Page 19 of Disavowed

As if a spell had broken, she unlinked her arms from his neck and stepped back. What he glimpsed in her eyes now was confusion. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have maid of honor duties to attend to.” Then she was gone.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind and heart battling a war of wills. He wanted to go after her but shouldn’t. For so many reasons. First and foremost he needed to be at the top of his game for this op. Any distraction could spell disaster. Like thoughts of that one memorable night spent in her bed.

Dancing with Daisy had been a momentary lapse in judgment, but this was the only time he could allow it to happen. There was no future for them. Not together, anyway. Fatalistic he wasn’t, but there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that in the coming months, his family would be burying him in the little cemetery near his hometown in the Catskills.

Nothing was a certainty in life. He’d learned that firsthand, and right at this moment he felt it more than ever before. Because he’d made a commitment.

In three days, he had an interview with an assassin.

Chapter Five

The bottle cap in his right boot was doing its job, digging into the sole of his foot with every step. Limping slightly, Dom approached the white van parked in the middle of the block in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn. Two blocks from where he was set to meet Jack Schneider and very possibly, the leader of the Pyramid.

The thought of actually meeting the man responsible for running the most elusive group of hired killers on the planet had him flexing his fingers in anticipation.

A bead of sweat trickled down his back, and he didn’t know if it was because of the unseasonably warm temps or because he was wired tighter than a drum.

The white van three vehicles ahead didn’t move, but he knew Gray had been inside for the last twelve hours. Anything less might have gotten picked up by counter-surveillance.

Thirty minutes ago he’d called Gray to announce that he was leaving his place in Manhattan for the meet. They wouldn’t speak again until they met up later at Gray’s apartment for debriefing.

Thanks, partner.

Gray would have his back as much as was humanly possible, even if that meant being stuck in a stuffy van for half a day. But Gray wouldn’t have ears inside the meet. They’d check Dom for a wire, of that he had no doubt. So he’d be alone with no backup, as Gray had grimly reminded him.

So be it.

It was a chance he had to take.

He paused at the intersection, then jogged across the street, dodging taxicabs whizzing by, exaggerating his limp. The risk he was taking with his own life was worth it. He had a debt to pay. If what he suspected was true, he already knew the identity of the Pyramid’s leader. But knowing it and proving it required vastly different evidence.

He stopped at a brick three-story building in the middle of the next block. Number 1173. He took a deep breath, then pushed open the solid black door. Inside was a long hallway with an old elevator door at the end. He approached slowly, glancing in either direction and up the walls. A camera in the far corner above the door tracked his every move. When he turned to look behind him, another camera stared down at him from above the building’s entry door.

He didn’t doubt they’d had someone tailing his ass from the moment he’d left his apartment. Now that he was here, his pulse raced, and he took another deep breath to slow it down. He needed to keep his cool. His life depended on it.

As he walked to the door, his footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway. He grabbed the knob and pulled the door open. The elevator looked to be a hundred years old. He tugged the collapsible metal guardrail to one side and stepped in, cranking the grating closed behind him. He pushed the button for the third floor. The elevator shifted and then squealed as if it were taking its last breath. Gradually the car rose, and he watched the brass arrow over the door swing slowly past the Roman numeral two then stop at three. The elevator jerked to a halt.

Another bead of sweat made its way down his back. He pulled open the metal railing, then pushed on the door. Before him was a large, brightly lit office. Jack Schneider stood at the back of the room, leaning against a gray metal desk.

Cautiously, Dom stepped out of the elevator and into the office. The place smelled old and musty. The only furniture in it was the desk Schneider leaned on. Dom took another step and, not unexpectedly, a red light affixed to the center of the ceiling flashed red. He’d been counting on a magnetometer, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Stop,” another voice said from behind and to his left.

He did as he was instructed, then turned his head to see another man he didn’t recognize bearing down on him. The guy was Caucasian, about five-ten with brown hair. He moved like a predator, swift and determined. Piercing gray eyes met his just before his arm was jerked behind his back and he was shoved roughly against the nearest wall.

Fuck. It was all he could do not to flip the asshole on his head and pound him into the floor like a jackhammer. The fucker patted him down, starting at the ankles and moving upward along his jeans. When he got to Dom’s belt, he shoved his hand under Dom’s shirt and yanked out his duty weapon. “If you check out, you’ll get this back. If not, I’ll use it to blow a hole in your skull.”

He snorted. “Thanks for the warm welcome.” He turned to see the guy shove the Glock into his waistband, right next to a Ruger forty caliber that was already there in plain sight. He glanced to Schneider, then tipped his head back to the asshole. “Who the fuck is this?”

Taking a step toward him, Schneider held out his hand, which Dom shook. “This is my colleague, John Smith. He’s part of the vetting process.”

Glancing at Smith, he sized the man up in a heartbeat. Furrowed brows and sharp, glowering eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Prison eyes. He didn’t recognize him, but he’d bet Smith—whose name wasn’t really Smith, he assumed—had done hard time somewhere.

“Let me guess,” Dom said in a sarcastic tone, “you were an abused child and your mama didn’t love you.”

“Let’s get one thing straight, cop.” Smith came forward and got in Dom’s face, trying pathetically to intimidate him. Not working. “I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you. The only reason you’re here is because Schneider vouched for you. But I’m the one who will be checking you out, and if your story is bullshit…” He pulled the Glock from his belt and shoved the muzzle into Dom’s forehead. “Bang.”

Rage surged in his blood, and he clenched his hands. Everything inside him itched to cut loose and dispatch this motherfucker. Even with the gun pressed to his head, he could disarm Smith before the guy could send a message to his brain to pull the trigger. But as the new kid on the block he had to put up with shit from assholes like Smith. Like a freshman frat house pledge.