Nico Rosso - Undercover Justice

She adjusted a mode switch on the side of the handmade device, pressed another button to broadcast the captured code and the doors to the Mercedes unlocked. Of course, she could’ve done all that with the key fob that sat in her Pacific Heights condo, but that wouldn’t make this theft look legit to the driving crew.

After detaching the clip from the wire and replacing the side-view mirror cover to a near-perfect standard, she eased open the passenger-side door and pushed her bag into the footwell. She climbed over the seat and slid behind the steering wheel. A press of the button on the dash brought the Mercedes purring to life.

She was going to miss driving this car. Undoubtedly, once she delivered it to the driving crew they’d replace the VIN and sell it on the black market. All the registration paperwork was tied to a shell company she owned that could never be traced back to her, thus maintaining her reputation for the criminals.

The sleek two-door coupe slithered from its parking spot and down the aisle. She checked her watch; still on time. Barely. As she eased the car down the circular ramp, she wondered if maybe she should’ve stolen her Audi that was parked one floor away. Or the Subaru tuned for street racing in her condo garage. But as much as she loved the handling of the coupe, she was ready to move on from this Mercedes. One of the last passengers she’d had was a first date that had fizzled as soon as the tech entrepreneur’s eyes had lit up while asking her about her father. It wasn’t the first time a man was more interested in dating Eddie Shun’s daughter rather than seeing her as simply Stephanie Shun.

All for the best , she sighed to herself. She’d gotten her thrills collecting the pieces to Frontier Justice and shooting at armed guards on a multimillion-dollar estate near San Jose during their very first mission. The first mission of this century, at least.

And there was no way that date would’ve acted as lookout while she’d stolen her own car.

She drove to the front gate of the parking lot, which lifted automatically, and slipped through, casually using her hand to obscure her face for the security cameras. Any guard there would’ve recognized her, but the whole gambit had to be airtight. If the information Frontier Justice had collected from police and FBI communications, as well as underworld rumors, was correct, the driving crew was tied to human trafficking run by the Seventh Syndicate, and those bastards didn’t miss a detail.

One block away from the parking garage, the phone she’d bought and set up for this mission buzzed with a text from the head of the driving crew, Ronald Olesk. She’d never actually met Olesk, but had made contact through a friend of a friend of a friend. The message was simple. A time and address.

“Son of a...” Tension rang in tight coils up her spine. She had ten minutes to get there. At this time of night, it shouldn’t be a problem. The real trouble was the address. It was a warehouse owned by her father.

* * *

THE LAST TIME Arash Shamshiri had robbed someone, he thought he was going to die. Maybe not that night, but he’d known that if he’d continued with that life he would’ve wound up with a bullet in him. Yet here he was, letting his muscle memory take over as he picked the lock to an office on the second floor of a warehouse catwalk.

He’d already cased the patterns of the guards from an upper window. Dim lights high in the warehouse turned everything into a mosaic of black and green. He’d creaked the window open during a gust of wind that had made the whole building groan. Climbing across girders and down steel supports had been the easy part. Now he was on the same level as three of the guards, scraping his old lock picks against the tumblers and knowing any second there would be shouting followed by shooting.

Luckily he hadn’t completely lost his touch and the lock gave way. The guards were at the farthest point of their rounds. He opened the door just wide enough to slide inside the office. Breathing slow in an attempt to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest, he crouched among the desks and file cabinets. Somewhere in this mess was the single piece of paper he’d been tasked to find.

It was a test. He’d known that when the instructions arrived in a text from Ronald Olesk. But it was a test he couldn’t fail. Arash knew how these gangs worked: prove yourself and you were in the door. Keep proving yourself and you gained their trust.

Once those murderers thought he was one of their own, he could strike.

But before he could think about revenge, he had to find the schedule for Eddie Shun’s produce trucks. The most up-to-date one would be on the top of any stack. From the way the broccoli and brussels sprouts were smelling on the warehouse floor, it was time to move them out. The drivers would probably arrive in just a couple of hours.

He checked a clock on the wall. Damn, it had taken longer to get into the office than he anticipated. The text from Olesk had been very specific. Arash was to get to the location on foot. His ride away from the warehouse would be arriving at 3:40 a.m. and departing before 3:41 a.m. He had four minutes to find the piece of paper and get to the street.

Panicking wouldn’t get this job done. He focused on the space. He’d been a truck driver before, making predawn deliveries while working his way through trade school. Manifests and schedules were always flying through these offices. The large desk at the center was the hub. He crept there and craned his head up to look over the surface.

The first thing he saw was one of the guards walking past the safety-glass windows that made up one side of the offices. Arash froze and his pulse thundered in his ears. He knew if he ducked out of the way too quickly the movement would tip the guard off. The man’s silhouette continued past the windows, then around another stretch of the catwalks.

Arash eased out a breath and refocused on the desk. Askew on one corner was a clipboard. Its grease-stained edges showed that it had traveled from the warehouse floor and back up to these offices. Keeping his eyes on the front windows, he stretched his arm out and snatched the clipboard back.

The content on the page was illegibly dark. He had a very powerful flashlight in his jacket pocket, but that would surely alert every guard in the place that he was picking through their business. He got as low as he could and crept toward the front windows to let the warehouse light bring the text into focus. The date at the top was today and the shipping times were all laid out in a grid with truck numbers and cargo.

Arash released the page from the clipboard and folded it into his jacket. He replaced the clipboard on the desk, then returned to the front door of the offices. The clock on the wall told him he had two minutes to meet his ride out of there. Not enough time to sneak his way back up to the roof. Hell, there wasn’t enough time to walk out the front door.

He stood up and opened the door to the office. He had to run, right past the guards.

* * *

STEPHANIE HADN’T WORN any rings, in case they’d caught the light and given her away while stealing her car, but now she wished she’d brought at least one so she could release a fraction of the tension by twisting it around her finger.

Her mother had always hated the habit. She’d wanted Stephanie to pick one set of jewelry and wear only that to demark her presence in the world. Changing it out every week had kept her grounded, though. A variety of rings felt differently on her fingers, making her focus on her hands. She hadn’t been ready to define herself as a teenager straining against a family and lifestyle she hadn’t chosen, and still wasn’t.

3:40 a.m. If her pickup wasn’t here in the next minute, she had to leave. Whoever they were, why the hell hadn’t they been early? Every second that ticked by with her parked in the shadows near her father’s warehouse was another opportunity for doom. If he found her there, her cover would be blown. And she had to operate with the confidence that Olesk and his crew had no idea who she was.