by Jami Alden
“Maxwell’s still at the fund-raiser,” Petersen said, “but they just started serving dessert, so it’s probably going to wrap up pretty soon.”
Krista looked at the clock. It was nine o’clock on Tuesday night. They’d spent hours strategizing and, not knowing when exactly the delivery would happen, had been monitoring Maxwell and Karev’s movements since midnight the night before.
Now everyone was tired and jumpy from too much caffeine and amped up to finally get this thing over with.
With only three hours left in the day, it had to be soon.
“All right, then, call us back with an update—” Cole started to say but Jorgensen cut him off.
“Wait—Karev’s on the move. He’s heading to his vehicle with three of his men.”
“Maxwell too,” Petersen said. “He’s leaving the event. He’s with his wife and stepson. Looks like they’re arguing. She’s pissed. Okay, stepson is dragging her to a separate vehicle. Valet just pulled up in a Mercedes and Maxwell’s getting in. He has three guys with him as well.”
“Seven against eight,” Brooks said quietly. “I’m liking these odds.”
“Let’s load up,” Cole said. “Petersen, Jorgensen, you have everything you need?”
“Yep,” Jorgensen said. “We have our full gear, including vests.”
“That reminds me,” Cole said, catching Krista’s eye. “I dug up an extra one that should fit you.”
“Good,” Sean said, and Krista told herself not to make anything of the unmistakable relief in his voice.
So he was happy she’d have a Kevlar vest that fit instead of one of Ibarra’s oversize flak jackets that would weigh her down and become a liability if there was any running to do. That didn’t mean he regretted a single thing he’d said.
It didn’t change the fact that as soon as this was over and Maxwell and Karev were behind bars, Sean was going to walk away from her and never look back.
Metallic clinks and clicks filled the air as everyone geared up. Between Ibarra, Brooks, and Cole, along with the weapons Sean had poached from their would-be assassins, they’d amassed quite an armory.
The others gathered up at least one handgun apiece as well as the larger assault rifles along with round upon round of ammunition.
She accepted the pistol Cole offered, along with the belt and several extra magazines. It felt heavy and foreign as she checked the clip. Even though the safety was on, she handled it gingerly as she slipped it into the holster.
“We need to get moving. We’ve got a fifteen-minute advantage on them if they head straight to the shipping lot and we need the time to get in position,” Sean said as he slipped another clip of ammo onto his belt.
The others nodded and headed to the door. Krista trailed behind, struggling to hook a Taser onto her belt.
“Let me.”
Krista looked up, startled as his big hands covered hers.
“You need to clip it like this.” He hooked the Taser in one of the loops. “Now make sure you can get it off and back on quickly, and get your thumb on the trigger as you pull it off. And don’t zap me,” he said almost as an afterthought.
It was the first time he’d spoken directly to her in nearly two days, and now he was so close that the heat of his breath, the scent of his skin made her a little dizzy.
“And I saw you having a little trouble with the Glock.” He reached for the gun and she tried not to flinch as his hand brushed her waist. She closed her eyes and tried to get a grip. She was holding herself together with dental floss and Scotch Tape at this point, and she was afraid the slightest touch would blow her into a million pieces.
He slipped it in and out and wiggled it around in the leather holster and then slid it in and out a couple times to make sure it came out more easily. “Keep it unsnapped,” he said, flicking his thumb over the little strap at the top. “Now practice reaching for it.”
“Sean, we need to go. You said yourself—”
“And I need to know that if anything happens, you’ll be able to keep your head and get your gun out,” he said harshly. “It’s going to be even more awkward once you have your vest on.”
She jerked the gun out, took up her stance, and slid it back in, more smoothly this time.
He rubbed his hand over his face, obviously unimpressed with her technique. “You don’t have to go tonight. You can stay back here—”
She drew up, insulted. “I know I’m not exactly Dirty Harry, but I can handle a gun and you need me as another set of eyes on the scene if nothing else. I know you think I’m selfish and ego-driven, but I’m not so selfish I’m going to hide back here and leave you short a woman.”
