Hard to Stop

by Wendy Byrne

  He pulled his car about a block away from her house and held the binoculars up to his eyes. After a couple of hours, he felt like a cop on a stakeout that wouldn't end. Maybe he'd read her exit wrong. It might be just about the need for personal space now that she'd done her duty and kept vigil over him during the night. He was pretty sure she'd checked on him a couple of times.

  For right now, the house seemed quiet. Letting himself become complacent probably wasn't a good thing, but he leaned his head back against the headrest and relaxed. He was so sure something was up that he'd followed right behind her rather than keeping an eye on her through his tracker. Served him right that he was now tired and uncomfortable but still unwilling or unable to get out of his car to stretch his legs.

  Just when he was ready to leave and keep an eye on her from afar, the door opened, and she bounded down the steps. Dressed in workout gear and gym shoes, she jogged along the sidewalk in the opposite direction of where he'd been watching.

  He followed slowly behind her in the car as she stopped outside a place called Domenic's Gym but didn't go inside. Instead, she pulled her phone from inside the waistband of her gym pants and made a call. Then waited.

  A few seconds later, the door to the gym opened, and a guy who looked like he'd used a few steroids in his lifetime, and maybe had been on the wrong end of more than a few punches, greeted her with a hug. She handed him cash.

  Just as Max thought, she was holding out on him. Not that it surprised him. She was a cop. And to her, he was the enemy trying to hang her brother out to dry. Which he was. Whether the kid pulled the trigger or not, he knew who did—or at least had an idea.

  Max kept an eye on her as she jotted something down on her phone. Seconds later, she smiled broadly and brought steroid guy in for another hug.

  She had information. Based on the smile on her face, that had to mean she had a lead on Mick's location. Since she didn't immediately speed dial him as she jogged back toward her house and got into her car, he had to assume she wasn't sharing.

  Good thing he had the tracker. That meant he could keep some distance. Even when she went fast. "Owwwww. Shit. Shit. Shit." His arm throbbed every time he downshifted. She wove in and out of traffic like she knew he was following her. Then again, driving a Jaguar didn't lend itself to covert operations. Pretending like she'd lost him might be the way to handle this. He pulled over to the curb and shut off the car. Waiting about five or ten minutes should give her enough sense of comfort to assume she'd outsmarted him. He sat outside what looked like a warehouse and tried to think of a plan that didn't involve her catching on to him again.

  Before he could think too long or too hard but about what to do, the driver's-side door opened, followed by the passenger door. Both people were holding guns. He was so screwed.

  "And what can I do for you, gentlemen?" He figured the chances of getting out of this were less than zero. He wasn't at 100 percent, but maybe he could take one of them out, grab one guy's gun, and shoot the other one, but his arm might be a major stumbling block.

  "We've got something we want you to see."

  "Can I take a pass on that?" He raised his eyebrows as one of the two muscled him out of the car. "I've had a bad couple of days."

  "So we heard. But I guarantee, your day is about to get worse before it gets any better." The guy patted Max's bandaged arm with enough force that his eyes watered.

  He'd been in more difficult situations and had come out unscathed, or at least alive. But this was different. He could sense it in the way the guys moved. Hell, he'd seen this coming for the last couple of days. Yesterday was a prelude. The difference was, he kept letting his guard down. That was the problem. He should have known this would happen.

  "You know I have money."

  "And somebody's offering more. Now get inside." The guy motioned with his gun toward a warehouse near the river but still in the middle of nowhere.

  Max spotted construction equipment housed inside, most of it looking like it was in need of repair. Wood pallets were stacked high with something that more than likely would have helped, but his arm felt like it was on fire. He didn't think he could have enough strength in it to work his way out of this. No doubt about it, this was going to go badly.

