Final Day
A Wired & Dangerous Novella
Megan Erickson
New York Boston
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Megan Erickson
Excerpt from Darkest Night copyright © 2018 by Megan Erickson
Cover design by Elizabeth Stokes. Cover photography by Topic Images Inc. Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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ISBN: 978-1-5387-4386-7
E3-20180911-DANF
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
An Excerpt from DARKEST NIGHT
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To the geeks who find their soul mates.
Chapter One
Erick
This wasn’t one of his better ideas. To be fair, Erick Lee never had brilliant ideas—he usually left the planning to his best friend, Roarke—but this one was colossally bad.
As he hung from the fourth floor fire escape in DC’s Washington Highlands neighborhood by the tips of his fingers, feet dangling, he knew now was not really the time to rethink life decisions. Now was the time to figure out how not to plummet to his death and splatter his brains all over the alley below. His arms were on fire, and if he didn’t figure out a plan soon, his sweaty fingers were going to give out.
He couldn’t pull himself up onto the fire escape because just inside the glass door of the apartment were several men who would think nothing of firing a bullet between his eyes.
Voices drifted through a cracked window. Erick didn’t need to listen, since he’d bugged the place right before the men returned. Which was why Erick had to leave in a damn hurry and why he was currently hanging from said fire escape by his fingernails. Fuck.
“He left town,” said a deep voice, which Erick recognized as Frankie Haro, brother of a Mark Haro, who was now deceased. Frankie was talking about Tarr, the hit man who had killed his brother. Frankie was out for revenge.
“He didn’t. He wants us to think he did but he’s sticking around for some reason. As soon as I find that reason, I find Tarr.”
Erick wanted to find Tarr too. That was the reason for the bug and for this death-defying feat on a fire escape. He didn’t know much about Tarr, or even his actual name; he just knew that Tarr saved his life. Was Erick happy about that? No, he was not. He didn’t want to be indebted to a fucking hit man.
Erick looked down at the fire escape platform below him. If he could swing his legs, maybe he could land on the platform rather than four floors down on asphalt. He inhaled sharply just as his left hand decided to give out. Erick muffled a shout and flailed, hanging by one fucking hand now, his legs useless. He glanced up at his white knuckles, and he knew, in about five-point-six seconds, his fingers were no longer going to be able to keep his 180-pound frame hanging.
It was now or never. He swayed in an effort to drop his body closer to the building and onto the platform below him. “One,” he whispered. “Two. Three.” He let go. His body dropped. And he didn’t quite make it. At least, not onto his feet. With his knees, he gripped the railing of the platform below so that he hung upside down like a gymnast on the uneven bars. His head smacked into the railing, and he took the pain streaking through his scalp as quietly as he could.
He hung upside for a moment, catching his breath, before he curled his abs with a moan, sat up on the edge of the railing, and hopped onto the platform. He touched the back of his head and grimaced at the smears of blood on his fingers. Wiping his hand on his pants, he turned to jog down the fire escape when he was stopped by the figure of a large man blocking his way.
He blinked. Blinked again. The ball cap, the curling red hair, the green eyes, and stubbled ginger jaw. Yep, here he was, the very man he wanted, and so did the men one floor above—Tarr.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Tarr said on a hoarse whisper. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Erick chewed the inside of his cheek. This was maybe ill-timed. “Would you be surprised if I said I was looking for you?”
Tarr rolled his eyes and grabbed Erick roughly by the shoulder. “Jesus Christ, we need to get out of here.”
Erick brushed him off, rubbing his arm. “Easy on the shoulder, man. I just dangled from a fire escape for a good five minutes.”
“You dangled from a—?” Tarr looked up for a second, like he was praying for patience. Erick got that look a lot from just about everyone who knew him. “You know what, never mind. This place is crawling with guys who want me dead, and you’d be a bonus. We gotta go.”
He motioned for Erick to follow him, but instead of walking down the steps, which seemed like the obvious exit, he made to go back inside the building. Erick held up his arms. “Whoa, uh, and we aren’t going down the stairs…why?”
Tarr looked at him like he was an idiot, and Erick was already tired of the look. “Because, genius.” He pointed toward the alley, and Erick peered over the railing to see no less than five men walking down the alley, guns visible. “Well sheee-it,” Erick whispered, dread licking at his spine just as Tarr grabbed him and shoved him inside the open door.
Tarr shut it behind them quietly and then whirled on Erick. “Are you trying to get killed? I don’t want to have to save your ass a second time.”
