As promised, a two-chapter weekend!!!!!
Virginia lowered the Steiners from her eyes to get her bearings. The men she had been watching from the edge of the overpass—the selected finish line Mark had chosen for their race months ago—looked like toys without the help of the binoculars. Parked cars were gathered behind one of the rows of warehouses, on the south side of the lot, well hidden from the main gate. She counted up the men scattered among them, the two leaning on their vehicles, the four huddled in conversation, the three sitting together in the rear car, the one twirling his keys as he talked on a cell phone.
There were ten, waiting.
For her.
She scanned the lot one more time. Walt was nowhere in sight. Were they hiding him in one of those units?
Looking over at Jack's pride and joy, the black, mid-seventies Mustang Cobra parked on the shoulder of the road, she wondered how she was going to get in without being seen. The open gate was a little too cheese-in-a-mousetrap for her liking.
Deciding to do a drive by, she got back in her car.
There was a rear gate to the lot. She stopped to check it but it was locked up tight.
On her second pass, she spotted a small section of fence along the north end of the lot in dire need of repair. The barbed wire hung down as if it had been tampered with. She parked her car on the street and pulled leather gloves and bolt cutters from the trunk. Managing to clear a small section, she was over the fence and into a squat within minutes.
She was distressingly close to the spot where Simon had lain, bleeding.
Concentrate, she thought. Shaking off the memory, she took a look around. Clear. After a quick jog across the deserted back lot, she had her back plastered to the siding, ears straining to pick up on any voiced alarms in the vicinity. But all was quiet except for her own ragged breathing, her chest pumping in complaint, more from the heightened sense of foreboding than any aerobic activity.
One rear bay door was up, five units away from where she was standing. Having come this far, there were no other options. She had to find Walt. She drew her gun, letting it lead the way as she slid along the wall. She was prepared to bolt if any of the other doors started to rise. But to where? The only place to run to was the open door.
She'd just have to take her chances if it came to that.
A constant beep-beep-beep-whirff started up from somewhere within the open unit, the racket growing louder with each step she took. At the entrance she stopped and dragged in a deep breath before whipping off her cap and peeking inside. A man on a forklift was depositing the third of three pallets by the far wall. It must have been a recent delivery, the payloads still wrapped in tarps and heavy cord. The front door was up as well, allowing her to see out to the road and the warehouses on the other side of it. Judging by her position, the men she had been watching earlier were right behind those units. Luckily, none of those doors were open.
The driver parked the forklift by the front door and left.
Shoving her cap back in place, she moved in, sticking to the shelves stacked floor to ceiling along the back wall. Machine parts and other odds and ends filled the spaces, all of them covered with a heavy layer of dust, making her wonder how often they were accessed. Perhaps it was all window dressing for the more lucrative shipments being stored—they came and went on a much quicker schedule no doubt.
Crouching down she made her way to a pile of crates further in and checked behind it. Clear. Turning her back against the wood, she slid down to her haunches and tried to steady her breathing. She needed to get across the road without being seen. How the hell are you going to do that? she asked herself. You can't just run across it. And the only thing here is—
She scooted sideways to the edge of the crates and snuck a quick look at the idle forklift. There had been a number of them going up and down the road earlier. Yeah, like they'll never notice the cop on a forklift. Her eyes came to rest on the hardhat hanging by the front door. That would take care of the hair, but the police tee and boobs were going to be a bit of a problem.
Leaning back again, she stared down at her shirt . . . then pulled it off, snagging it on a nail above her head. "Damn it," she muttered, giving it a tug. It came free and she yanked it back on, inside out.
After checking for the all clear, she pushed herself to her feet, sticking as close to the walls as she could while making her way to the front door. Stopping by the recent delivery, she decided to take one of the tarps—carrying it on her lap would help to obscure her shape. Working a knot loose, she moved the edge of the tarp and peered beneath it. Rectangular cases stacked five tall and just as wide bore a camouflage pattern with a red and blue seal stamped into the wood. What the hell? She pushed the tarp further to read the gold lettering circumscribing the logo. Department of the—
The hard prod of metal at the back of her head had her tensing up. There was an abundance of sick pleasure evident in the single spoken word, "Freeze."
She recognized the voice. Dread washed over her. She had failed to save her partner. Again.
Virginia slowly lifted her hands, pretty certain of who was behind her. "Enzo."
The nasal snicker only confirmed it.
"Where's Walt?" she demanded.
He grabbed the gun from her hand. "What's the matter, Lieutenant? Lose another partner?"
Fueled by fury, she wheeled around to confront him. Enzo wasn't a big man by any means, and she knew if she could disarm him, she could take him. Unfortunately, what she had felt at the back of her head was a submachine gun capable of dispatching ten rounds per second, its sling marking a path across his chest that disappeared over one shoulder.
Disarming him was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated.
Guessing at the direction of her thoughts, he smirked and said, "I wouldn't." Releasing his grip, the weapon fell to his hip and dangled as he lifted her own handgun up to point in her face. With a couple of twists of his wrist, he gestured toward the front door with a, "Start walking."
She did as ordered, dragging her feet as her mind raced. The last thing she wanted was to be herded over to that lynch mob she had spotted earlier. "Where are we going?"
He gave her shoulder a push. "Hurry up!"
"You know, Enzo, I've always felt you were never given the credit you deserve."