  Maybe Gianna would come looking for him. It was a remote possibility, but she had to have seen she'd lost him. Maybe she wanted to lose him. Maybe she didn't. His car would stand out like a sore thumb in this area. She should be able to spot it if she were looking. But that was the million-dollar question. The chances that she would be looking for him were probably lower than his chances of survival.

  Ah, shit.

  "You don't seem to want to die, Mr. Shaw."

  "Not too many people do, so I don't think I'm alone in that. How about you? Do either of you want to die?"

  They both started to laugh. Yep, that wouldn't happen. They were confident. Him—not so much. "Have a seat, Mr. Shaw. This is about to get real."

  He glanced around and tried to figure what their move would be. At least when he did a kill, he didn't get his hands dirty. And didn't like to make things messy. Didn't torture people, or prolong their agony. In and out and done was his motto. The way they whispered together and laughed, he suspected they were thinking of new and painful ways to take him out. Making a run for it would probably ensure they'd shoot him. That seemed preferable to whatever they were concocting in their heads.

  But something inside him wouldn't allow him to take the easy way out. He examined the boxes to see if they had any writing that would help him decipher what was inside. From what he could tell, it looked like machine parts, which more than likely wouldn't work for a weapon.

  The back doors opened, and he heard the beep of a truck backing up. A small cement truck maneuvered inside, the barrel turning and mixing, the chute ready to spill its contents.

  Oh hell no.

  "Over there, Shaw. Get inside that box." The guy waved his gun and pointed to a square box about three feet high.

  "Wow, you guys are going all Mafia on me, huh? What is that saying about concrete overshoes? How clichéd."

  "Convenient, though, with the river right behind us. They'll never find your body."

  "Did you run this by the boss?"

  The two men glanced at each other. "We don't need to. We know what the hell we're doing."

  "If there's a price on my head, they'll probably need some proof you did the deed. If you throw me in the river, that won't work so well for your payoff, will it?"

  "Better make the call, Lou," one of the guys said to the other.

  Stalling was Max's objective. He had no other plan besides that as the box he stood in began to fill with cement. As it got deeper, his legs started to get numb. He continued to move them, fighting against the sludgy mess, hoping that would buy him some time. One guy went into the truck, while the other walked outside, unable to get good cell reception inside the warehouse.

  This was Max's chance. He grasped the side of the box and yanked with his less-than-perfect strength.

  * * *

  Gia didn't get why she'd stopped. Maybe because he had a point about the two of them working together. Getting this done might take more than she could do alone. Enlisting Max made the most sense, since he operated above the law. She had a feeling getting Mick back was going to be more complicated than tracking him down at Troy's.

  She didn't know where this pact with the devil she'd started was going to end up, but figured if she shared less than he did, she'd be ahead of the game in terms of Max Shaw. He knew something. She wasn't sure what, but for the time being, they needed each other.

  He seemed like the stubborn type, so she suspected he might be wandering around Brooklyn still looking for her. She retraced her steps, circling the area where she'd last seen him. He wasn't familiar with the area, so she couldn't guess where he might have gone.

  She took a methodical approach and then spread out her search. The sooner she found him, the sooner she could get
to her brother.

  It shouldn't be a problem spotting his car, but darkness had set in. He'd been driving a Jaguar, which was a rarity in her neighborhood. Other areas in Brooklyn had yuppified, and there were plenty of Lexuses, Mercedes, BMWs, and the occasional Jaguar, but not in her neighborhood.

  She drove through the warehouse district as she wove her way toward the freeway. Yep, she'd good and lost him. Wait a minute. She screeched to a halt beside a black Jaguar and shook her head. Couldn't be.

  Still, it would be unusual to have that kind of car around this area. She glanced inside. It was vacant, but the keys dangled from the ignition. For all she knew, there could be a chop shop operating out of one of these buildings. But…just in case…she needed a closer look.

  She parked, got out, and peered into the windows with her penlight. Clean, except for some dark-red stains on the beige leather of the driver's seat. Blood. It had to be Max's. He wouldn't have left his car unless forced. Her heart raced as her body did an involuntary shiver.

