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  Chapter Fifteen

  “What did he want?” Emery stared at the bit of space Tori had occupied. She was there, but he couldn’t see her, though he could recall every feature of her face, the tiny mole by her temple, the freckles that were too often covered with dirt. He hadn’t been able to hear everything Matvei had said to Tori. Hell, most of it didn’t make sense. He was hoping Tori could shed some light on what they were facing.

  He felt Tori’s breath on his neck. She’d stepped in close without him realizing it.

  “They’re probably going to keep me. Torture me.” She pitched her voice quieter, for his ears alone. “They’re still selling you guys to Evers’s people, I think. You could probably get away once you’re out of here. Somewhere between the cargo container and the parking lot. I don’t know if you could do it with Kathy though.”

  “We’re going to get out of this.” He didn’t know how, not really. Not yet. But he would make sure they did.

  “Emery, I need you to please give that message to my sister. Please.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “Not unless you tell me why.”

  She sighed. Her hands pressed against his chest and her head came to rest on his shoulder.

  “My father is alive.”

  For a second he had to ask himself if he’d heard her barely there admission, or if he’d made it up.

  “What?” He canted his head toward hers.

  “He’s alive and if Roni doesn’t tell him to stay away, he’ll die, too. I don’t want them to get me and him. Please?”

  “Yeah.” What else was he supposed to say?

  Nothing he’d read or heard indicated anyone suspected Alexander Iradokovia to still be among the living. It was a shocking admission.

  Voices from outside the container broke the moment. Tori squeezed him tight as several loud people approached their position.

  Tori squeezed him tight. Like she was saying good-bye.

  Hell no.

  They would get through this.

  Metal scraped against metal as the door once more swung open. He blinked and shoved Tori behind him. Several people aimed high-powered flashlights in his eyes.

  “Hands against the wall,” a new voice ordered. It was an older, seasoned speaker.

  “Emery . . .”

  He turned toward the wall and flattened his hands against the cool metal.

  “I’m coming back for you,” he promised Tori. White dots swam in his vision from the LED flashlights.

  “Who the hell is he?”

  Emery knew that voice. Canales. The street thug stepped into the container and peered at Emery’s face.

  Emery kept his gaze forward. Raibel Canales wouldn’t know him on sight, and that was exactly the way Emery liked things.

  “This is the guy that was at the plant a few days ago. The one we followed.” That voice. Emery remembered it. It was the punk kid who’d made him at Greenworks.

  “He matters. Bring him and the other two,” the faceless man in charge said.

  Canales kept his gun pointed at Emery while the kid patted him down fast.

  “You sure I can’t convince you to part with the girl?”

  “Nyet.” Matvei chuckled.

  “Can’t blame me for trying. Come on. Get them.”

  Hands grasped Emery’s bicep, pulling him out of the container. He swung his head, searching for Tori, and found her with her back against the opposite wall, one of the Russians standing guard with a gun to her temple. Beyond her, CJ had Kathy in his arms. She groaned when she should be screaming. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “Move.” Canales shoved Emery out of the container.

  His feet landed on the cargo ship’s deck and he glanced around, taking in the new additions. Besides Matvei and his two other companions not holding a gun on Tori, there were maybe five Eleventh drivers Emery knew on sight, four thugs he’d make sure to acquaint himself with later, and an older man in slacks and a polo shirt who appeared as though they’d ruined his golf game.

  Emery didn’t recognize him at all, which worried him.

  “Pleasure doing business with you.” The Geezer shook Matvei’s hand before gesturing at the security detail. “Bring them.”

  Canales walked at Emery’s back, shoving him every couple of strides. They were still on the cargo ship, but it was easily two football fields long, stacked two and three high with containers in neat rows, which meant the ship must be in the middle of unloading or loading since they would eventually go four and five high.

  Emery couldn’t get off this ship without Tori. If he let Canales march him onto the dock, he’d never see her again. From the marina, the hit team could take her anywhere, alive or dead.

