Page 139 of Falcon’s Forever

"They know the club owns it?" Maggie is on fire with the questions.

"Probably not."

Good. Inside it smells closed up but clean, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, nothing luxurious, exactly what it needs to be. Sarah walks the downstairs slowly. Maggie checks windows. I check exits, apparently a habit that never really left.

“Does it have a back garden?” I ask.

Ice Pick opens the rear door to reveal a fenced yard. The fence is tall enough to provide privacy, with a gate set into one side.

“It needs another lock,” Sarah says, testing the gate.

“Agreed,” Ice Pick replies.

Maggie points at the window above the kitchen sink. “Curtains.”

“There are blinds,” Ice Pick tells her.

“We need curtains too,” Maggie insists.

He takes out his phone and starts a list. “Anything else?”

“Female supplies,” I say.

Confusion crosses his face for half a second before he catches up.

“Give me the list,” he says.

“I’ll write it,” I tell him. “You’ll buy exactly what it says though.”

“It’s safer that way,” he agrees.

Sarah returns from checking the other room. “We’ll need some soft clothes in lots of sizes.”

“Shoes,” I add.

“And slippers,” Maggie says.

Ice Pick types both into his phone. “Shoes and slippers.”

His thumbs move quickly over the screen. “Food?”

“Basic things,” Maggie suggests. “Nothing with strong smells.”

I nod. “Bottled water. Tea.”

Ice Pick glances at me. “You think tea cures bullet wounds.”

“Tea helps everything,” I inform him.

“Noted,” he says, adding it to the list.

My phone buzzes. The security channel. My stomach drops before I've even read it.

Security Phone:

WAREHOUSE UPDATE: Van departing. Surveillance team following. Four female occupants confirmed inside building. No women observed in departing vehicle.

A small wave of relief moves through me. Small, temporary, they're still in there, but it means we have time.