  There were about six buildings on the street. All were dark. All were quiet. Except…she held her breath and listened…it sounded like the beep, beep, beep of a forklift backing up.

  She started to run. Whatever was going on, it couldn't be good.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Despite the fact it hurt like hell, he leveraged his weight onto his arms and dragged his cement-covered legs out the box. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his arm, while his legs felt like a hundred pounds each. Giant clumps of cement encased him as he plodded along, walking with a Frankenstein gait. Bits and pieces fell off along the way, leaving a trail even a blind man could find.

  Nothing he could do about that. If he could make it to the river, he'd be able to get rid of most of it. And might be able to avoid detection as long as he didn't freeze his balls off in the cold water.

  In the background he heard shouting and shots being fired as he plunged into the water. Holy shit. It felt like instant icicles had formed on his limbs. The numbness went from bad to intolerable. At least the container had only been partially filled.

  He fought to keep his head above water with the concrete weighing him down. He swiped his legs to get rid of some of the excess, without much success. Every few seconds his head went under, and he sucked in a toxic dose of river water. Coughing and sputtering back to the surface, he slowly made his way toward the pillars holding up the dock. It would be the first place they'd look, but he needed to get rid of his pants.

  Between his frozen fingers, and nearly drowning a couple of times, it took forever to unbutton and unzip his pants and kick them free of his body. Good news—he was free of the weight. Bad news—the temperature on his legs dropped considerably. His legs felt numb, but somehow he managed to scissor-kick away from the dock.

  More gunshots and shouting prompted his leaden legs and arms to move faster. If he could get far enough away, he had a fighting chance. He could circle back and get to his car. Provided he didn't die of hypothermia first.

  "Max, where are you?"

  Was he hallucinating? It sounded like Gianna. Yep, had to be. He'd heard delirium set in right before hypothermia.

  "Max, it's Gianna. They left." She shined her flashlight into the water near the dock, then made a wide arch, searching back and forth.

  He splashed as he made his way toward shore. Hallucination or not, he was getting out of the water. "Over here." He could only shout and hope for the best.

  She ran along the shore toward the sound of his splashing and grabbed a broken branch and put it in the water. "Grab this. You've got to be frozen."

  It took every ounce of strength he had left to pull his weight out of the water. To be honest, he wasn't all that sure if she weren't there he would have made it out at all. While he wanted to believe he had the strength, his body told him the truth.

  "I've got a thermal blanket in my car." She grabbed his hand, and he followed as quickly as his frozen legs would respond. "We need to prevent hypothermia."

  His teeth wouldn't stop chattering, even while his body shook. "Dr…dri…drive my…c…car. Heated…seats." Between his bruised vocal cords and the cold, it felt like it took him ten minutes to get the words out of his mouth. But she understood and steered him that way.

  "They keys are in the ignition."

  "Left…th…them." He spotted his car up ahead and had never been so happy to see anything in his life.

  "You okay? I want to run ahead and start it up."

  When he motioned with his hand, she took off. First she stopped at his car to start it up, then ran to hers to get the blanket. By the time she'd returned, he had just made it to his car. She had the passenger-side seat heater on high.

  "I'd tell you to take off your boxers, but I have a feeling you'd object. Let's settle for your suit jacket and call it done." Without another word, she helped him out of the jacket and threw it to the ground.

  He didn't object. Despite the thousand-plus dollars he'd spent on it, the thing was ruined beyond repair. Maybe some homeless person would be able to make use of it.

  The feeling of bliss overtook him as he gingerly moved inside and plopped into the seat. His backside tingled in appreciation. She covered him with the blanket and ran around to the driver's side.

  "I haven't driven a stick shift in a while, but I think I'm good."

  "Right now…I…I…just…want to get…out of here." The shivering seemed to be abating, even though he wouldn't use the word warm to describe how he felt. That might be a while in coming.

