It wouldn’t be the first time Sam had killed for him. At the age of twelve, he’d taken out the neighborhood bully with a hammer to the head to defend his brother. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought. Not that Mick had needed the help, but he’d wanted to consider all his options. He had a tendency to overthink a situation. They hadn’t been caught, and Mick had learned to trust his little brother’s killer instincts.
Jewel groaned.
Mick leaned over the seat. “Hear that, Jewel? Whatever happens to that bitch is on your hands. You involved her in this.” He got out and opened the back door. “Let’s go.”
Five girls made a hasty exit, but Jewel, with her hands tied behind her back, was wedged in tight. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and unfolded the blade. Her eyes widened as he leaned over her. His hand trembled. He wanted to do it. But she didn’t belong to him. She belonged to Mr. K.
The boss had hammered the math into Mick’s head. An ounce of cocaine or a hit of crack can only be sold once. A girl can be sold hundreds of times.
“Get the fuck out of the car.” He reached in, sliced the plastic ties, and grabbed a handful of her hair. “I said now.”
Jewel stumbled across the curb. She went down on her hands and knees on the hard-baked earth of the front yard. Mick closed the vehicle door. Anger flowed into his chest. Hot and thick, it fueled his body almost as well as coke. He kicked her in the ribs, sending her sprawling. He reeled in his excitement. You break it, you buy it was the boss’s motto.
“Get up.” He stalked toward her.
She rose onto her feet, swaying like a drunk. Mick grabbed her by the arm. “Inside.” He opened the door and threw her across the threshold. She fell to her knees on the stained carpet, balled up like an armadillo, and stayed there.
The living room was empty except for Lisa, Sam’s girlfriend. The other girls, smart little bitches, had scurried for their holes like rats. Leaning over the glass table with a rolled dollar bill up one nostril, Lisa was halfway through a short line. Stringy white-blond hair hung over her pasty face. Sound effects—bells—from the game show on the TV clanged through the room. She snorted the last of the powder in one quick sniff, then swiped her hand under her runny nose. “What happened?”
“Bitch tried to run.” Mick crossed to the glass table. “You’d better not have done all my coke.”
Lisa shrank onto the couch cushion. “You said I could have one line. That’s all I did. I swear.”
Still eyeballing her, he stepped up, opened the square tin, and checked his supply. The glimmer of fear in her eyes pacified him. He nodded, and she exhaled.
That’s what he wanted to see: obedience and appreciation. He was in control. It didn’t matter that Lisa was Sam’s girlfriend. Mick could have her any time he liked. But he was done with whores. The finer things in life were trickling into his grasp, one by satisfying one. He’d come up in the world, and he wasn’t letting anything shove him back down again.
“What are you gonna do with her?” Lisa gave Jewel—curled, shaking, and smelling like fear—a glare. Lisa wasn’t going to let that little bitch ruin what she had going. If one girl escaped, what would stop the others from thinking they could do the same? Mr. K demanded a high level of efficiency, and no one who could testify against Mick would ever walk out of this house alive.
“I don’t know. I have to think.”
He turned to Jewel. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if she didn’t want to see what was coming.
Smart thinking on her part.
Anger flared fresh in his veins. Tonight’s act of rebellion could ruin everything. This gig was good, but he was tired of worrying about Mr. K’s rules.
He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the back door. She got her feet under her body and stumbled behind him. The yard was a twenty-by-twenty rectangle of concrete and dirt, walled in by a heavy wooden fence that sagged in places. His big pit bull slunk out from behind the garage to greet him.
“Sit.” Cringing, Butch obeyed. If only the girls learned as quick as the dog.
A small metal shed squatted in the rear corner. Jewel stumbled as Mick shoved her into the darkness. She fell onto her knees then curled up into a miserable ball. He handcuffed her to a pipe sticking out of the dirt. Then he walked out, shutting the door and fastening the padlock. Dumb bitch acted like Mick was new at this. He wasn’t. He’d practiced taking a girl to the edge of death and holding her there. Some girls held on a long, long time.
