Page 22 of Tracking Shadows

The air inside is cold, colder than it has any right to be, and smells faintly of disinfectant. The walls are lined with shelves, but our eyes go straight to the vault door at the far end. It looms over us, solid and unyielding, like it knows we’re here for something we shouldn’t be touching.

“This is it,” Dmitri whispers, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Let’s do this.”

He pulls out a small device, something he rigged together with parts stolen from the factory—some kind of makeshift hack to bypass the electronic lock on the vault. My heart’s in my throat as he connects it, fingers moving with a surgeon’s precision.

Time stretches, until finally, the lock clicks. We both exhale at the same time, and I can’t help the small, crazed laugh that bubbles up.

The door swings open, and we’re greeted by rows of metal cases, each one marked with a code we’ve memorized. This is the good stuff, the kind that makes men rich or gets them killed. We’ve got minutes, maybe less, before someone notices something’s wrong.

We start grabbing the cases, loading them into the bags we’ve brought, the weight of them making my shoulders ache. Dmitri’s faster than me, his movements almost frantic. I glance up and catch his eye—there’s something wild there, something that wasn’t there before.

“Come on, we need to move,” I hiss, throwing another case into my bag.

He doesn’t argue, just nods, and we’re out, slipping back into the shadows.

We’re halfway to the exit when we hear it—a voice, sharp and alarmed, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots on concrete.

“Shit,” Dmitri mutters, and I feel it too, the cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. We pick up the pace, but it’s too late—the guard is on us, his flashlight sweeping the area.

We duck behind a stack of crates, breath held, hearts pounding so loud it’s a wonder he doesn’t hear it. The light passes over us once, twice, and then moves on.

We don’t wait to see if he’s gone far. We’re up and running, the bags heavy against our backs, feet slapping against the ground. The exit’s just ahead, so close I can taste the freedom, but the guard’s shouts echo through the corridor, and I know we’re not out of this yet.

The final door looms in front of us, our last obstacle. Dmitri slams his shoulder into the push bar, and we spill out into the night, the cold air like a slap to the face. We don’t stop running, not until we’re clear of the factory’s lights, not until the only sound is the ragged gasps of our breath and the rustle of the wind in the trees.

We collapse against a tree, the adrenaline crashing as hard as it had hit. Dmitri’s grinning like a madman, and I realize I’m grinning too, despite the fear still lodged in my chest.

“We did it,” he gasps, holding up one of the cases like a trophy. “We fucking did it.”

I laugh, and it’s a real laugh this time, full of the kind of relief that only comes when you’ve danced with death and lived to tell the tale.

But as I look at the dark outline of the factory in the distance, a part of me knows this isn’t over. We’ve got the drugs, but we’re still a long way from free. And the things we’ve done—the things we’ve taken—they have a way of catching up with you.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I say, pushing myself to my feet, feeling the weight of the future bearing down on us. “Before they realize what we’ve done.”

Dmitri nods, but his grin doesn’t fade. “We’ll be alright, Alexei. We’ve got this.”

I want to believe him, but the truth is, I don’t know if I can.

***

I hadn’t expected this.

Irina had kept me on my toes from the moment we met, always one step ahead, always challenging me. But this . . . the softness in her eyes, the way she leans into me, her lips parting under mine . . . it takes my breath away.

In that moment, I forget about the mission, about the danger lurking in the shadows. All I can think about is her. The taste of her, the feel of her body pressed against mine, the way her hand clutches at my shirt like she’ll never let me go.

I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, needing to feel all of her against me. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, a mix of surprise and surrender, and it sends a jolt straight to my groin. I deepen the kiss, my tongue tanglingwith hers, my free hand coming up to thread through her hair, holding her in place as I explore her mouth.

She kisses me back with an intensity that matches my own, her lips eager, her tongue stroking mine. It drives me wild, makes me want to devour her, to claim every inch of her as my own.

I feel her fingers loosen their grip on my shirt, trailing down my chest, sending shivers across my skin. She explores my body with an inquisitive touch, her hands skimming over my shoulders, my back, learning the contours of my muscles, the feel of my skin. It’s a heady sensation, having her touch me like this, and I can’t stop the low groan that rumbles in my throat.

Slowly, I guide her backward until the back of her legs hit the edge of the couch. I ease her onto the cushions, following her down, never breaking the kiss. I straddle her, my legs on either side of her hips, my hands braced on the couch on either side of her head.

For a moment, we just look at each other, our lips inches apart, our breaths mingling. Her eyes search mine.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I brush my thumb lightly over her cheek. “We don’t have to—”