“And the driver?”
“Hoodie, glasses, and tinted side windows. I couldn’t get a good shot.”
“Okay, I’m on it.” I didn’t bother pulling up camera twenty-eight. If I bothered to confirm the obvious, they’d have too far of a head start to catch them.
I sprinted to the elevators.
With Stone too far out of town to be of any use, and nobody else I could trust, I sped out of the parking structure, and headed on the route I knew Julia would take to go home. If she wasn’t going home, I’d be screwed.
And so would she if the driver meant her harm.
What could this mean?
Something had been off when Julia and I discussed Big Sal and the Moretti family. I'd watched her face carefully—the way her jaw tightened when I mentioned the don's name, the brief flicker in her eyes before she smoothed her expression back to professional curiosity. She was making it sound academic, detached. But her body language told a different story.
This was personal to her. I'd stake my life on it.
Did she know more than she was letting on?
Was she a threat?
My instincts said no. But if someone had tried to poison her—or use her to poison me—it meant she'd gotten too close to something dangerous. Whoever was gunning for me had shifted their attention to her.
But why go after my assistant? What had she uncovered?
There had to be more to this story, pieces I wasn't seeing yet.
I ran my second red light, heart pounding as I scanned the road ahead. Finally, I spotted her car in the distance, turning into a Crimson Rooster parking lot.
Relief flooded through me. She was okay. For now.
I eased off the gas slightly, hanging back far enough that she wouldn't spot me. But I wasn't letting her out of my sight until I knew she was safe.
The blue sedan turned into the parking lot of a nearby liquor store.
I stopped at an auto parts store where I could see both cars. From my vantage point, and also from the position the sedan was parked, we’d lose sight of Julia when she went around the back side of the fast-food restaurant. But, once in line for the drive thru, she had no choice but to come out on Sixth, where it’s impossible to turn any direction except right.
That gave me a minute.
I called Stone again, but he didn’t answer. He had the ability to track my cell phone, so I left him a message and told him that if I didn’t check in every fifteen or twenty minutes, he should expect the worst. “And Stone, unless you’re on a top priority mission, drop it. Head back into the city. This might develop into something bigger than I can handle on my own.”
Next, I called Dino, but the call went to his voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. That was one of our ironclad rules. He’d have a hard time explaining to this department head or internal affairswhy he had a voice message from Quentin Vanetti giving him orders.
Finally, I called Julia. Maybe I should have called her first, but the Crimson Rooster was notorious for long wait times. Part of the price of being so popular. She didn’t pick up. Instead of leaving a voice message, I text messaged her.Call me. ASAP.
Several minutes later, she pulled onto the street. The blue sedan followed, and I hung back six car lengths, keeping the blue sedan in sight.
Ahead, Julia drove casually—probably munching fries, music playing, phone ignored. Oblivious.
Then she yanked the wheel hard and shot into an alley, driving like a Fast & Furious stunt driver.
She'd made him. Smart girl.
The sedan accelerated, giving chase. No more hiding. I floored it and followed them in.
Halfway down the alley—a muzzle flash.
My chest seized. If this guy was any good—and he had to be—Julia was already dead. The thought punched the air from my lungs.