He went back into the living room. His brother was kicked back on the sofa, his posture deceiving. No matter how relaxed Sam appeared, violence flowed just under his skin. His eyes were coke-bright. Mick snorted a spoonful and poured himself a glass of vodka. The numbness slid over him like crushed ice flowing through his veins. Five minutes later, he felt reenergized, as if anything was possible.
Jewel was off-limits, but there was no reason he couldn’t kill the blond. Mick went out to the car and got her purse. Back inside, he flopped in a chair and pulled out her wallet. It was a fancy job with two zippered compartments. He rubbed a hand across the deep gray leather. Felt expensive. He slid a thick stack of bills from the billfold.
Sam whistled. “She’s loaded.”
Mick split the cash with Sam.
“Thanks, bro.” Sam peeled off two bills and tucked them between Lisa’s enormous boobs.
Mick nodded and opened the second zippered compartment. He pulled a driver’s license from the clear pouch. Hannah Barrett lived in Scarlet Falls, New York. He stared at the thumbnail-size picture of the blond bitch. Not the most beautiful woman in the world, but even in the crappy digital photo, there was something about her that made a man look twice. Confident and intelligent, she was the kind of woman who hung from rich dudes’ arms.
A stack of business cards bulged from an outside slot. He took one out and read it aloud. “Hannah Barrett, Attorney-at-Law, Black Associates.” Office and cell phone numbers were listed, as well as her e-mail address.
Mick contemplated his options. He glanced at the license and business card. He knew where she lived. Finding her wouldn’t take any longer than plugging her address into Google Maps.
On the sofa, Lisa climbed onto Sam’s lap and ground down on him, her giant tits right in his brother’s face.
Watching them, Mick got hard, but he wanted new and shiny. The blond was cool, aloof, untouchable. She was exactly what he deserved.
He opened his laptop and accessed the map function. Taking turns driving, he and Sam could drive straight through to New York in thirty-nine hours. But first things first.
Mick took his phone and computer into the kitchen for privacy. He called Mr. K’s well-paid contact in the Vegas PD. While he waited for a callback, he accessed his spreadsheet and entered his income totals for the week. Emptying his pockets, he counted the total cash income, took his cut, and stuffed the rest in an envelope. He saved his file and e-mailed it to the boss’s accountant. Then he made the call requesting the recycling of one of his assets. Jewel would be gone by Tuesday.
Thirty minutes later, his contact called him back with the information. Hannah Barrett had given the police a decent description of him, but Mick had successfully avoided surveillance cameras. She was expected to sign her statement and head back to New York ASAP. The detectives would call her if they needed her to ID a suspect.
Like Mick was going to let that happen. If the police managed to finger Mick, Hannah Barrett’s eyewitness testimony would be the key piece of evidence in their case.
Mick closed the computer and went back into the living room. “Hey, Sam. How do you feel about a road trip? We’ll make the drop and take off right afterward.”
Sam’s eyes brightened. “I’ll get my stuff.” He pushed Lisa aside and disappeared down the hallway.
Mick turned to Lisa. “You’ll have to handle business for a few days.”
“Sure.” Her nod was quick and eager. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left her in charge. Mr. K required girls to be recruited out-of-state.
He opened his tin and took out a bag. “There’s enough in there for you to have a little party when you get home each night.”
She reached for the coke.
Mick lifted it out of her grasp. “If you don’t make the totals each night, I’ll be taking the money out of your hide when I get back. If you do a good job, you’ll be rewarded. Understand?”
She nodded, eyes locked on the baggie.
He dropped it into her open palm. Her greedy fingers closed around it slowly, as if she couldn’t believe it was all hers.
“Follow my rules, do your job, and there’ll be more when I get back.” He reached out and lifted her chin until her gaze lifted to meet his. “If you don’t, I’ll know.”
Her eyes widened. Fear rimmed her irises with white. “OK, Mick.” Her voice shook.