  He let his pace lag. CJ was easily a dozen yards or so behind them, and that was before they made a right and a left. Darkness had closed in and even the starlight above couldn’t provide much illumination.

  The old man’s detail marched onward without a backward glance.

  Now or never.

  It was Emery—a trained FBI operative—against three assholes who couldn’t keep their pants above their knees. Canales was the only one that worried Emery. Not horrible odds, but he was unarmed. All it would take was a ricochet, not even a lucky shot.

  Tori was worth it.

  He slowed a bit more until he felt the press of Canales’s gun against his lower back. The others didn’t even have weapons drawn, probably expecting their presence to be enough to keep him cowed. They had no idea he was an actual threat.

  Emery stepped with his right and pivoted to his left, whipping his hand back to grab Canales’s wrist and shoved the gun aside. The gun went off, the bang reverberating off the metal with a deafening boom. The other two flinched and ducked their heads while Emery delivered a hard right punch to Canales’s jaw. The gang leader staggered back, releasing the weapon into Emery’s hand.

  “Yo, get him,” the youngest thug yelled.

  The third, closest gang member brought his gun up.

  Emery didn’t flinch or think, he shot the guy in the shoulder. He couldn’t spare another bullet if he was going to take Tori back.

  He turned and sprinted back the way they’d come, diving left at the first opportunity. The cargo containers were stacked and organized in rows. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out where he was going, so he had to use the shadows and momentary confusion to his benefit.

  “Daniel, he’s coming for you,” Canales bellowed, closer than before.

  “He shot me,” the downed driver said over and over again.

  Too many of these kids got involved with the Eleventh out of some misguided sense of community, never giving consideration to the danger. The kid was lucky. Emery could have killed him, but chose not to. Besides, they’d be more distracted dealing with an injured friend than a dead one.

  So much for the element of surprise.

  The containers formed horizontal rows, with enough space for a forklift on either side. He crept from the shadows of one to the next, watching for CJ’s group.

  “Where is he?” a voice Emery didn’t recognize yelled from what sounded like the next row.

  Emery slowed his pace, pressing his back against the end of the container, and peered around.

  “He’s close,” Canales replied.

  CJ crouched on the ground, shrouded in darkness, with Kathy laid across his thighs. He had an Eleventh driver on either side, both looking in the direction Canales had taken him. They weren’t looking behind them.

  Emery blew out a breath. The odds were stacked against them. It didn’t take a complex program to calculate that. They were outmanned with no supplies or backup. He emptied his lungs, inhaled deeply and took a half step away from the container, lifting his gun.

  He aimed, blew out a breath, and squeezed the trigger.

  The first guy arched his back, blood gurgling as he fell forward.

  Emery adjusted and fired while the second stared at his downed friend. CJ reached for the man’s gun as he hit
his knees, falling across the dead man. Coldness settled over Emery. Death was not normally his department, but for his crew and their lives, he’d go there.

  “Stop right there.” CJ aimed the gun at someone Emery couldn’t see.

  He jogged toward CJ, close to the opposite shipping container, until he could see who they were facing.

  It was Raibel Canales.

  Emery aimed at the leader of the Eleventh Street gang.

  “Where’s your friends?” he asked.

  “I’ve got you covered,” CJ said.

  Emery stepped out into the open and jerked a second gun out of Canales’s hand.

  “Got a new boss now? Give me your keys.” Emery held out his hand. They’d need a ride out of here. He wanted Canales dead, but he couldn’t shoot him without cause.

  “I ain’t answerin’ to nobody, punk.” Canales sneered.

  “Yeah. I see that. Keys. Now.”

  Canales unsnapped the hook that held the keys on his belt and tossed them over, glaring daggers at Emery. He’d have to watch his back from now on. The Eleventh would have him in their crosshairs for this.

  “On your knees. Now.” Emery glanced over Canales’s shoulder, but it appeared the Geezer and his security detail had cut and run.

  “If you’re going to do me, do me.” Canales spread his arms.

