Page 95 of Every Last Breath

The old woman tugged the fleabag inside the apartment. “Come on, Herman, let the man go. We’ll run our errands later.”

Aleksander headed for the stairs.

“Isn’t it a little early in the morning for a pickup?” The elderly woman’s voice faded behind him.

He trudged down the quiet steps into the sticky air.

Val had moved the van, parking on the same side as her building but not directly in front. After opening the rear doors, Aleksander eased the bag off, setting it inside.

The grumbling thunder of a motorcycle rent the air. He didn’t need to see the bike to know it was Scarface.

Didn’t these people sleep?

No. How could they if they hoped to catch someone like him?

Sure enough, Scarface rolled the rumbling motorcycle ten yards behind the van as Aleksander shut the door. The metallic clink of the kickstand struck the ground.

Aleksander reached into the top of his coveralls, grasping the handle of his silenced SIG P320 subcompact.

Limping to the driver’s door as if hobbled, he vectored his senses in on Scarface. Not simply his gaze from the corner of his eye or his hearing. He tuned in that sixth sense anyone in his business—or theirs, for that matter—needed to stay alive.

He’d prefer to use Scarface as the firebrand. Nothing like a distraught lover telling an impassioned story to churn the others up, reel in the focus and emotions of Maddox Kinkade’s fellow agents. But there was a fine line between success and failure. They needed to be incensed and distracted, but if Scarface so much as hesitated going inside, dared look in Aleksander’s direction with brows drawn, Aleksander would have to kill him.

Scarface’s heavy footfall hit the steps, bounding to the front door of the apartment building none the wiser. Aleksander hopped inside the van. Val started the engine and pulled off.

Satisfaction spread in a slow, sweet smile.

Chapter 26

Vienna, Virginia

6:07 a.m. EDT

Cole strode down the hall to Maddox’s apartment. Three days ago, he’d been the most miserable son of a gun on the planet. Had a gaping hole where his heart should’ve been.

Today, he could walk on water, move mountains. Just because she was back in his life. Hell, it might take him moving a mountain to clear the path for a future with Maddox, but he’d do whatever was necessary.

Sleeping at the two-star hotel twenty minutes away had been an exercise in restlessness. He’d tossed, not quite able to get comfortable, as if his body needed hers pressed beside him to relax. And during the uneasy shut-eye he’d managed, he dreamt of her.

Not one of those pleasant, frolicking-on-the-beach dreams. The specifics escaped him, but it had centered on finding Novak, keeping her safe.

An African American lady, looking to be in her late seventies, plodded out of the apartment directly across from Maddox’s with a cute pooch in tow. Her keys clattered as she locked her front door.

With the elderly lady watching, he knocked on Maddox’s door rather than use his usual method of entry. The dog eased closer and sniffed his leg.

“Herman likes you. Surprising if you’re the one who has been putting his hands on that girl. Giving her all those terrible bruises.” She yanked the dog away. “Not that it’s any of my business.” The lady shuffled slowly down the hall. “Knock again. She’s home. A guy was here picking up a donation.”

A cold tingle sparked in the back of his head. “What guy?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she shrugged. “A man from Goodwill. Knock again. She’s there.”

Forget knocking. He reached for his tools, but the worst thought slammed into his mind. He tested the doorknob. It turned freely.

His shitstorm detector redlined. He threw the door open, scrambling inside.

“Maddox?”

At the sound of the running shower, his heart settled a little. He swept the apartment. Living room. Kitchen. Her jacket, gun, two cell phones, and keys were on the counter. The slow churn of sick dread in his chest spun faster.