“Jewel is being picked up Tuesday night. Make her clean up, and keep her alive until they come for her,” he instructed. “But just barely. I don’t want her to be too energetic.”
“OK.”
“I’m going to pack.” He went into his bedroom and pulled out a duffel bag. Everything he owned fit inside. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the closet. New York would be cold. On top of his clothes, he tossed the kidnapping kit: zip ties and duct tape. He grabbed an extra box of bullets and a flashlight from the top shelf of the closet. He patted his pockets. Gun, knife, check.
He paused, looking back at the bed. Just in case . . . He slid his hand under the mattress and withdrew a bundle of cash. He’d been saving his cut for months, plus skimming a little off the top each week. He tucked it in his bag.
Sam was waiting in the living room, a small duffel bag in one hand, his usual backpack in the other. “Ready.”
“What’s that?” Mick nodded toward the duffel.
“Just a few toys.” God—or maybe the devil—only knew what Sam had in that bag.
Mick reached for it, but Sam pulled it behind his back. “It’s a surprise.”
“OK.” Mick backed off. His brother had always been short-tempered, but after Iraq . . . Mick had learned it was better to let some things go. Once Sam went apeshit, there was no calming him down until his rage ran out of steam. Mick swiped the manila envelope of cash from the coffee table. “Let’s go.”
Sam followed him out to the garage. Mick unlocked the door and raised it. His hand trailed along the shiny black fender.
Sam whistled softly. “Badass car.”
Mick unlocked a wooden storage bin in the rear of the garage. He took out two assault rifles and a box of ammo Sam had bought off one of his ex-military pals. He put the firepower in the trunk and covered it with a tarp. Then he slid behind the wheel and settled into the black leather seat with a satisfied groan. The engine started with the satisfying rumble of a V-8. He grinned at his brother through the open window.
Mick backed out of the garage. Sam opened the back gate, closing and locking it with the chain and padlock after the Charger passed through. He got into the passenger seat.
“No smoking in the car.” Mick stroked the steering wheel and inhaled the new-car smell.
Sam sighed. “OK, Mick. Gonna be a long drive, though.”
“I’ve barely driven her. She isn’t even broken in yet.” Mick thought about the cool blond waiting for him in New York. He couldn’t wait to break her. “Tell you what. When I’m done with the blond, I’ll let you have a crack at her before I kill her.”
“Promise?”
“You bet. We’re family, right?”
“Right.” Sam’s eyes lit up as if he were eight, and Mick had promised him a new bike.
He checked his phone. A text message showed on the screen. Every week the drop was in a different place, which wasn’t revealed until thirty minutes prior to his drop time. He opened the message. The address wasn’t familiar. Mr. K never used the same location twice.
“Plug this into your phone.” He read the address to Sam.
“It’s in an industrial park. Turn right at the light.”
Mick cruised through the residential streets, more slum than neighborhood. He followed Sam’s directions, and fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of a vacant warehouse. Litter piled up against the bottom of a Dumpster. There were no people in sight, but Mick knew they were being watched. A member of Mr. K’s inner circle was nearby, waiting to pick up the cash. He drove around the building. In the far corner of the lot, in the middle of a flat, open space with absolutely no cover, huddled a blue Goodwill donation bin. Mick pulled the car up to the receptacle. Leaving the engine running, he stepped out of the car. A cool night breeze swept across the flat and empty space.
Goose bumps rose on his arms, and the hairs on his nape lifted. Eyes were definitely on him. And maybe the crosshairs of a sniper scope.
His bowels clenched as he walked to the blue bin and dropped the envelope in the chute. The drop landed with a dull echo. As always, he pictured a little red dot between his shoulder blades and half expected a bullet to strike his back. But nothing happened. He turned and walked the four strides back to the car.
Back in the driver’s seat, he slowly turned the vehicle around and headed for the exit.
“Those drops are freaky,” Sam said.