They were in an empty apartment that looked like it was being renovated. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Tarr’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding me?” He pointed at the ceiling. “You know those guys up there want to kill me, right? You didn’t think to maybe wait until the heat was off my back to have a fucking coffee date?”
“I knew they’d lead me to you,” Erick said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Tarr threw up his hands. “Swear to God, you have a death wish.”
Erick clenched his teeth. “You have no idea what I wish.”
Erick pulled out his own gun from his shoulder holster. “I’m not an amateur, despite what you think.”
“Uh-huh,” Tarr muttered unconvincingly as he crept toward the front door of the apartment.
Erick followed him. “Wait. So if you know those guys want to kill you, why are you here?”
Tarr didn’t look at him. “How about we discuss that later?” He placed his ear to the door. “Plan is to get to the stairs at the end of the hallway and head down before they block all the exits. So we gotta move. Got it?”
Erick checked his gun. Fully loaded. “Sure, but they’re not trying to kill me. How about I leave and distract them?”
Tarr shook his head. “I know these guys, and that’s a bad idea.”
“Look, I know you think—”
Tarr stepped toward him, right in his space, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I do not have time for your ego right now, do you understand me? I know these men. I know what they’re capable of, and I don’t need another life on my conscience, do you hear me? All I’m asking is you follow my lead so we both get out of this damn building alive.”
Erick wanted to argue. He was good at arguing. Great, even. But this close, looking into Tarr’s serious-as-shit green eyes, he decided for once to just do what he was told. So he nodded and noted that Tarr’s shoulders dropped in relief.
Once again, Tarr put his ear to the door. “I don’t think anyone’s in the hall. We gotta move fast.”
Erick nodded, his palms sweaty as he gripped his gun. Despite his posturing, this was not his forte. Bugging an apartment and listening through headphones behind the safety of a computer? Stripping bank accounts of their funds? All that was easy for Erick because his skill was hacking. The actual fieldwork was fun sometimes, but not when his life was in imminent danger.
Tarr opened the door and, after a sharp inhale, peered into the hallway. He motioned for Erick to follow him, and with quiet footsteps, they walked down the hall at a fast clip. Tarr pressed on the door leading to the stairway, wincing as the metal push bar clicked loudly. Then they were through, and down two flights of concrete stairs when footsteps sounded below—as well as the click of a cocked handgun.
Tarr turned around and motioned for Erick to go back up. Roof, he mouthed. Now!
Erick turned and took the stairs two at a time, worked hard to cushion his footsteps so they were as silent as possible. Tarr was behind him, breathing hard as they passed the floor they were on, then the one above them. As they were rounding the stairs, the door to the apartment hallway opened, and Erick glanced down just long enough to see a hand holding a gun pass through first, followed by a face only a mother could love. And that face was looking right at Tarr.
The man raised his gun, and Erick shouted, “Duck!” Tarr covered his head, and a bullet pinged off the wall over him, sending a shower of broken concrete onto the stairs.
“Fuck!” Tarr raced past him. “Move, move, move!”
Male voices shouted, and Erick took off double-time. He was faster than Tarr, and soon they were rounding the top stairs at the same time and pushing through the roof door, tumbling out onto the roof together in a tangle of limbs. Tarr rose first and slammed the roof door shut.
Erick grabbed a piece of pipe lying among the gravel and handed it to Tarr, who shoved it into the door handle. “Won’t hold ’em long,” Tarr muttered. “We gotta get off this damn roof.”
Erick fucking hated running. He wasn’t bad at it, but he fucking hated it. However, there was something about men chasing him with guns that had him pumping his arms like a madman. He walked over to the edge and looked down. The building next door was close, reachable if they got a running start and jumped. He turned back to Tarr and pointed to the building’s roof. “Can you jump?”
Tarr hadn’t moved. He took off his hat and wiped his sweaty forehead with his arm. He was pale, paler than he’d been. In fact, he looked a bit green. “Sure, I can jump.”
Erick raised his eyebrows. “You sure? You didn’t sound convinced when you said that.”
Tarr looked around. “I thought there’d be another set of stairs.”
The door jolted, with the force of what was probably a couple of men. Shouts sounded from within. “Fuck.” Tarr was pale. “I didn’t think this through.”
“Look, we either jump—” more banging on the door interrupted Erick “—or we wait here and shoot them as they come through the door. Not sure I really want to inflict that much carnage.”
Tarr looked frantic now. “Fuck, I hate this.”
“Man, what’s your problem?”
