Page 95 of Ricochet

I rubbed the back of my head, a growl brewing inside my chest alongside the urge to punch him. “We’ve got bigger topics on this meeting’s agenda, don’t you think? Like a plan to take out the goddamn mayor of the city? Who gives a shit about the woman?”

He leapt on top of me, gripping the neck of my T-shirt, his fist drawn back, but I flipped him over, and both of us pushed to a stand.

I swung, but he ducked, and my fist drove through the window of the door behind him. “Fuck!” The glass had sliced the delicate skin, leaving a lick of flames dancing across my flesh.

My feet kicked out from under me, and gravel smashed into my spine, knocking my field of vision left then right, wide and blurry, before it shrank back to normal. Alec straddled me, that fucking cigar hanging on like a champ from his mouth.

I caught his returning punch midair and held firm to his wrist, ready to volley the next strike. “What the fuck has gotten into you? What does it matter?” At his silence, I continued, “Here, I thought you’d be pissed that I’d developed feelings for her, and you act like you’re ready to kill me if I didn’t.”

“Then you do have feelings for her.”

“Yeah. I do.” I puffed a breath. “She makes me fucking crazy and has my body all strung the hell out. But my feelings won’t get in the way of the plan, so chill the fuck out.”

He lowered his fist and released my shirt like I’d satisfied him.

“Tell me something, Alec. Kidnapping Aubree Culling was never part of the original plan. What made you change your mind?”

With a push off the gravel, he rose to his feet and wiped the dirt from his pant legs. “It’s not important.” He reached a hand out to me. “Let’s discuss the end of this plan.”

CHAPTER 43

Chief Cox

Cox put the paper cup to his lips, but when cold coffee slid across his tongue, his nose crinkled. Setting the coffee back into the cup holder beside his seat, he refocused his attention on the entrance to Bojanski’s apartment building. Probably a waste of fucking time, staking out the place from his car, but Cox wasn’t in the mood to get hit with any more death threats from Culling.

Through a staircase window, he had a good view of Alec Vaughn’s apartment. It seemed the asshole was a complete mystery—not a single record of him anywhere—and since Bojanski didn’t exactly have his tenants submit applications, Cox couldn’t even be sure the asshole landlord had given him a legit name.

Ah, fuck it. He’d been sitting on the corner, a block away from the building, for most of the day. Aside from some drunk piece of shit, who must’ve passed out somewhere along the staircase, he hadn’t seen a single person come or go.

Cox fired up his Buick, ready to take off, but paused when a young woman, or teenager perhaps, strolled up the sidewalk toward the stairwell. Tight black curls had been pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a vest over a sweatshirt, with jeans torn at the knees and black combat boots, which made her look more like a student than a street rat. Pretty, too, from what he could see, with her honey brown skin and slender frame. Had Julius still been around, Cox could’ve made some coin off her ass.

She climbed the stairs, and through the window of the stairwell, Cox damn near choked when she stopped in front of apartment one-oh-three.

“Well, well. What the fuck do we have here?” he muttered, grabbing his binoculars beside him.

She withdrew a hand from one of her pockets and knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Placed her ear to the wood and knocked again.

A minute passed, and she skipped back down the stairs, looking over her shoulder like she’d been trained to watch her back, and kept on down the sidewalk.

Cox crept forward, maintaining a good distance, watching while she slipped on a helmet, hopped onto a motor scooter, and took off.

He followed her through the streets, about a dozen car lengths behind, until she arrived at what appeared to be an old church. She hopped off the bike, swinging the helmet from her hand, and when she reached the door, she disappeared inside.

The sign hanging from the building had Sanctum written in large, old English letters and Youth Hostel below it. A smile slid across Cox’s face, and he lifted the cellphone beside him and dialed.

“What d’you want?” The twinge of contempt in Brandon’s voice told Cox he still harbored hard feelings after their last meeting.

“A favor.”

“I know you didn’t just ask me for no mothafuckin’ favor.”

“Then, perhaps you’re not interested in identifying the man who killed your brother.”

A long pause followed, before Brandon finally said, “I’m listening.”

“I need you to retrieve a girl. Looks mixed. Light skin. Student, maybe. She’s somehow connected to him. She’s at Sanctum. I don’t know if she lives here alone, or with someone. Get rid of any others. Bring her to me. Alive.”

“Consider it done,” Brandon answered without the slightest hesitation.