“Mr. K doesn’t screw around.” Mick turned onto the access road and made his way back to the highway. His sweat-dampened shirt clung to his back. Every week when he made his drop, his balls wanted to crawl up inside his body. “You know what? I’m sick of this shit. What would you think about not coming back?”
Sam scratched his belly. “Rules are getting old.”
“I’m tired of giving away eighty percent of our money.” Mick punched the gas pedal. “You leave anything important back at the house?”
Sam shook his head. “What about Mr. K?”
The brothers had been recruited after they’d robbed a convenience store, and Sam had beaten the clerk to death with his bare hands. The cops hadn’t solved the case, but Mr. K’s men had come calling with a job offer. There hadn’t been an exit clause, but Mick and Sam were very good at disappearing.
“Won’t miss us until the drop is due next week. By that time, we’ll be on the East Coast.” Mick changed lanes. “We can grab a few girls and start our own business.”
“No rules.”
“No rules,” Mick agreed.
A memory of the blond formed in his mind. Long-legged, polished hair and nails, expensive clothes. Everything about Hannah Barrett screamed class and money. He deserved her. But without exceeding the legal speed limit, he’d be parking outside Hannah Barrett’s house Saturday night, planning her abduction and his revenge.
Chapter Four
The hospital hallway bustled with activity. From the bed nearest the door, Hannah held an ice pack to her face. The ache in her temple echoed all the way down to her tailbone. She was glad the second bed had been empty all night.
“I called your brother.” Royce frowned down at her.
Hannah turned her head to listen out of her uninjured ear. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Royce shot her a Seriously? look. “You were assaulted, and you’ve spent the night in the hospital.”
“Only because you made me,” she scoffed. “I need to call Grant and tell him I’m fine.” Grant would worry, and his anxiety had been elevated since they’d lost Lee.
Hannah sat up. The small pains radiating through her body foretold of up-and-coming bruises. But her injuries were minor. She was lucky, unlike the girl who’d been abducted.
“He’s already on his way.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, he should be here soon. His plane lands at ten forty-five.”
Hannah adjusted the hard pillow. “He’s going to miss F
aith’s birthday tomorrow.”
“I’ve booked you two first-class seats into Albany leaving this afternoon. I’m going to New York to get up to speed on the Tate contract.”
Hannah’s brain absorbed the breadth of his statement. He was taking her client away. “Why? I worked my butt off preparing for that deal.”
Royce sighed. “Did you not listen to the doctor?”
“I heard him.”
“In case he wasn’t clear,” Royce said, “you have a ruptured eardrum and a concussion, but thankfully, there’s no bleeding in your thick head. You are taking some time off whether you like it or not. There’ll be other deals. Besides, I’ve been in car accidents. I know every part of your body must hurt right now.”
She tried to summon a glare, but scrunching up her eyes hurt. “The doctor said the concussion was mild and my eardrum will heal on its own. I’ll be fine by the time my vacation is over.”
“You will not return to work until my neurologist clears you.” Royce’s voice softened. “Your job is not in jeopardy, Hannah. It will be waiting for you no matter how long it takes for you to get better.” He stepped closer. His fingers closed around hers. “You know I care about you.”
The way he touched her hand set off warning bells. If her head didn’t feel like it was stuffed with dynamite, she would have been shocked by his admission.
“You’re my boss. Our relationship is entirely professional.” Hannah slid her hand away. Her reputation would be shredded if anyone heard Royce’s comment. She would not be that woman who slept her way to success. She’d advanced her career through hard work. Even without professional restrictions, he wasn’t her type. Though good-looking, Royce was too polished. The man used more hair products than she did.
A knock sounded on the door frame, and a man in a suit walked in. A badge on his belt identified him as part of the Las Vegas Metropolitan PD. A folder was tucked under his arm. Hannah had given a statement to another policeman hours earlier in the parking lot of Carnival.
“Ms. Barrett.” He narrowed critical eyes at her. “I’m Detective Douglas. Are you up to answering more questions?”
Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls) Page 3