“Damn it, it’s not about you being selfish. It’s about you being safe!” he shouted. He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “If anything happens to you—” He broke off and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, she saw fear in their green depths. For her. And along with the fear, something dark and stormy that looked a hell of a lot like regret.
“Look, if anything happens and this starts to go south, I want you to run like hell and find a place to hide, okay?”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t argue. Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe. This plan is dicey as it is and I can’t waste any energy worrying about you getting into more trouble.”
“Fine,” Krista snapped. “I promise.”
“Good,” he said, his eyes hinting at a smile. “Because once we do this, we’re going to need you around to make sure these assholes get what they deserve.”
They loaded into Cole’s unmarked car. Jack’s shoulders spanned nearly the width of the front passenger seat, while Krista found herself in the back sandwiched between Sean and Ibarra. On the drive over, she was distracted from obsessing over Sean as he, Ibarra, and Brooks traded stories of their most insanely far-fetched operations. It was comforting to hear that tonight’s bust was a relative cakewalk to, say, a team of six guys sent in to secure a weapons cache that was protected by fifty armed guards.
Yet even if they succeeded tonight, the aftermath was bound to get messy. It would take a lot of legal maneuvering to keep Maxwell and his cohorts in custody and brought up on charges, much less getting them to trial.
For her, surviving the attempts on her life was only the beginning. The real work hadn’t even started.
They parked in an alley about a quarter of a mile from Maxwell’s trucking lot and the nearby warehouse. Sean double-checked his weapons and communication unit. He, Ibarra, and Brooks slipped into the flak jackets Ibarra just happened to have lying around while Cole and Krista strapped on their Kevlar vests.
As quickly and quietly as possible, they took up their positions. Sean slid into the shadows between two big-rig engines. Ibarra and Brooks flanked either side of the warehouse.
Though, like the rest of them, Krista was dressed from head to toe in black, Sean could still make out her outline as she disappeared into the darkness across the way. Cole was with her to watch her six, and he tried to take comfort in that. He reassured himself that Cole was a damn good cop and more than capable of keeping Krista out of trouble.
His impulse when they’d formed the plan was to keep her with him, but rationally he knew he’d be too distracted by her, and as in any mission, to be successful he had to keep his head fully in the game.
So when Cole had automatically put him and Krista together, Sean had interrupted and asked for Krista to be paired with Cole.
The flash of pain on her face, on top of everything else he’d already put there, almost brought him to his knees. But there in the middle of Ibarra’s living room with all the guys as they worked out the details of the bust was not the time to try to explain how fucked up he was, how little control he had over these eruptions of rage that seemed to come out of nowhere. Bubbling up, spewing like lava and destroying everything in its path before he even realized what he was doing, the damage he was inflicting.
T
here was no excuse, no explanation he could offer that would undo the hurt he’d caused. The hurt he would continue to cause, intentionally or not, the longer he stayed around her.
No matter how he felt when they were alone together, shut away from the rest of the world, Sean couldn’t escape the fact that he wasn’t normal. It didn’t matter that he forgave Krista for her part in his conviction, and it didn’t matter how hard he’d fallen for her, prison had rewired him. There was no telling when he would snap, when he would lose his shit, potentially putting them both in danger.
So he’d sat there, quiet, with the guilt over the way he’d lashed out eating through him like acid, and he let her think it was because he didn’t want to be near her.
Jesus, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Right now he was the farthest he’d been from her in four days and it was like his body was going through withdrawals. Tense, anxious, and resentful that he couldn’t reassure himself with a quick look, a touch, that she was safe, if only for that moment.
And if you want to make sure she’s safe for good, you need to get your fucking head together and focus on nailing these assholes.
