I study the information. “Nothing.” Even the name the car is registered to doesn’t ring a bell.
“Okay, well, one of my guys spotted it a couple of blocks down from here. Feel like taking a drive?”
I follow Frank’s cruiser to a block of faded brick apartments. The street is quiet, our breath coming out in thick clouds as we walk around to find the car.
When we come upon it, Frank leans down to check the license plate. “This is it.”
I feel the hood. The engine is still slightly warm, despite the frost creeping up the windshield. Even more damning is the bullet hole in one of the doors.
“This is from one of my men. He managed to get a few shots in as they were driving off.”
That’s all the information I have. I’ve never seen this car in my life, and I’ve never heard the name it’s registered to.
“Did someone report it stolen?”
“Nope.” Frank scratches under his hat, perplexed. “This is the address it’s registered to. The owner has no priors or history other than a drunk and disorderly and a minor theft a few years back. Nothing since. I don’t know if he’s cleaned up his act or just managed to hide it.”
Or gone deeper into something that kept him out of the view of law enforcement.
This is all too clean. Why would some random guy in a random car come after me? Not that I haven’t made enemies—I have far more enemies than friends—but something about this particular one feels off. Why now? Why that warehouse? Nobody knows the business is legit except for Evgeny, myself, and the lawyer who helped me draw up the deal.
“Which of your officers found the car?” I ask.
“Preston.”
I can’t quite stifle the groan, which causes Frank to raise his eyebrows in question. “She responded to the shooting outside of the Mancini wedding,” I tell him.
Frank’s eyes study me for a moment. “Did she actually approach you? She’s got more balls than I thought.”
I crouch beside the bullet hole to inspect it. “She did more than approach me. She lectured me.”
Frank laughs. “No shit? That mouth of hers might get her into trouble someday, but she’s got more guts than half the guys on the force.”
I’m about to reply when something hits the car to my left. I duck instinctively. We’re being shot at.
Frank drops down as another bullet hits the car and reaches for the radio on his shoulder. “Shots fired at the police!” he yells, adding our location.
More bullets rain around us. I pull my gun from its holster as I stare into the frozen darkness, waiting to see a flash from a muzzle.
“There.” I point to a window with the curtains drawn back.
“See if you can get closer,” he says. “I’ll cover you. Do not fire unless fired upon, understand?”
I nod, swinging around wide and keeping to the shadows as I get closer to the window. I’m nearly there when a searing pain steals my breath. I duck behind a low wall, knowing without looking that I’ve been shot. I let out a string of curses and check my shoulder. Even in the darkness, I see the first hints of a stain against the white of my shirt.
I have to take a deep breath to steel myself. I hear Frank fire a few rounds and sirens in the distance. I stand and fire at the window until I’m almost out of bullets.
The curtains wave in the breeze and a sudden silence falls. I creep up to the window. There is no movement, and when I cautiously peer in, I find the room empty.
“Is he in there?” Frank calls out.
“I doubt it,” I respond, clamping a hand to my wounded shoulder.
He runs up beside me, breathless. “I’m waiting for backup to go in.”
I shake my head. “I’m guessing he’s long gone.”
As Frank talks into his radio, I look at my wound under the streetlights. A red stain is rapidly spreading across my shoulder.
