Free Shift by Sidney Bristol Page B

about, man?” He scowled at Emery. “I don’t know where no meters are.”
    â€œOkay. I’m just going to look on the other side. I’m sure I’ll find it.” Emery kept walking, glancing at the fence line, looking for an out. He couldn’t make it over the razor wire before one of the guards was alerted. Considering they were packing, he didn’t want to take his chances getting hung up and shot. Tori was just crazy enough to drive in and save him, and he was supposed to be protecting her. Going over the fence was out. He hadn’t seen another weakness in the chain link. That meant he’d have to get through one of the gates. The primary one was too well guarded, but the secondary entrance hadn’t appeared as secure.
    He glanced once over his shoulder, but the young thug wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Hopefully he went back to whatever he’d been doing before Emery arrived.

Chapter Six
    Fifteen feet to the corner of the facility.
    Emery rounded the corner, keeping his arms and shoulders relaxed. Most of the time, if he just acted like he belonged somewhere, no one questioned him. Creeping around a place like he didn’t want to be caught was the fastest way to blow his cover.
    From their brief tour around the facility, it appeared most of the activity was centered behind him on the back side of the building, where the loading docks were located. The front had been almost deserted.
    Emery cursed their luck. A cluster of workmen on their lunch break had taken over some wooden picnic tables. A few yards away a couple of people in business casual attire were on a smoke break. It was business as usual. Except it was Saturday. Didn’t office workers tend to avoid weekend shifts?
    The most alarming things were two new additions to the parking lot. They were not the kinds of vehicles purchased for commuting.
    A souped-up Nissan GT-R with a spoiler and body kit that weren’t stock, and a heavily modified Ford Mustang GT 500. Those were racing cars. He was willing to bet he had their license plate numbers on file.
    One of the external doors opened and a man wearing work boots, jeans, and a plaid shirt speared Emery with his gaze.
    â€œHey, you from the electric company?” The man stalked toward Emery, crunching the gravel underfoot.
    Shit.
    He hated interfacing with people.
    â€œI am,” he replied when the workman was close enough he didn’t have to yell.
    â€œAre you here about the combustion problem in—”
    â€œNo, sorry, that’s above my pay grade. They sent me out to check the meter lines to make sure you’re getting adequate power. Once I verify that, they can figure out what’s wrong and who to send out.”
    â€œDamn it. We need those working.” The man put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
    â€œWhat are you making here?” Emery peered up at the building.
    â€œNot sure yet. We’re getting her up and ready to run.”
    â€œOh, okay.” Emery shrugged. “I’m going to go grab some things from my truck. Is there a better way around here?”
    â€œWhere’d you park?”
    â€œOn the street. I needed to see the meters over there.” Emery turned and gestured at the line of smaller businesses. “Then the ones over here. I thought I’d just walk it, but that might have been a mistake.”
    â€œYeah, man, that was a mistake.” The workman chuckled. “Go around the back. I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”
    â€œThanks, man. I’d appreciate that.”
    Emery resisted the urge to sprint for the gate. Someone in Evers’s organization was bankrolling this building. Why? And why were there Eleventh drivers on-site?
    The entire walk took less than ten minutes, but by the time he reached the bodega where he was supposed to meet Tori, he was sweating. No red Camaro was in sight.
    The bodega was older. The gas pumps had more rust on them