He settled back, willing himself to calm down, forcing away the uneasiness gripping his spine from not having Krista right here where he could see her. He needed to get into the zone, that place of supreme focus that allowed you to sit motionless in a steamy jungle for days while the bugs chewed off your face.
Tonight, the wait would be short, easy. Within minutes they should get confirmation from Jorgensen and Petersen that Maxwell and Karev were headed this way.
“Karev just turned down Marginal,” Jorgensen said. The voice popped through his earpiece before he’d finished the thought.
“Maxwell’s about a half mile behind,” said Petersen.
“Cameras are up and the feed is live,” said Ibarra.
“Let’s get this party started,” Sean said.
“Hooah,” Ibarra and Brooks said on cue.
Sean grinned into the darkness. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything close to the brotherhood he’d felt in the army. Nice to know he could still get a glimmer of it even after being screwed over by Nate and Jimmy.
He willed his pulse to keep steady as a black Mercedes pulled into the lot and came to a stop several yards from the front of the warehouse. The driver got out, his hulking figure draped in an overcoat, and opened the back door.
Sean recognized Karev’s tall, rawboned frame as he emerged, along with three others.
“Confirming visual on Karev,” Ibarra said.
Sean watched as the driver popped the trunk. He heard them muttering but couldn’t quite make it out as the bearlike driver extracted several large guns from the car.
“Good thing we have the vests. We’re going to need them when the Kalashnikovs start spraying.”
“If all else fails, we can get them on weapons charges,” Krista said.
Sean hoped to hell Karev hadn’t invested in armor-piercing ammo, which would rip through Krista’s Kevlar vest like it was made of tissue paper.
No need to go there, he reminded himself, especially if she stayed good on her word to get her ass out of there if things got ugly.
Which, as he took in Karev and his thugs, he was pretty sure they would. Somehow when Cole and the other detectives flashed their badges, Sean didn’t see Karev and his goons meekly laying down their guns like good little gangsters.
But they were solid cops and he, Ibarra, and Brooks were used to facing worse odds than this. They might get a little dinged up, but they were going to be fine.
“Second car’s coming in,” Cole said over the comm.
Another dark Mercedes. It had to be Maxwell’s. Within a minute the Mercedes parked and Maxwell emerged, along with his own thug league. All three carried what looked like mini Uzis and Sean was willing to lay odds they had more toys tucked under their coats.
“Hey, Krista, it’s our friend from the mountains,” Sean said quietly. Karev and Maxwell were speaking. Sean inched forward a few feet to hear.
“I am glad you are here,” Karev said.
“I told you I would be,” Maxwell’s voice was tight with irritation. “I don’t go back on my word.”
“Is good,” Karev said. “Has been a very successful partnership. Would hate to have to end it by cutting out your liver and serving it as an appetizer to my customers.”
“Remind me not to eat at Café Kiev until it’s under new ownership,” muttered Jorgensen, who along with Petersen had ditched his car and was on the approach.
“Don’t try to intimidate me, Karev. The only reason you’re still in business is because of me and we both know it. The feds and the local cops were breathing down your neck before I came into the picture.”
“You smooth a few wrinkles, da.” Sean couldn’t see Karev’s face but he could hear the disdain dripping from the Russian’s voice. “But I think you overestimate your importance.”
“You think whatever you want, but after tonight, we need to close up until we take care of our mutual problem.” He widened his stance and straightened up like he was bracing for a fight.
“Ya soglasen. I agree. I see reason. I understand if you are exposed, you are no use to me.”
“He’s threatening him, isn’t he?” Krista said, the sound of her voice sending an electric current through him.
“Definitely some bad blood brewing,” Sean said, and then went quiet at the sound of a truck approaching.
He shrank back from the glow of headlights as what looked like a ten-foot truck emblazoned with the Maxwell Trucking logo turned into the lot. The driver parked next to Maxwell’s Mercedes, obscuring Sean’s view of the group.
