Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

“Nineteen. Nothing too remarkable in blank spaces, but you check what I gave you and if you want, I’ll go deeper on him and on the Vitali dude tomorrow.” Sanchez cleared his throat and shot Bianca a quick look. “Speaking of tomorrow… Are we on?”

“Yes,” Chay said.

“No,” Bianca said. “Because if this is about baby-sitting…”

“It’s about you being safe. We’ve been all through this.”

“We most certainly have, Chayton. And I am going east with you.”

The men exchanged looks. Chay sighed and told Dec he’d call him later.

They said goodnight. Chay tucked the printouts into one of the Harley’s saddlebags and he and Bianca rode back to his cottage.

The weather had changed.

Clouds obliterated the moon and stars. A chilly wind was blowing in off the ocean. Bianca gave a little shiver as she got off the bike.

“It’s so dark,” she said. “And cold.”

Chay dismounted and reached for the saddlebag. “There’s a storm coming in.”

She moved closer and kissed his jaw. “We seem to be destined for storms.”

“Maybe this one won’t be so bad…”

Roar!

As if this were a stage set and a backstage technician had just been waiting for his cue, thunder roared over the ocean. Half a dozen zigzags of hot white lightning arced from the sky.

“I told you,” Bianca said, laughing, but her laughter turned into a shriek as rain came pouring down.

Chay handed her the keys. “Run for the house,” he shouted, “while I get this saddlebag off. We don’t want to lose the stuff Dec gave us.”

She gave him a quick kiss and raced for the front door.

It took Chay a few seconds to release the saddlebag. It was already wet and slippery, and he sure as hell didn’t want to drop it.

Then he took off for the cottage.

Bianca had already gone inside.

He clambered up the three steps to the small porch, grabbed the doorknob and flung the door open.

The living room was pitch black, even darker than it was outside, and he stood still, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light.

Without warning, the hair rose on the back of his neck.

He had a bad feeling. A sense of something evil.

“Bianca?”

Nothing.

Chay could feel his muscles tightening, his conscious thought narrowing and focusing on the room ahead and the yawning darkness.

Quietly, carefully, he eased the saddlebag to the porch floor.

“Honey,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Turn on the lights.”