  “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

  Canales tipped his chin up, managing to keep his sneer in place. He lowered to one knee, then the other.

  Emery could kill Canales and solve several of their problems all at once. But that wasn’t his way. He believed injustice, and right now killing Canales would be an assassination.

  He grabbed the man’s shoulder and brought the butt of the gun down on the back of his head. Canales slumped forward and Emery didn’t ease his fall.

  “CJ—”

  “Go. I’ve got a gun and this guy’s keys. Find Tori.” CJ gathered Kathy to his chest.

  She wasn’t making a sound. Dread settled in the pit of Emery’s stomach. Were they too late? Maybe for Kathy, but hopefully not for Tori.

  He tucked the second gun in his waistband while keeping the first at the ready, and jogged back the way they’d come, keeping his eyes peeled for Matvei and his boys. There was no way they hadn’t heard the gunfire, so either they were setting up to take Emery and the others out, or they were making their exit.

  The container that had been their prison waited for Emery, open and empty.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, turning in place, scanning the possible avenues of escape.

  They could be anywhere.

  A distant, metallic bang—in the opposite direction from where he’d come—grabbed his attention. Emery’s whole body went on alert. He jogged ahead, winding his way through the containers, listening for more clues to where they’d taken Tori.

  “Poluchit’ yeye!”

  He sprinted toward the voices. Footsteps thundered toward him.

  Emery stopped, listening to the disorienting thumps, trying to figure out which direction they were coming from.

  “Idi syuda!”

  Emery dodged to his left, striking off down a path that led to a right angle turn. The only light was from the moon and stars. Shadows seemed to move in the corners of his eyes, but he only focused on the deck ahead of him.

  A female voice cried out.

  Tori.

  The sound was close.

  Emery slowed, edging around a corner.

  Tori was on her knees, Matvei’s hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back.

  Hell no.

  Emery squeezed the trigger, once, twice, pouring his rage into those bullets.

  Matvei’s arms windmilled backward, his jaw dropped, and his body went slack. He glanced down at the crimson splotches of color blossoming on his shirt and dropped to his knees. “Center mass” shots. The bullets probably clipped his lungs or heart. He’d die, suffocating in his own blood within moments. It wasn’t long enough. The bastard deserved to feel every bit of pain he’d caused others.

  Tori scrambled to her feet and backed up. Emery rushed to her side and grabbed her arm.

  “Oh my God,” Tori said.

  The chill that had wrapped around Emery’s body intensified. Killing was a necessary evil. It didn’t mean he liked it, but if it was Tori or Matvei, Tori would win out every single time.

  Matvei picked his head up, staring around him in the sightless way of a man facing death.

  Tori strode to Matvei and knelt next to him. Death rattled his lungs. She lifted his shoulder and drew his second gun from the shoulder holster, wiping it off on the dead man’s shirt.

  Someone close by yelled, “Matvei?”

  “Come on. Now.” Emery gestured back the way he’d come.

  “CJ?” She started jogging, keeping just a hair behind him, allowing Emery to lead the way.

  “They should be off the boat now.” At least he hoped so.

  He took a right and a left, pushing them faster. His stride faltered. Someone yelled in the distance.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Tori swung her head left and right as they came to another intersection.

  “Off this boat.”

  “Great. Glad we have a plan. What happened?”

  “The old guy’s security detail hustled him out of here, left Canales and two boys with me. I gave them the slip, got CJ and Kathy free and came after you.” Those were the only details that mattered.

  “I didn’t know you could shoot.”

  “They did teach me how at Quantico.”

  Any second, what was left of the hit team would sort themselves out and come after them. They needed to be gone before then.

  “What’s our plan?” Tori asked.

  They had to be nearing the side of the ship. From there, they could find a way off, and hopefully CJ.

  “Find a ride, maybe two, and get out of here,” Emery said, collecting his thoughts.

  “What then? Kathy needs a doctor.”

