Chapter 9 - The Drop

 

The night was too quiet.

Dwayne parked two blocks from the trailhead, engine off, hands resting on the steering wheel. His pulse was steady, but his chest felt tight, not from fear this time, from clarity.

The streetlights threw long shadows across the cracked pavement. A light drizzle hung in the air, making the world shimmer and hum.

He checked his phone.
8:47 PM.

Thirteen minutes.

Marcus’s voice came through the earpiece, low and controlled. “I’m in position. Half a block east of the park entrance. I’ve got eyes on the trail lot.”

“Copy,” Dwayne said quietly.

“Remember, you hand her the envelope, walk away, and let me handle the rest.”

“Yeah.”

Marcus hesitated. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Dwayne exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog the windshield. “I’ve been ready for a long time. I just didn’t know it.”

He stepped out of the car and closed the door softly behind him. The air smelled like wet soil and faint electricity.

The trail stretched ahead, dark and familiar. He could almost hear echoes of the mornings he used to run here, before all of it.

He adjusted the hood of his jacket and started walking. Each step crunched against the gravel. Every sound felt magnified.

At 8:59, his phone buzzed.

Sienna: Same spot.

He typed one word back.

Dwayne: On my way.

She was already there.

Standing under the old streetlamp where the trees thinned and the world went quiet. The light hit her like a spotlight, gold against the dark.

Same black windbreaker. Same quiet poise. Same calm, dangerous smile.

“You’re early,” she said.

“Traffic was light,” Dwayne replied.

She stepped closer. “You brought it?”

He handed her the envelope. No hesitation.

She weighed it in her hand, then met his eyes. “You’ve been a lot quieter lately. I was starting to think you forgot me.”

“I don’t forget things that ruin my life,” he said.

Her smile didn’t falter. “Still dramatic.”

“Still pretending,” he said.

Her head tilted slightly, studying him. “You’re different tonight.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I stopped being afraid.”

She laughed softly. “Of me?”

“Of myself,” he said.

That made her pause. Just for a second.

“Good,” she said finally. “Then maybe you’re ready for what’s next.”

“What’s next?”

She smiled again, slower this time. “You’ll see soon enough.”

She turned, starting down the trail. Dwayne let her go, counting her steps, watching the swing of her hair, the rhythm of her stride.

“Marcus,” he said quietly. “She’s on the move.”

“Got her,” Marcus’s voice came back. “Silver sedan, plate ends in 72J. I’ll follow.”

Dwayne stayed at the edge of the trail, hands in his pockets, watching the taillights disappear through the trees.

He felt the tension leave his body in pieces, like glass cracking under heat.

This was it. The first real move.

He turned back toward the car, exhaling hard.

“Your turn, Marcus,” he muttered. “Let’s see where she runs.”

---

Half a mile away, Marcus tailed her sedan through the wet streets, keeping three cars back. The city lights flickered on the windshield as rain began to fall harder.

She drove like she knew the roads by memory, calm, precise, never once checking the mirror.

Marcus leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Where the hell are you going?”

Her car turned onto an industrial street lined with old warehouses and construction barriers.

Marcus slowed, headlights dimmed.

The sedan rolled to a stop outside an unmarked building. The door opened.

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows to meet her.

Marcus couldn’t see the face, only the silhouette, sharp suit, straight posture, deliberate movements. The man took the envelope from Sienna’s hand and placed it inside a small black case.

Marcus’s stomach turned. “Dwayne,” he said into the mic. “We’ve got company. She’s not working alone.”

“Describe him,” Dwayne’s voice came through, steady.

“Tall. Early forties, maybe. Military posture. Definitely not street-level.”

The man and Sienna spoke briefly, their heads close together. Then she turned and got back into her car.

Marcus focused on the man, who stood there watching her drive away.

Then, as if sensing something, the man looked straight toward Marcus’s car.

Marcus froze.

The man lifted a hand, a simple wave, more like acknowledgment than threat, before turning and walking into the building.

The metal door shut behind him.

Marcus’s breath came back slow. “Dwayne,” he said. “He saw me.”

“Get out of there,” Dwayne replied.

Marcus reversed down the street, heart pounding, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. No one followed.

When he finally parked two blocks away, he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles pale.

“Dwayne,” he said quietly, “this isn’t just about Sienna.”

“I know,” Dwayne replied. “It never was.”