” He pointed. “Gated entrance for the trucks. Twelve.”
Rick said, “These are old plans, but they seem to line up with the sat maps, except the garage door entrance at two. Entrances may be compromised or relocated. Brute and I could jog around the block and see how many scents we pick up.”
“Yeah, that’s real stealthy,” Eli said. “Like no one’s going to get suspicious of a man and a white wolf out jogging at night. In a winter storm.” His voice added, You idiot, but he didn’t say it.
I finished off my tea with a final slurp. “If a couple goes in together in the middle of a fight, they can make a scene, a big one, in the corner away from the door. Rick can get in and scoot around back.”