Free Shift by Sidney Bristol

of being built squished up next to each other. The area was mostly industrial, though a few street peddlers pushed their carts of ice cream and tamales around for the shift workers.
    The Greenworks building sat on a couple acres of land with little traffic around it. They drove parallel to the compoundlike structure, observing it from a distance.
    â€œPull into this lot.” Emery pointed at a nondescript office space with a parking lot that cut through to the street that ran alongside Greenworks.
    â€œNeed me, call me.” Tori kept the car on the windowless blind side of the single-story office building.
    Emery stepped out, hefting the toolbox.
    â€œBodega. Twenty minutes.” He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his front pocket and slipped them on. Between the baseball cap, sunglasses, and nondescript workman’s shirt, he could be anyone, which was the point.
    Tori turned the car and eased back onto the street, continuing in the direction they’d been headed. She couldn’t get too close in the car. Especially if the security system was up and running. The last thing he needed was Evers’s idiots on her tail, too.
    Emery strolled through the parking lot, across the street, and down the fence line of the Greenworks property. Most commercial businesses incorporated a little of the Florida color palette by way of flowers or some decoration. Greenworks had nothing. Not even a palm tree out by the road. It felt . . . wrong.
    The street was completely deserted. No traffic, especially no one else on foot. It was as if the neighbors had a good idea who had moved in and they were keeping their distance. The back of Emery’s neck itched, like he was being watched. And he was.
    The security cameras were mounted on the side of the building, every twenty feet. There was no way to get close without coming up on at least one of the feeds. The trick was to appear as though he belonged there. Part of Emery’s value to the team was being an autonomous entity. While Tori, Aiden, Julian, and the rest were easily identified at a glance, Emery was almost completely separate to them. It made for a solitary existence, but no one would be able to see him and connect the person on the camera to Classic Rides or their people.
    Now, where was the junction box?
    The main gate also serviced the loading docks. A dozen men loitered about the lot. Except normal loading dock employees didn’t carry handguns. He was willing to bet the man in the guard shack was packing something of the automatic variety.
    He stopped in the shade of a billboard and peered at the side of the building. From the way the cameras were positioned, he should be on the very edge of the frame.
    There.
    The junction box for the security cameras was mounted against the side of the building. He’d passed a bit of shoddily patched fence ten feet back, where he thought he could get through in a pinch, but there was no way he’d make it the dozen or so feet to the box before someone spotted him, if they hadn’t already.
    He needed a distraction. Something to pull the guard’s attention away from this direction for a minute. A Dumpster and a stack of blue barrels would cover his position at the box—if he could get there.
    He wanted to get a look inside the facility, but he couldn’t risk Tori’s safety. She was the priority. Nothing could change that. Not even an opportunity to figure out why the FBI might be hanging them out to dry could tempt him otherwise.
    Emery turned and retraced his steps, but only got a few feet away before tires screeching on pavement broke the calm. The red Camaro slowed to a stop, just on the other side of the front gates, the hood billowing white smoke.
    â€œDamn it, Tori,” he muttered.
    The guard at the gate stepped out, his hands empty as Tori jumped out of the driver’s seat, a scarf wrapped around her head like some rich South Beach miss. At this distance he couldn’t hear what