A man in oil- and grease-stained gray coveralls is bent under the hood of a new-model Porsche. The license plate has been removed, the tires stripped, and various parts lay on the floor beside it. I raise my gun and aim it at the guy, finger beside the trigger should he make any sudden moves.
“Is my brother promising you a good price for those parts? I can promise you more.”
The man jumps as though he’s been physically hit, yelps as he smashes his head on the car’s hood, then steps away from the vehicle. We stare at each other across the dimly lit space for a heartbeat.
“You.” It’s a snarl that starts in the back of my throat and ends in a shout.
“Oh, shit!”
The man’s eyes grow wide and panicked, and I have to duck as he hurls a wrench at me and dashes behind the car. The wrench flies by, hitting a metal pipe on the wall before skittering across the floor just as the man darts out from behind the car.
I take off after him, following his pounding footsteps through the shop. Pain sears through my body with every movement. I can see him just ahead of me, or at least his shadow, when Evgeny comes in from the other side. I call out in Russian to follow the guy, and Evgeny turns on a dime after Tony.
In the darkness, the unfamiliar mechanic’s shop seems cavernous and threatening, lit only by the few dim emergency lights and an ambient yellow glow from the windows we pass. It’s a graveyard of half-dismantled cars, exposed engines hanging from chains, and greasy equipment.
Both Evgeny and I duck as thecrackof a shotgun goes off, followed by an explosion of concrete and brick. I dive behind a half wall, the air still vibrating with the shockwave.
Simultaneously, Evgeny opens fire from his side. Three quick shots that thud into the shell of a truck. A muffled exclamation is followed by more shotgun explosions, each a bright flash in the darkness.
“Fucker is going to get us all blown up,” Evgeny snarls, then ducks back out to fire two more rounds. More shotgun fire follows before everything falls silent.
“He’s out of rounds,” Evgeny mutters with satisfaction.
The crash of the shotgun being thrown onto the floor in frustration echoes through the darkness, and I tap Evgeny on the arm, a signal, before we both take off in the direction of the shots.
We hear pounding feet; the fucker is running again. We follow the sound of his boots pounding on the floor back through the shop.
“He’s heading for the back door, damn it.” I ignore the pain pulsating throughout my body and speed up, knowing if this asshole escapes, that will be it, and he’s my one link to Sonya and the twins.
I sprint through another room, weapon raised, moving too fast for him to track, and I manage to cut him off. He sees me, pivots, and somehow slips between Evgeny and me toward the workstation where I first found him.
Evgeny fires a distraction round, hitting a toolbox behind Tony and sending wrenches scattering with a clamor. Tony flinches, stumbling back into an open space under the skeleton of a car engine hanging from chains from the ceiling.
With a great squeal of iron, one of the chains breaks free, causing one side of the engine to crash to the floor. Tony dives at the last second, but he’s not fast enough to dodge the enormous piece of machinery entirely, and it comes down on his leg.
His scream is terrible, the sound of snapping and crushed bone worse. When I look back, Kelly is standing over him with her gun drawn. She’s breathing hard, the dangling end of the chain swinging by her hand.
“Tell me where the fuck my sister is,” Kelly shouts, her chest and shoulders heaving with adrenaline.
“Please,” he begs. “Please get this off me. It’s killing me.”
“You’re not going to die. Yet. It will take a while for you to bleed out.” I walk up to him and stare down at the face I know.“Anthony Demetrio.”
“Who is he?” Kelly asks without looking away from her suspect.
“My brother’s lackey. He’s been following Samson around since they were kids, like a little puppy dog just wanting to be loved. Samson uses himand his connectionsany time he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. It’s pathetic.”
“Okay,” Kelly says. “You two get this engine off of him, and we’ll take him to the station. I’ll make sure he tells us exactly where Sonya is.”
“We’re not taking him anywhere.”
Even in the dim light, I can see the fear in Tony’s eyes. He knows exactly what I’m capable of. We’ve had enough run-ins that he knows he’s pissed off his own personal grimreaper.
“We have plenty to take him in and question him,” Kelly insists. “Don’t you want to know where Sonya is?”
“I can get answers without a police station. In fact, I can get them faster and more accurately. Evgeny.”
I gesture with my chin to the engine, and with Kelly’s gun still on the guy, he and I manage to move the heavy block enough so his leg is freed.
