“Yeah, Brother,” Burton muttered. “He heard. He’s breaking into the thing now.”
“How long do you think?”
At that moment, Burton heard Eric saying, “They should all be strangled with coat hangers!”
And Ace say, “Burton, we’re getting close!”
And Jason say, “Gotcha, ya little bastard! Lee, got the phone, but there’s not a gun in sight. I’m clearing out!”
And then Eric saying, “Cuthbert’shere!”
“Eric, we’ve got the phone, wait for the signal.” Tap to the computer.
“Ace?”
“It’s now or never.”
“Cuthbert just pulled up to the station, and they need a distraction?”
“Don’t worry now, son,” Ace said. “Cuthbert won’t be there long!”
Lee got back to Eric and then tuned in to Ace in time to hear him say, “Fucking kill it.”
Burton started to pack up his laptop then, taking a swig of water, wishing it was coffee, and securing all the things on the crushproof, bulletproof cases that were part of the body of his modified Kawasaki Ninja H2R. The thing was street legal—barely—but could still achieve over 200 mph with all Burton’s shit strapped on.
Helmet on, Bluetooth engaged, and one more call from Cotton.
“Lee, you coming?”
Burton used the scope in time to see the infrared silhouette of Jason scaling down the back of poor Shelley’s building where he could circle around to the Mazda and pick Cotton up.
“Jason’s coming shortly,” Burton said. “Now give that poor woman a support number and get gone. Tell Jason I’ll be waiting a mile up.”
They had no fewer thanfivebona fide killers on their little street team. Getting the phone out of the desert was their primary objective today, but Burton was damned if Arlen Cuthbert got to walk away after that.
ERIC FOUNDBrady crouched behind anenormousmahogany desk, staring at the bank of windows behind it like they held the secret of the universe.
“What are you—”
“Jai asked me to find a side entrance,” Brady said, and Eric blinked, becausehe’dbeen on with Burton, and it boggled him to think of how many people they had looking out for them.
“But these windows are—”
He was going to say “sealed,” but Brady stood and started to press behind the modern metal sashing, grunting in satisfaction as a window about thigh high and half as big as a man slid soundlessly open.
“I stand corrected,” Eric muttered. “How did you know they did that?”
“Watched them get installed last year,” Brady said. “Now hurry out. I figure we should be halfway to the road from the interstate before the signal—”
“Do you know what the signal is?” Eric asked as they slid out of the window and into the predawn gray. Brady was running, and his urgency caught at Eric, and soon they were both running, both of them aware that Arlen Cuthbert could come hauling ass out of the building, gun blazing, at any time.
At that moment, as though summoned by Eric’s greatest fears, he saw a puff of dust explode about ten feet in front of them as Cuthbert shouted, “Carnegie, you pansy ass, get back here!”
Brady was sprinting like a gold medalist in track, and Eric was right on his tail when the next shot rang out, and Eric honestly thought the shot had missed until he went tumbling through the sand and brush, coming to rest behind a boulder with his thigh on fire.
“Charlie!” Brady cried out, and Eric lay, stunned, taking stock.
Leg, he thought.Back of thigh. Not mortal. Will bleed. Need to get up. Get up. Get up get up get up get up get up GET THE FUCK UP—