  She squealed away from the curb. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat, letting the heat from the vents, which she'd positioned toward him, warm his blood to a tolerable level. Warmth had never felt this sweet before.

  She glanced in his direction. "Are you doing okay? Don't go to sleep. That's bad. We'll take you to a hospital if that happens."

  He had no ability to stop the twitching of his body. "I'll be good." Those were the first words he'd uttered without the accompanying stutter. Progress.

  "You can't go into the Four Seasons looking like that."

  "My house. Provided you have some firepower. Just in case that's where they're headed."

  She sighed and glanced at him. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I'm going to stop and get you some hot tea to warm up your insides. We can get you some clothes. Maybe get you into your fancy steam shower and be gone within an hour."

  "Sounds good." Despite her words of caution, Max laid his head back and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Gia worried her lip. Damn. Despite her warnings, he'd fallen asleep. The tea she'd gotten from the drive-through was still poised in his hand on the armrest.

  As a police officer, she'd been trained in all kinds of emergencies, including hypothermia, so knew he shouldn't be sleeping. She cast a glance in his direction and worried some more. She didn't want him to die on her. And she kind of liked the guy, even if he was a PIA. Dying would be bad. Especially since what happened was her fault.

  When she pulled in front of his townhome, he stirred and opened his eyes. He slid a look her way. "Hope the nosy neighbors aren't watching. They have enough gossip for weeks with me in my underwear and a tall, dark, beautiful woman at my side."

  She smiled. Maybe he was coming out of it. She walked around to his side of the car and helped him out. He was still pretty shaky and definitely needed her support to get to the front door. She could only hope the bad guys didn't do a drive-by right now, because they'd both be goners.

  Once they got to the safety of his front door, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Which key?" He had about five on his ring, and as long as he was coherent, she wasn't about to do the hunt-and-peck method for finding the right one.

  "I'll get it." He slipped the key in the lock and leaned against the frame and allowed her to go first. "Gotta shut off the alarm."

  "Sounds good." She gave him his space as he entered the code. They walked together toward the kitchen with her hol
ding on to his elbow, even though he seemed to be getting stronger by the second.

  "Going upstairs. Shower."

  "Do you need any help?"

  He chuckled and glanced her way. "You wish." He smirked as he walked stiff-legged up the stairs.

  At least he was back to his normal sarcasm. "Are you sure you're up for this? I mean, with your arm and stuff."

  "I'm fine. The arm's good. After a shower, I'll be good as new. Despite what you think about me, I'm not too macho to let you drive if it comes down to that. But it won't. I'm made of pretty stern stuff. Believe me. I might need help rebandaging my arm, since it's full of toxic river water. Make yourself at home. I pretty much have anything you might imagine in the fridge."

  "Nice legs, by the way," she quipped.

  "Glad you noticed." Without another word, he went upstairs, while the cop, combined with the woman in her, couldn't help but be curious about what kind of stuff he might have hanging around his house. She opened the giant Sub-Zero fridge that should be obscene for a single person to possess and found it stocked with a variety of waters and cheeses of every kind—from the relatively mundane imported Swiss to some exotic stuff imported from France. That was too big a temptation for her to overlook, so she sliced a chunk of it and found some crackers in the massive pantry. Geez, this guy knew how to live. She grabbed a bottle of IZZE soda and sat at the counter on a barstool that was so comfortable she could fall asleep on it.

  The water in the shower had been on for at least twenty minutes now. She'd give him five more, then she'd go check on him.

  She was about to fortify herself with more cheese and crackers and make her way upstairs, when he eased down. "Look at you, Mr. Fancy Pants. I didn't know you had anything resembling everyday-Joe pants or a hoodie. Slumming it today, huh?" She whistled because she knew it would annoy him. "Although those khaki pants and Burberry hoodie probably cost more than my mortgage payment each month."