Tarr shoved his hat back on his head and flared his nostrils. “I hate heights, okay? I fucking hate heights. Why do you think I was trying to avoid the roof in the first place by going down the stairwell? Important word being ‘down.’” He bent over and placed his hands on his knees. “Christ, I’m going to puke.”
“How about you puke after we jump?” Erick suggested.
Muffled voices came from inside the door. Erick definitely heard “Tarr” and “slaughter,” neither of which seemed to indicate they were willing to talk it out.
Erick took matters into his own hands. He grabbed Tarr’s arm and frog-marched him over to the edge. He pointed to the next roof, which was about five feet down and out. “Just jump with me. I’ll count to five.”
Tarr didn’t answer.
“Are you going to cry?”
Tarr’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to fucking cry, asshole.”
“Then jump with me.”
The door banged again behind them, and the pipe creaked. The voices grew louder, and Erick and Tarr both turned around to see the door’s hinges about to blow.
Erick backed up a few steps, pulling Tarr with him. “Running start is best.”
Tarr was white as a sheet, and sweat dripped down his temples. His body trembled, but Erick could see in his eyes that he was going to do it. They didn’t really have a choice.
“We jump,” Erick said and pointed to a door on the roof. “Then we go in there. If that’s locked, we head to the fire escape on the far side. I can see the ladder. Okay?”
Tarr licked his lips and nodded, eyes on the next roof.
“Okay, on the count of three.”
“Count of three,” Tarr echoed in a hoarse voice.
“One, two.” Erick inhaled and crouched. “Three.”
They took off at a sprint, and Erick launched himself over the edge of the roof. For a moment, he felt a little like Jason Bourne. He hit the roof with a grin and rolled. Tarr was much less graceful. He hit the roof on a thud like he was belly-flopping off a diving board. Erick hauled him to his feet, and they raced to the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked, and they tore it open. Erick slammed it shut behind them and peered out of the tiny, dirty square of glass. The men on the opposite roof had poured through the door now, and five of them looked around before taking off down the fire escape stairs. Just as Erick thought they would. So they hadn’t been spotted.
He leaned against the wall and fought for breath. Tarr was on his ass on the small platform at the top of the stairs, wrists propped on bent knees, panting. When he looked up at Erick, it was with a bloody nose from face-planting in the gravel. “That,” he breathed, “was not fucking fun.”
“I don’t know.” Erick grinned. “I felt like an action hero, didn’t you?”
Tarr pointed to his face. “Do action heroes land on their faces?”
Erick pulled his lips between his teeth and squinted. “Well, no.”
“Right. Fuck.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “I gotta get out of here before they search every damn building.”
“Cool, let’s go.”
“Bro, you can stay here. They ar
en’t coming after you.”
“Coffee date, remember?” Erick said as Tarr staggered to his feet.
“How about we rain-check it?”
“Nope.” Erick wasn’t even sure what he wanted. Proof that Tarr was garbage like every other person in his profession? He refused to believe a hit man saved him out of the goodness of his heart. Hit men didn’t have hearts.
Tarr blew out a breath. “Swear to Christ, you were sent from God to punish me.”
“You know,” Erick said as he began to jog down the stairs, “I get that a lot from people.”
“Maybe you should take a hint.”
“Nah, I just get more annoying. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that. So how do you take your coffee?”
Tarr pointed at him. “Fine. Coffee, then you agree to stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
That was satisfactory. Erick held out his hand as Tarr stopped on the stair above him. “I’ll shake on that. I’m not keen on getting chased by men with guns again.”
Tarr held out his hand, and Erick clasped it. They shook and then continued down the stairs. They made it out onto the street, and Erick motioned for Tarr to head to his car, which was parked about a block away.
Erick knew he should probably just drop all of this, but Tarr fascinated him in a way he hadn’t been able to forget. A couple of months ago, Erick had been on a stakeout outside his friend Jock’s house, watching to make sure Jock’s enemies didn’t fuck with him and the woman Jock was protecting.
Erick had heard noises and went to investigate, only to be knocked out cold by a redhead. When Erick came to, said redhead, an old friend of Jock’s, had taken care of Jock’s enemies and then vanished. Why had he knocked Erick out? To protect him, because he thought Erick would only get himself killed.
So maybe Erick’s ego was the issue, but also Erick wanted to know who Tarr was that he was so willing to kill two guys for his friend. He wasn’t sure yet what he wanted to talk to Tarr about, but there was something in Erick that needed this. To connect with this guy who’d protected Erick without even knowing his name.
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