The black sedan was like so many others Angelo had rented in cities where he’d done business before: Chicago, San Francisco, New York, Atlanta and now Baltimore.
As soon as she saw the car, she started to slip. Bleeding through this side of the world. No. Not yet, she scolded herself. Don’t fuck this up.
She’d only have one good shot. One chance to catch him off guard.
Tonight she would finish what her father started so many years ago.
Someone opened the back door, and Angelo stepped out. He adjusted the lapels of his leather jacket. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Again. Because the sight of him was enough to make her heart hammer.
Angelo called out to someone in Italian, then pointed a finger at the boat. “Ho due cagne in calore che mi aspettano ed un grammo di neve con il mio nome sopra.”
Louie only understood a little Italian and caught the words two whores and waiting. Enough to get the gist of his crude tone and thrusting hips, and comprehend why the men leered. One whistled through his teeth.
Angelo cupped his hands around a fresh Dunhill. A flame sparked, illuminating his face before he led his entourage to the pier where the boat sat tied at the dock. The boat rocked in the waves, straining against its rope. It looked like a tied horse ready to run.
As soon as Angelo placed one foot on the boat, dipping his head to enter the cabin, Lou let go.
She bled through. One moment she lay on top of the shipping container, the next, she stood in the shadows beneath the cabin’s stairs. Her eyes leveled with Angelo’s heels. It was even hotter in here despite a table fan on a desk whirling.
Angelo Martinelli descended the stairs with a man in front and one behind him. Lou smelled the leather of his boots and the smoke from his cigarette. I can grab him now, she thought. Reach between the steps and seize his ankle like in a horror movie.
Someone turned on the overhead light, and the interior of the boat burned yellow in the glow of the 40-watt bulb. Lou shoved her back into the corner, without thinking. An honest reaction to the sudden influx of light.
But her shoulder blades connected with solid wall.
Heads snapped up at the sound of Lou searching for a doorway that had been there just a moment before, but was now gone.
She had only a second to decide.
She drew her gun in one fluid and practiced movement and shot at the overhead light. The 40-watt bulb burst, exploding into in a shower of sparks. It was enough to throw them back into darkness and provide Lou with her exit. She slipped behind the stairs, then emerged from a narrow pathway between two shipping containers. Gunfire erupted inside the boat behind her. The boat strained against its rope again and the wooden docks creaked.
More men came running, guns drawn.
She cursed and slammed her fist into the shipping container. So much for the surprise.
The chance to grab Martinelli and slip away undetected was gone. As her man emerged from the boat, gun at the ready, the weight of her mistake intensified.
He was spooked.
He inhaled sharp breaths of salty air as he hurried toward his car in short, quick strides. Fifty steps. Thirty-five. Twenty and he’ll be gone.
It was now or never.
Fifteen steps.
Ten.
The thick tint of Angelo’s car might work to her advantage, but her timing had to be perfect. Her blood whistled in her ears as she counted his last steps.
3….2…1…
She stepped from the edge of the shipping container into the backseat of Angelo’s car. The leather seat rushed up to greet her, bending her legs into place.
But it was her hands that mattered. And she had plenty of time to position them.
Angelo turned away from her, pulling the car door shut. She pressed her gun to his temple the second the door clicked into place.
The driver began to turn, pulling his weapon up from his lap but he was too slow. Louie lifted a second pistol from her hip and shoved it to the back of his neck, to the smooth nape of his neck. She felt the muscles in his neck tensed under the barrel, shifting the gun metal against her fingers.
“Don’t,” she said. Her eyes were fixed on Angelo. “I have a better idea.”
“You were not in the car when I opened the door,” Angelo said. His tobacco breath stung her nose. “I’m certain of this.”
“Imagine how quick I am with a gun.” It was a bold bluff given her predicament. His men were abandoning the boat. Some were moving the heroin. Others were lumbering toward other vehicles. If even one of them got into this car, she was screwed.
She could produce a third gun, sure. But not a third hand to hold it.
“You were also on the boat.” Angelo’s eyes shined in the dark, reflecting light like the black sea in front of them. “Or one like you.”
“That would put me in two places at once,” she said. She arched an eyebrow. “That’s impossible.”
The driver remained very still, his hands at the ten and two positions on the wheel. Lou didn’t recognize him, but she doubted that she’d ever forget the thick stench of Old Spice turned sour with sweat. It made her head swim.
If he was new, he was probably uninterested in doing anything that would cost him his life. She’d have to test this theory.
“What do you want?” Angelo asked. He shifted uncomfortably. Lou had found her silence made men nervous. Or maybe it was her gun. Hard to tell. “Money? The drugs?”
“Driver?” she said.
The driver didn’t turn toward her or even make a small sound of acknowledgment.
“Do you see that pier?” she went on, eyes still on Angelo. One of his greased curls fell across his forehead, and one corner of his lip was curled up in a partial sneer. His cheek muscles twitched. “Beside the pier is a space between the guardrails. Do you see that?”
The driver remained mute. His shoulders slid an inch closer to his ears.
Lou saw all this in her perfect peripheral vision, not daring to look away from the man she wanted most.
Angelo Martenelli. Up close he was smaller than she’d imagined.
She smiled at him, the taste of victory on her lips. “I want you to drive through that space and put this car in the bay.”
When the driver didn’t move, she smacked the gun against his occipital bone. “If you don’t do it, then you’re useless to me, and I think you understand what happens to useless people.”