The driver climbed out and went around the side of the truck. “Brooks, Ibarra, what’s going on?” From their vantages they should be able to see what was happening.
“Maxwell and Grayson are talking to the driver. They’re headed to the back of the truck,” Ibarra said.
Sean heard the sound of metal clanking as the door slid open.
“Karev’s coming over to take a look,” Brooks said. “Grayson just handed the driver an envelope.”
Payment for getting whatever was in the truck to the delivery point without incident. “Can you see what’s inside?” Krista asked.
“Hold on, let me…Oh fuck,” Brooks breathed. “It’s girls.”
“How many?” Cole asked.
“Light’s bad and I can’t make it out.”
“We need to rethink our original plan,” Cole said. “We’re dealing with a potential hostage situation.”
Petersen’s voice came over the wire. “They’re planning to use the warehouse to hold the girls. We wait till the girls are securely inside and—” Her voice suddenly broke off, replaced by a high-pitched squeal that threatened to pierce his eardrum.
He popped the earpiece out, but his relief was short lived when he realized the sound wasn’t just coming through the earpiece.
“What the fuck is that?” Sean heard someone—Maxwell maybe—from the other side of the truck.
“We’re going in!” Cole said.
“Krista, you stay put!” Sean palmed his Glock and took off at a dead sprint, as did the other men and Petersen. He saw Cole out of the corner of his eye and was relieved to see that Krista had kept good on her word to stay out of the line of fire.
The Russians were screaming profanity, and then Karev shouted in English, “You fuck me over!”
Cole shouted, “Stop, police!” just as the first shots sounded.
And all hell broke loose.
Chapter 20
Karev is down,” Brooks shouted into his mic. As Sean raced to the truck, he saw a small figure make a wild dash across the lot and into the dark maze of cargo trailers and truck engines. One of Maxwell’s thugs gave immediate pursuit, spraying AK-47 rounds as he ran.
Sean ducked and rolled to avoid getting hit. He squeezed off a few rounds of his Glock, but couldn’t get a clean s
hot.
It was a total clusterfuck. Karev was not just down but dead from the bullet one of Maxwell’s heavies put in his head. Grayson was on his side, alive but bleeding as he gasped for air while both Karev’s and Maxwell’s men fired wildly at anything that moved.
The driver was huddled next to the wheel well, hands in the air. Clearly just a stooge who wanted no part of it.
“Where’s Maxwell?” Sean asked.
“Scurried off like a rat,” said Ibarra. “I’m on him.”
“This is the Seattle PD,” Petersen shouted from behind a truck. “Put down your weapons.”
“Fuck you,” Maxwell’s bearded goon, the one who had tried to take out Sean and Krista, shouted as he turned to open fire in Petersen’s direction. Brooks leaned around the edge of the building and took him out with a shot to the chest. Blood bloomed on his shirtfront as he fell to the ground.
No vests. At least they had that advantage over them.
Another shot rang out from the shadows.
“Fuck,” he heard Jorgensen wheeze. “I’m hit. It went right through my vest.”
Armor-piercing ammo. There went that advantage.
“Put your fucking gun down, Maroney,” Grayson gasped at one of his security force. “Are you crazy, shooting at goddamn cops?”
Karev’s driver wheeled around and finished Carl Grayson off with a close shot to the chest. He saw Cole come around the other side of the truck and caught one of Maxwell’s guys in the chest. The guy dropped his gun as he went down clutching at the bloody wound.
Cole went to kick the gun and Karev’s driver turned to take aim and then screamed when Sean’s shot went straight through his elbow, while Cole’s caught him in the abdomen.
“Drop your weapons,” Cole repeated to the three left standing—two of Maxwell’s and one of Karev’s men realized they were outgunned and decided not to push it. They dropped their guns.
“Face down on the ground,” Cole said.
The driver was already there, babbling into the dirt about how he was just the delivery guy. “You didn’t know you were delivering a truckful of underage girls?” Petersen asked.