  God, she was amazing. This was the most stressful situation of her life, and she hadn’t broken under the pressure.

  They turned and surveyed the marina.

  “There.” Emery pointed to their left.

  A set of stairs led from the deck down to the dock on their left. They had an open shot, but it would also leave them vulnerable. Except a car idled below. A man got out, a man who looked an awful lot like CJ.

  “Oh, thank God.” Tori took off for the stairs, Emery close behind her.

  “One of us needs to go for Gabriel. He’s too vulnerable at a hospital by himself. Shit is about to hit the fan. You drop Kathy at a hospital, make sure CJ keeps pressure on that wound. I’ll get Gabriel, then we meet at the Shop.” He wanted to believe that the Shop was safe and secure, but with the hit team and Eleventh after them, he had to operate as if they could expect an attack at any moment. Besides, it was still their safest and best-stocked location to meet up.

  “Sounds good,” Tori said.

  They took the stairs two and three at a time. The skin on the back of Emery’s neck prickled.

  A blast broke the stillness, pinging off metal above them.

  “Hurry up, you two,” CJ yelled. His voice sounded strained. The man had to be close to his breaking point.

  Their feet hit the dock running. Emery hated to see Tori sprinting away from him, but they had a job to do and Kathy’s life depended on it.

  He unlocked Canales’s cherry-red monstrosity and dropped into the driver’s seat. The cab light briefly illuminated what he had to work with. No backseat and the passenger seat was gone, to make way for a rig of NOS tanks, plus row upon row of switches. He had no idea what each of them did.

  The red car revved to life.

  Tori’s silver car reversed. He hoped they got out of there fast.

  Three men leapt and sprinted down the stairs, followed by a fourth. Canales.

  Emery stomped on the accelerator as he shifted into reverse. The car shot backward and he twist
ed, following Tori’s taillights. The report of gunfire blasted over the distant sound of sirens. He cranked the hand brake and shifted into drive the moment his wheels touched the street. There were still three cars in the lot, plus the injured guy and the kid he hadn’t seen. Soon, they’d all be on their tail.

  A third car swerved into Emery’s rearview mirror. The kid? Maybe.

  Behind them, Canales took to the wheel of another car while Emery peeled down the street. Tori’s lights were gone. They couldn’t go to the same hospital. It would just paint a target on Kathy.

  What hospital was Gabriel at? Emery had a good idea, but he couldn’t be sure. Smith hadn’t told him that detail, had he?

  A phone blared from a slot in the dash.

  Emery reached for it, glancing at the screen.

  Canales.

  He ignored the call and dialed. Headlights lit up his rearview mirror.

  The phone rang once, twice.

  “Miami-Dade Police Department. How may I—”

  “Detective Matt Smith. This is FBI Special Agent Emery Martin. I need Matt. Now.” He didn’t often utter FBI and his name in the same sentence. It was a jarring reality compared to the way his life had played out.

  “Yes—uh—one moment.”

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Emery winced, ducking his head and swerving. Bullets hit the street and the back of the car. He dropped the phone into his lap and shifted.

  Shit.

  He took a right and gunned the engine, speeding toward the highway.

  “Emery?”

  Emery jabbed the speaker icon.

  “Matt, it’s Emery. Where is Gabriel?”

  “Kindred Hospital on Eighth. Is someone shooting at you?”

  “Yes, damn it.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Almost to ninety-five.” But he couldn’t get on the highway with shooters on his tail. Then again, Kindred Hospital was in a busy area near Classic Rides, and if he couldn’t shake the Eleventh, they’d do some damage.

  “Get me dispatch and nine-one-one.” Matt’s voice was muffled.

  Emery was going to get canned so fast, but at this point, what were his options? He couldn’t trust the FBI to not use him as bait for whatever grand scheme was going on. They were spread too thin. The cops were the only backup they had, and they just weren’t ready to take on a hit team out for blood and a well-organized criminal organization barreling down on them at full force. And tomorrow Evers would be back at the helm.