Hard to Stop (18 page)

*   *   *

 "I feel bad we couldn't return the car as planned." Gia leaned against the seat and felt the nervous energy circle through. It didn't feel good. But it did feel good to at least have a viable trail to follow. It was better than the alternative. She had to stay positive and believe they would find Mick before the bad guys did.

"You're such a goody two shoes. We need to change that so you can live a little." He smiled and continued driving.

Max still puzzled her. He had a past—probably one she wouldn't like. And he knew something but wasn't saying. But still, as crazy as it sounded, she trusted him.

Her fingers twitched in her lap, and she fingered the edge of her gun, giving her a sense of calm.
She always felt a sense of trepidation before entering a potential bust, and this felt similar, despite dissimilar circumstances.

The wave of fear and anxiousness threatened to take over, but she didn't voice her concerns. Something about saying them out loud made them more real. What would she do if Mick wasn't there? She pushed down the thought and soldiered on.

"This is the address he gave us." She pointed to the small, dark one-story house sandwiched between two others.

He shut off the car and turned in his seat. "It's too late to go banging on doors. We might get greeted with a gun."

She chewed her lips and filtered through her options. "We can walk along the perimeter, see what we find. Look in the windows if we can. Maybe there'll be some signs that he's there."

They got out of the car and walked together along the sidewalk aligning the home. A ranch-style house. She didn't see any evidence of life. Not so much as a nightlight was visible from the outside. She grabbed on to the sill of the window on the left and leveraged herself up to peek inside, but the blinds were shut tight, and she couldn't see a thing. She glanced over toward Max, but he shook his head.

The idea of coming this far and not finding her brother made her want to scream. One dead end after another had been thrown in their way.

"What—"

She didn't get to finish her thought, as a police car screeched to a halt in front of the house.

The blue-and-red lights bounced against the houses on the tree-lined street. Another squad car pulled up after that. Then another. Finally, the tactical unit arrived and a half-dozen SWAT officers jumped out the back.

Max whispered a curse.

They inched their way further toward the back as the police officers descended onto the scene. Her heart caught in her throat as the SWAT team charged toward the door, ramming it open and throwing in flash bangs before they shuffled inside.

"Drug bust?" Max said what she'd been thinking.

Besides the fact she'd seen things go horribly wrong in SWAT operations, her brother was in enough trouble already. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up with whatever was going on with this Jeff King guy.

She chewed her lip as she contemplated introducing herself. But knowing SWAT guys, they didn't take kindly to interference, especially when they were on a mission. She was more likely to get shot at than heard. "Let's sit tight and see what unfolds and hope like hell Mick's not there."

"Sounds like a plan." He grabbed her hand and held it comfortably at his side while they watched the drama unfold.

She could have sworn she held her breath the entire time based on the congestion inside her lungs when she finally let it out. No shots fired was a good thing.

"Clear," one of the men shouted. "Nobody inside. No signs of drugs or guns." The guy who spoke turned to one of the other men. "Where the hell did this tip come from?"

"Captain said an informant."

The lead man cursed under his breath. "These tips need to be vetted. Somebody could have been hurt."

She glanced over at Max, and he winced. "Maybe we should find a room for the night. We can regroup in the morning. Right now we could both use some rest."

She nodded her agreement, even while the never-ending fear crept up her back until she wanted to scream. When would this whole thing be over?

*   *   *

As soon as she left the motel room to get something to eat before they settled in for the night, Max checked his phone for messages from Jennings.

Looks like a fake. Can't trace the IP address, as it bounces all over. Far as we can figure out, Mick has not been captured by anyone, although there are some rumors there's a bounty on your head, and someone from an organized crime family is up for the challenge.

That explains the near-death experience involving cement. I'll fill you in later.

He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or scared. Just because Mick hadn't been taken didn't mean he wasn't on somebody's radar. What were the chances a sixteen-year-old kid would be able to evade hardened criminals long term? Especially since the real prize in the equation was Max.

Zip to none, he figured.

I'm not even going to ask,
Jennings replied.

Keep digging. Right now he's still MIA. There was a drug bust at the place he was supposed to be. Look up the name Jeff King in New Jersey and see if you come up with anything.

Hopefully Jennings would be able to find something. Other than that, they were pretty much at a dead end. But at the same time, every encounter he'd had over the last several days was starting to feel eerily familiar.

