“Any luck with the wire?” I ask the tech guy whose been working on getting access to Whitlock’s communications. Email, phone, security system…I want access to all of it.
“What do you take me for? Some kind of noob?” the kid says. He’s arrogant as fuck and costs an arm and a leg. And the little shit’s probably fifteen. But he’s the best in town, and his next words prove it. “We’re in. I’ve been feeding the info through to your laptop since dawn. I’m guessing you haven’t bothered to check.”
“Uh…sure,” I respond. Because it’s barely 7 a.m., and I hadn’t expected the guy to be working through the night. Tech geek thing, I guess. “What did you find?”
“What didn’t I find, more like,” he scoffs. “For a guy who works with crypto, he’s not particularly smart. I’ve sent you a list of his addresses, bank details, access codes, and—”
“Okay, great! That’s perfect,” I stop him before he gets into more detail than I can understand. “Keep an eye on things until further notice, right? I’m happy to pay you by the hour.”
“You’d better be,” he responds. “I don’t do this shit for free.”
He certainly doesn’t. But I don’t care what it costs, either for him or any of the other resources I’ve got working on this case.
I have to find Andy. It’s more pressing now than ever because I know she’s desperate. And she’ll be working even harder to keep under my radar, which means she’s going to do something stupid. Like run straight through his front door with guns blazing.
He’s going to kill her.
I end the call with thewunderkindand step out of my apartment block, only to stop short as I reach the sidewalk. There’s a black Karlmann King idling in front of me. A dark-suited guy is leaning against the bonnet. I recognize him as one of Dario’s men.
“Good morning, Mr. Ricci,” he says, stepping forward.
What the actual fuck?
I try not to gape as he reaches for the door and swings it open for me.
“What’s this?” I ask. I feel like I’m getting into a Batmobile on steroids. The interior looks like it would be more suited to the inside of a private jet.
“Courtesy of Mr. Dario, sir,” the man replies, shutting the door behind me, then sliding into the passenger seat. There’s another of Dario’s guys behind the wheel. He greets me silently with a tip of his head, then pulls off into the morning traffic.
“Do you really think this is necessary?” I ask. The damn car must have set him back a cool two mill.
“Not my place to decide what’s necessary, Mr. Ricci.” The guy has his attention on the windows, scanning the vehicles around us. Like anyone would attack us out here now. Though considering who we’re up against, I guess it doesn’t hurt to be careful.
“I assume you know where we’re headed,” I say unnecessarily. Because of course they do. They’re not idiots. Not like the troop of apes Whitlock had on his team. I remember with satisfaction how quickly I took out his two personal bodyguards. I almost feel sorry for them now.
“Of course, sir. Mr. Dario will be waiting for you at Mr. Raoul’s apartment. We should be there in twenty minutes.”
I glance at my wristwatch. That may be optimistic given the traffic at this hour. However, I’ll admit that even the cabs are giving us a wide berth in this thing. We cruise down the block and are soon maneuvering through the other vehicles. The guy in the driver’s seat isn’t wasting any time. He gives new meaning to the term “aggressive driving,” and I wince as he steers us through spaces not designed for a moped, let alone a six-ton armored vehicle.
“Music, sir?” the guy in the passenger seat asks over his shoulder.
“Whatever,” I respond with a shrug. I’m not here for the ambiance. He nods and leaves us in silence. It’s almost a relief. After all that’s been going on, I need a few minutes to clear my head. As we continue, I look back and realize there’s a silver SUV close behind us.
“We being tailed?” I frown into the reflection of the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“That’s our backup,” he says, turning his attention back to the road.
“We need backup when we have this?” I almost want to laugh.
Jesus. Talk about overkill.
“Mr. Dario thought it would be safer.” The set of the guy’s jaw tells me he’s not here to make chitchat. When he goes back to scanning the road, I sink back and drop my head against the backrest as we pull up to an intersection. The seats in this thing are like aircraft seating, and without thinking about it, I buckle myself in.
And you didn’t even need a seatbelt sign,I think to myself wryly.
Turns out it must have been some gut instinct because the next thing I know, the car is swerving wildly. A sharp rattle from outside is matched by a staccato cracking along the side of the Karlmann. I snap my head up to see a motorcycle has pulled up alongside us.
Sleek and black, I barely have time to register the details, other than that there’s a pair of riders on board. Both in black leather, one is steering, while the one riding pillion turns and sprays the side of our vehicle with machine gun fire.