If he refused to drive, she’d shoot them both. It would be messier. Riskier. But if she couldn’t get Martinelli into the water, she wasn’t going to let this opportunity escape.
Yes. If she had to, she’d shoot them both and drive the car into the bay herself.
“Make your choice, Martinelli,” she said. His eyes were ink, shining in the lamplight.
The confused pinch of his brow smoothed out. The curling sneer pulled into a full grin.
“Drive,” he said.
Without hesitation, the driver put the car into motion, and the sedan rolled forward.
“Faster,” Lou said, grinning wider.
“Faster,” Angelo agreed. A small chuckle rumbled in his throat. He slapped the back of the driver’s seat like this were a game. “Faster.”
The driver punched the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. As it blasted past the men on the docks, shouts pinged off the windows. Angelo’s laugh grew more robust.
He’s high as hell, she realized. High as hell without any idea of what’s happening to him.
They hit a bump when flying past the guardrails and onto the pier. The wooden slats clunked under the car’s tires.
Angelo was laughing. Robust and pleasing belly laugh. Lou couldn’t help but smile herself.
She didn’t lower the gun. “You’re crazy.”
This proclamation only made him laugh harder, clutching at his belly. His laugh bled into a wheezing whine.
The thrum of the wooden slats disappeared as the car launched itself off the pier. The sharp stench of fis
h wafted up to greet them as they floated suspended above the ocean. Her stomach dropped as the nose of the car tipped forward and the windshield filled with black Atlantic water.
There was a moment of weightlessness, of being lifted out of her seat and then the car hit the water’s surface. Her aim faltered on impact, but she’d righted herself before either man could.
Cold water rushed in through the windows, trickling first through the corners, filling the car slowly as they slid deeper into the darkness. Cold water seeped through the laces of her boots.
“Now what?” Angelo asked. He seemed genuinely thrilled. As if this were the most exciting experience of his life.
“We wait,” she said.
“She’s going to shoot us and leave our bodies in the water.” The driver’s voice surprised her, higher and more childish than she imagined. No wonder he’d kept his mouth shut.
The driver could open the door and swim away for all she cared. “I don't ca—”
The driver couldn’t wait any reassurance. He whirled, lifting his gun.
Without a thought, she fired two shots into his skull, a quick double tap. His head rocked back as if punched. The brains splattered across the windows like Pollock’s paint thrown onto a canvas.
She was glad she’d decided on the suppressor. Her ears would be bleeding from the noise if she hadn’t. The smell of blood bloomed in the car. Bright and metallic. It was followed by the smell of piss.
Angelo stopped laughing. “Is it my turn now, ragazzina?”
Water gurgled around the windows as the car sank deeper into the dark bay.
“No,” she said, her eyes reflecting the dark water around them. “I have something else for you.”
If you enjoyed this sneak peek and want to know what happens next, consider preordering Shadows in the Water for a special preorder price.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Always so many people to thank…
Thanks to the fans first and foremost. If it wasn’t for your enthusiasm for this series, I would’ve definitely given up by now. Every gushing compliment on social media or via email has given me just enough steam to power on—and I can never thank you enough for that.
Watch me try:
Thank you for reading the book, liking the book, telling me that you like the book, telling your friends you like the book, and showing your enthusiasm for the next one. All of this is more important to me than you know.
A round of applause to my critique group, The Horsemen of the Bookocalypse: Angela Roquet, Monica La Porta, and Katie Pendleton. They’re always the first to approve—or veto. Thank heavens.
Thanks to my ever-eager proofers. For this book we have: Joe Thomas, Misty Neal, Lisa Morris, Rachel Menzies, Charles Colp, Colleen McGuire, Kerri Krauter, Rebecca Shannon, Andrea Cook, Ashley Ferguson, Nick Graham, Michelle Harrison, Claudette Bouchard, and Wendy Nelson.
Eternal gratitude to John K. Addis. This is beautiful cover #6. Not only am I grateful for his immense talent, but also for his patience and generosity.
As always, thanks to my wife, Kim. Thank you for reading my drivel. Thank you for liking it. And most of all, thank you for wiping my tears when I don’t feel good enough. Someday I’ll learn how to have faith in my talent and I’ll stop being so needy.
Probably.
Maybe.
Until then I’ll just be really, really grateful I have you.
About the Author
Kory M. Shrum lives in Michigan with her wife Kim and their ferocious guard pug Josephine. She is very fond of naps and foods made of sugar, which is, as you can imagine, a deadly combination. But she tries to compensate for her extreme physical laziness with her overactive imagination.
She’s an active member of SFWA, HWA, and the Four Horsemen of the Bookocalypse, where she’s known as Conquest. She’s the author of Dying for a Living fantasy series and the Shadows in the Water crime thriller series.
If you like free stuff, be sure to sign up for Kory’s mailing list, and be the first to hear about giveaways and updates on her work. You can also follow her on Bookbub for new release alerts.
And please leave a very, very appreciated review for this book on the retail site. Your voice matters to the author and other readers like you.
Also by Kory M. Shrum
Dying for a Living Series: The Jesse Sullivan Novels
Dying for a Living
Dying by the Hour
Dying for Her: A Companion Novel
Dying Light
Worth Dying For
Dying Breath
Shadows in the Water: The Louie Thorne Novels
Shadows in the Water
Other work
Badass and the Beast: Ten “Tails” of Kickass Heroines and the Beasts who love them (with Angela Roquet)
Dying Breath Page 24