Page 4 of Disavowed

According to their informant, his quarry was somewhere on this side of the building. He needed to confront the man. Alone. He’d have to concoct a way to get Pulaski out of there. It would leave him without backup, but it was all part of the plan. One he’d been crafting meticulously for over a year.

I’ll find you, you sonofabitch.

He clenched his jaw to keep from swearing out loud. Any cop or military personnel who turned to the dark side to make a buck was lower than slug shit as far as he was concerned. The guy he was after was a card-carrying member of Slugshit, Incorporated, a.k.a. the Pyramid—the most notorious group of assassins to walk the earth.

The Pyramid had tried to kill his former partner, Cassie Flannery, then kidnapped his current partner’s fiancée—Alex Romano, a police administrative aide—to squeeze information out of her about the security setup at police headquarters. Luckily, both Cassie and Alex had survived.

Another barely audible sound came to his ears, but he kept walking. Two more steps and he saw it. Darkness, five feet above him, in between two crates on the second tier of metal shelving. All the other crates on that row had dim, filtered light shining through. Not so for the two crates he’d just passed. Something that shouldn’t have been there was blocking the light. Across the aisle, another crate rested on the bottom shelf with its lid slightly askew—a distraction.

Schneider, you just gave yourself away.

The hackles on Dom’s neck prickled, and it took every ounce of restraint not to glance to his left and plug the man straight through the heart.

His pulse raced, and he let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose. Keep. Your. Cool. He looked over his shoulder to see Pulaski searching left and right along the corridor of crates. As expected, Pulaski’s untrained senses didn’t detect a thing out of place. Even though he’d just passed within three feet of a trained killer.

Up ahead, at the end of the warehouse, a buzzing fluorescent light bulb flickered overhead, illuminating a six-foot-long metal table tucked against the wall. Exactly what Dom had expected.

Weapons.

He took quick inventory.

Hand grenades, semi-automatic pistols, Kalashnikov AK-47s, an RPG-7 rocket launcher. Before him was a deadly stockpile of mostly Soviet-made weaponry. All favorites of Pyramid assassins.

“Holy fuck!” Pulaski exclaimed loudly, not bothering to whisper anymore. “Man, we hit the jackpot. Look at all this shit.”

“Yeah, how ’bout that?” Dom affected an air of surprise in his voice.

Muted voices floated to him from the far side of the warehouse, but he had every confidence Gray would keep the rest of the entry team away. Now to get rid of Pulaski.

After holstering his gun, he tipped his head in the direction of the other side of the warehouse. “Head back and give Gray the happy news, would ya?” He pulled a small spiral pad and pen from his jacket pocket. “I’ll start a preliminary inventory and call it in to the lieutenant.”

Pulaski holstered his weapon, then leveled Dom with a suspicious look. “Maybe I’d better stay here and help. I wouldn’t want you to lose any evidence again, Carew.”

“I got this,” he said through gritted teeth, and since he outranked the other detective by several years, Pulaski dutifully about-faced and headed back in the direction from which they’d come, but not before making a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

As the other man’s footsteps receded, Dom took an intentionally loud breath and tossed the pad and pen onto the table. He slipped one hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small flask. Gotta make this look good. After unscrewing the top, he took a swig and headed back down the aisle. He stopped at the open crate, the flask intentionally visible in his hand. He turned, leaning forward, pretending to inspect the lid.

C’mon, c’mon.

Every muscle in his body tensed, coiling tight, steeling himself for the blow. If he didn’t make this look good, the ruse wouldn’t work.

The air shifted again. Shelving creaked, then a whooshing sound.

The force flung him forward, knocking him off his feet. He doubled over the top of the crate and grunted as the wind escaped his lungs. Pain lanced through his ribs as he tried to suck in a breath.

A hand gripped his arm and yanked him off the crate. He ducked an instant before a fist connected with his jaw. He jabbed Schneider in the gut and was rewarded with a loud oof. He lunged at the other man, tackling him to the ground. They rolled across the aisle until his head whacked into the metal shelving. Fuck.

He groaned as pain splintered his skull. He shook his head and kicked with both feet, hurling Schneider off him, rewarded by the sound of the other man’s skull whacking into a crate.

“Motherfucker,” Schneider growled.

Dom staggered to his feet and for a few seconds saw stars. He yanked out his Glock and pointed it dead center on Schneider’s chest.

The other man breathed heavily, and there was just enough light coming from the flickering fluorescent bulb not six feet away for him to see Schneider had hit his head pretty damn hard. The guy’s hand came away with blood when he tried to rise off the floor.

“Police, stay down!” he said in a firm yet subdued tone. The last thing he wanted was for the other teams still searching the warehouse to come running. He inched into the light so that his face would be visible, then he glanced in all directions. His informant said the quarry would be alone, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Ignoring the warning, Schneider planted his fists on the floor and tried to get to his feet. Dom parked his boot on Schneider’s chest and shoved him back onto the floor. “Buddy,” he said, unable to keep the impatience from his tone, “I’m only gonna say this one more time. If you don’t keep your ass glued to the floor, I’ll blast your chest full of holes.”