“Hey, cop.”
“What?” The word was gasped out from lungs that felt taxed and from lips that were broken and rapidly swelling.
“I’m really sorry about this.” I didn’t have a chance to ask what he was talking about because the next thing I knew his forehead connected with my own and everything shifted and I went down to my knees. I was barely conscious and sure to have a concussion after the force of that blow. Something itchy and coarse fell over my head, making it harder to breathe and impossible to see. I struggled out of pure instinct as Booker hefted me up and shuffled me harshly to the truck.
“Take this thing off of me.” I wanted to pull the hood off but my hands were yanked behind my back and secured with the chilly metal of my own cuffs.
“Can’t. That was part of the big bad’s orders. I think he might actually be a little afraid of you. The cuffs and hood were required.” I felt him put something in my back pocket. “That’s the key if by some miracle you make it out of this alive.”
I heard him take a deep breath and then all I got was his side of the conversation as he called Roark.
“I got the cop. Yes, he’s unarmed and secured . . . Yes, he’s still breathing, but the fucker broke my nose.” A forced laugh and then, “Where do you want him?”
A thump against the side of the truck. “Of course I’m coming alone. Bax can hardly move. Race wants to kill me and the cop is trussed up like a pig.”
A litany of swearwords. “Yeah, I’ll ditch my phone. I already told you I would. Look, I just want you to leave the girl alone. We already went over this. I don’t give a shit about the rest of them.”
I shifted around trying to determine if I could see anything through the fabric of the hood. It was no use. I was practically helpless and getting ready to ride right into the belly of the beast. It was the dumbest and bravest thing I had ever done. I wanted to kick my own ass for not having any other solution that didn’t seem so hopeless and so desperate.
It was Booker’s turn to snort. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Okay, I’ll be there shortly.”
“He’s in Novak’s warehouse, isn’t he?”
I sounded garbled and suffocated from behind the cloth covering my face.
Booker thumped the side of the truck again. “Yeah. He said it seems fitting that it’s the last stop for you since you spent so much time trying to take his father down. No one has been there since the feds seized it. It’s been government property, and since he used to be a marshal and worked the case, he knows that.”
I thumped my head back against the flatbed. “I fucking knew it.”
“Showtime, cop.” I heard the second phone crack and shatter on the asphalt and the plink of metal on metal, which I could only assume were my weapons as they landed in the truck bed next to me.
The truck fired to life and we were rumbling through the city. I was trying to keep panic and fear at bay. I was trying to remind myself that I had tangled with really bad men before and had always won. I gritted my teeth and reminded myself over and over that there was too much at stake for me to not come out on top.
It might have been ten minutes, but it felt like five seconds. There was only a sliver of time between theory and practice, and now I was about to come face-to-face with the man that had waged war on my city, hurt my brother, scared and harassed my woman, and personally challenged everything I stood for. There was no way the Titus that wore the badge could do this and survive. It was time to meet Roark monster to monster and mine was long denied, long suppressed, and far hungrier than his would ever be.
The truck rumbled to a halt and I heard the door open. I heard Booker shuffle out and then, “You have a present for me?”
That lilting Irish brogue. I wanted to chew him up and spit him out.
“Yeah. You got some money for me?”
“Oh, Booker. You think I don’t know about that sweet Ruger you have tucked into your waistband? You think I don’t know you have a weak spot in the shape of a pretty teenage girl? Men that care about something that fragile are so predictable. Just like Detective King. I knew he would come with you no matter what the circumstances were, thought having him all wrapped up in a bow is a nice touch. Thank you.”
I heard a gunshot and then another. I heard someone grunt and then the sound of deadweight hitting the ground. The iron scent of blood filled my nostrils and the next thing I knew I was being hauled out of the truck by grabbing hands. I went to struggle but it was no use. There were too many of them, and with my hands bound and my head covered there was no way to fight. Hard hands locked under my armpits and dragged me across gravel and God only knew what else. My legs and feet flailed for purchase.
I knew we had entered the warehouse once my struggle started to echo against the cement and steel walls.
“Too bad for Mr. Booker that a man with training will always be faster on the trigger than a common street thug. He was close, surprisingly close. He knew he was going to die but he took the chance anyway. Who says criminals have no honor?”
My arms were jerked high above my head and I felt something hard slide against my wrists as my feet dangled, barely touching the ground. I was stretched out like a side of beef in a cooler and I knew this wasn’t good. Booker had been counting on getting a shot in, and now he was down and I was strung up like some kind of sacrifice. This was exactly where the plan fell apart. Just call me Butch Cassidy.
The hood was ripped off my head and I came face-to-face with the man that had turned my world upside down.