"What are you talking about?" Yet beneath the annoyed tone, there was a spark of narcissism—underlying friction she could use to her advantage—just enough to light a fire.
Now she had to fuel the flame. "You are so much smarter than Gus. Doesn't that ever bother you?"
"Damn straight, I'm smart. Way smarter than any cop I've ever met, so don't try using any negotiator crap on me."
His cell phone rang. And rang. And rang.
"Maybe you should get that. It might be your master calling."
He hit her hard from behind, shoving her into one of the wide concrete pillars that braced the roof. As she slammed into the solid reinforcement, the bruising reached all the way to her bones. He leaned in, pressing her against the abrasive surface that scratched at her skin, even through the layer of clothing.
"You have a big mouth," he hissed in her ear.
Trapped between him and the post, she was helpless.
But at least they had stopped walking.
One of his feet kicked hers apart. "Arms around the pole, spread em," he ordered, laughing as he added, "Always wanted to say that."
His hand reached up to sweep the hair from her neck. It took effort on her part not to cringe from his touch.
"You're worth a pretty good paycheck . . . dead or alive."
"Do I get to choose?" she pushed out, straining against his hold.
The gun was pressed into her cheek. "Maybe I'm gonna get a little revenge first, payment for you dragging me into court."
She gritted her teeth as he fumbled around with the front of her belt. Thank God for the three way buckle—he wasn't getting into her pants with one hand. He would have to let go of the gun. It was her only chance.
Suddenly he stilled, then shifted, keeping the gun trained at her face. She couldn't see much beyond the cracked white plaster she was hugging, but she sensed he was looking behind them.
And then she heard it—a car engine. Someone was coming. She prayed it wasn't Gus.
Next thing she knew, she was being yanked away from the pole by her shirt, hearing the material rip under the strain. Using her as a shield, Enzo turned them both in the direction of the approaching friend or foe, one arm snaking around her neck while the other brought the gun to her temple.
The Ferrari raced in through the back door and slid to a stop in front of them. "Ahhh, the boyfriend is here," Enzo said, sounding composed, almost triumphant.
"He's not my boyfriend," she grunted, pulling at his arm to loosen the clamp he had on her neck.
Enzo's chest pulsed with his sickening laugh. When he brought his lips close to her ear, she went to angle her head as far away as possible but froze midway when he whispered, "Then you won't mind when I kill him."
)l(
Mark's relief at seeing her alive turned to rage with the awareness that Enzo had a gun to her head. He struggled to control it, knowing Enzo had all the loyalty of a whore—he could be bought.
He opened the door and got out, concentrating on keeping his demeanor indifferent, boss-like. Seeing the rip in the front of her shirt didn't help. "Let her go, Enzo. I'll double whatever you're being paid."
"I don't think so," Enzo spat out with a laugh.
"Gus is using you, letting you take the fall because nobody else is willing to do it. She's a cop for Christ's sake. We don't need that kind of heat. You are too connected to the family. Augustus won't like it."
Enzo shrugged. "I don't give a shit what Augustus thinks. He's not going to be the one in charge much longer. He's taking an early retirement."
"You're a fool to think Augustus will hand over control to his idiot son."
"Augustus is the fool. Hiding away in that ivory tower of his while Gus has been making deals of his own, right under his nose. Very profitable deals, I might add."
"The Chilvati Group business partners would never deal with Gus."
"The Chilvati Group," Enzo said with a snort. "What we got planned don't include The Chilvati Group. They'll be filing for bankruptcy after we drain them dry."
Mark's anger surged. Chilvati had worldwide holdings, employing thousands of people. And although it had gotten its start decades earlier with an influx of cash from the parallel businesses that ran off the books, these were legitimate companies that provided livelihoods to their employees, paid taxes on time, and complied with all the bureaucratic rules. They had to, given the constant scrutiny by the feds.
These companies, these people, were his responsibility.
He took a few steps toward the pair. Enzo slid further behind her, giving Mark a pretty good indication that he had failed in his attempt to appear apathetic. Or maybe it was the fact that his hands had curled into fists so tight it was painful.
"Come any closer and I pull the trigger," Enzo warned.
"I'm not armed."
"I'm not stupid. Throw me the fucking knife."
A contained smile tugged at the corners of Virginia's mouth.
Mark reached up and retrieved the more famous of the two, knowing it was the one Enzo expected. He tossed it onto the floor and it skittered across the cement, stopping halfway between them. "If you hurt her, you will have to kill me."
Enzo's laugh sounded close to hysteria. "That's the whole idea, Spinelli—we're downsizing. You're retiring too. I'm going to let her watch you die before I have a little fun with her." He licked up her cheek as Virginia strained away from him.
"You're disgusting," she hissed.
"Shut up." Enzo yanked hard on her neck, forcing her to bend at the knees to mitigate the hold he had on her.
"You're dead," Mark snarled.
As the barrel of the gun came around to point at his chest, Mark studied her face, trying to absorb every detail: the delicate arch of her brows, one bearing a tiny gap where the scar still showed; the green eyes that sparkled when she was excited; the cute upturn to her nose that he liked to tease her about; and those soft, full lips that could form a perfect pout when she wasn't getting her way. Oh, how he wished she could read his thoughts and know the truth before he died.
He had never stopped loving her. Not for a moment.
END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Another cliffhanger, I know! I told you it would be intense. I like keeping you on the edge of your seat!
Talk to me :)