Marx Girl

“What do we need a scanner for?”

“I need to scan the document over to Joshua. We need to know what it says. If I know what it is, I have more chance of finding them.”

I nod. “Good thinking, sure.” I begin to unwrap the scanner at double speed, and then I take it over to the desk. I try my hardest to concentrate on the instructions. Computer crap is not my forte. Ben puts the sim cards into our phones and goes through the set-up program for each of them. He then adds our phone numbers to the other’s contacts.

“All done,” he mutters to himself. He then clicks through a few things on his phone. “Shit,” he murmurs.

“What?” I frown as I look up from my task.

“I got an email from my boss.”

“What does it say?”

He passes me the phone.

10:22. p.m.

Buzz

There has been an identified security breach in relation to your call in from Prague.

We now have concrete evidence on the two suspects.

Do not return to your place of residence until we have them secured.

Keep your head down.

Commissioner Greg Jackson

* * *

BEN

Bridget’s eyes widen. “Well, what… what are they going to do about it?” she stammers. “Who’s Commissioner Greg Jackson?”

“He’s the head of security,” I reply as I take the phone from her and read it again. “This was sent last night, before they broke into my house.”

She drops her hands to her side, as if defeated. “So, what do we do?”

“We stay low until they find them, I tell her calmly.

“Do they know about the code?” she asks.

“No. I want to know what it says first.” I gesture to the scanner. “Is it nearly set up?”

“Yeah, a few more minutes.” She returns to the set-up mode and I stare at the phone in my hand for a moment.

Fuck. I’m dreading this call. I dial the number and he answers first ring.

“Statham.” He smiles. “About fucking time you called, you prick.”

“Hey, Stan.” I sigh, damn it. Joshua Stanton is the last person I want to get involved with this shit.

I stare out the window. “Listen, I need your help with something.”

“What’s up?”

“I was slipped a note on a napkin at a function from a dude saying if anything happens to him, I had to go to this safety deposit box.”

He listens. “Right…”

“So I went and got it the next day.”

“Of course you did.”

“Only, it’s in some kind of code. I can’t read it.”

“I could have a look at it. Do you think it’s important?”

I roll my lips. “The man who gave it to me was Jason Steele.”

He stays silent as he does the math. “The diplomat who got murdered yesterday, alongside his wife?”

“Yep.” My eyes find Didge as I talk. “There’s more. My house was broken in to after he was murdered. They know I have the letter.”

“Where the fuck is Bridget?” he snaps.

“She’s with me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls. “You got her messed up in this shit?”

I close my eyes. “Unintentionally.”

“Where are you?”

“New York.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Weekend away. Good timing, I guess.”

“Fucking hell, I’m going to break your neck when I see you.”

I roll my eyes. “Can I send the letters over to you to see if you can crack the code?”

“Yes, fine.” He thinks for a moment. “Do they know you’re in New York?”

“I think so.” I glance at Didge again as she plugs in the cords of the scanner. “We’ve changed hotels and I’ve gotten rid of all phones and key cards. HQ said to stay in a secure location.” I face the other way. “I need to get her out of here,” I whisper. “She’s not safe with me.”

“Fucking hell, Statham,” he growls again. “She’s safer with you than anyone else. Nobody will protect her like you can. Natasha’s going to fucking flip out. I’m sending my private jet to get you both.”

“Yeah, but where to?”

He thinks for a moment. “Take her to Kamala. It’s secure, and I’ll send some extra security over. How long did they say it’s going to take to find them?”

“They didn’t say.”

“Kamala. It’s the best option,” he replies.

Kamala. That’s actually not a bad idea. Nobody can get in there; it’s like a fort. “I’ll call the guys and get back to you.”

“Okay, make it quick. We will have to get a flight plan together.”

I nod. “Yeah, where will I send this file to?”

“Send it to my private account: ”

I smile. “You’re a fucking soft cock.”

“Look who’s talking.” He pauses. “Put Bridget on the phone.”

I roll my eyes. I’m not in the fucking mood for him to lecture my girl. “No.”

“Statham,” he demands.

“Goodbye.” I hang up.

I turn to Bridget.

“Is everything all right?” she asks softly.

“Can you scan this and send it to , please?”

She smirks when she hears the email address.

“I know, the soft cock has her name as his email.”