For right now, he craved a hot shower to ease some of the soreness, a couple of hours of sleep, and something to eat. And a stroke of genius would sure help his game plan.

*   *   *

Gia had burned a lot of bridges over the course of her tenure at the department. She hadn't held her tongue like she should have done, and it had resulted in having more enemies than friends. In the past it hadn't really bothered her. But now, with her back against the wall, she couldn't help but wonder what she could have done to change this trajectory of madness.

With a warrant out for her brother and everyone believing she was somehow complicit in his disappearance, her lieutenant wouldn't take her calls for help. Any friends she had would be hard pressed to do her a favor for fear of getting caught. For the time being she'd have to rely on Max and hope he didn't have his own agenda, outside the obvious. He still hadn't been forthcoming about why somebody would be after him, but it had to relate to his sketchy past.

She grabbed the freshly made sandwiches off the deli counter and returned to the motel room. The place was small. And they'd yet to negotiate sleeping arrangements, with only one bed. Sleeping on the floor wasn't an option, as all manner of stains littered the carpet. She could only imagine what an accustomed-to-the-best kind of guy like Max thought when he saw the room. But they had no choice. Flying under the radar would be the only way to play this, and finding a motel that took cash and didn't ask questions was part of that deal.

The place was quiet when she walked inside. At first she thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair shimmering and wet. Holy hell. Who would have thought a Wall Street type would be so…ripped. She needed to get the number of his personal trainer. Though she couldn't help but notice the scar that ran from his ribs to his midsection, dissecting the six-pack he had going on.

"Give a gal some warning, would you…" She tried not to let her gaze wander too long, but based on the mischievous look in his eyes, she hadn't been successful.

He smiled. "Don't tell me you haven't seen a half-naked man before? Or is it because you like what you see, Detective?"

"Don't flatter yourself." The drumming in her pulse said otherwise, but he wasn't privy to that information. "I am curious about that rather nasty scar you have though. What was it you did in Europe again?"

"Ah, Detective, you forgot my rules. Naked or third date. And I've never made it past three dates with a woman before. Truth is, when we've been naked, they haven't been real interested in the scar."

She snorted. "Somehow I had a feeling you'd say that. But I bet you never slept with a police officer before. Because any officer I know would have asked questions." Without even thinking about it, she traced the scar with her fingertip. "It looks around ten years old or so. It's faded a bit, but the lumps and bumps from the stitches are still prominent, so the stitching was done in haste under less-than-ideal conditions."

"A little over eight years ago. And yes, in the middle of nowhere there weren't a lot of options." She spotted a break in the façade he kept so diligently when his expression turned from playful to serious. "Not one of my better moments."

"Let me guess, a jealous husband? A jilted lover?"

"Nothing that dramatic. Wrong place. Wrong time. Shit hit the fan."

He didn't look her in the eye. There was so much more to that tale than what he was revealing. She couldn't help think about the assassin comment and wonder again about its validity, especially since he'd never confirmed nor denied the allegation. He certainly had a cache of skills that defied logic. "Enough of ancient history. What kind of sandwich did you get me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mr. Change the Subject. Your choices are either a ham and cheese on rye or turkey club. Do you have a preference?"

"I'll take whatever you don't want." She handed him a sandwich. "Now, how are we going to handle the sleeping situation?"

She glanced at the double bed and looked at him. "We're adults. We can share. The floor is gross, and sleeping in that chair doesn't seem very comfortable."

"That works for me."

Max fought off the shiver. He'd agreed to do this. Bringing along his siblings would ensure they would be safe. Still, the Shaw itch wouldn't let him go. He couldn't understand it any more than he could understand how he found himself becoming a murderer. Nothing in his upbringing told him that kind of thing was genetic. He wasn't groomed to be cruel or sadistic or even opportunistic. Petrovich, in his endless quest to toughen him up, had pitted him against others to challenge him. When he won, the slick smile on Petrovich's face would turn Max's stomach. He hated that evil part of him. It proved what he could do if given provocation. It sickened him.

The remote location had required that they travel the last mile or so on foot. Sneaking in and taking care not to be seen would be the key to success. In and out. That was the plan.

"Seriously, Max. I'm freezing my ass off. I can't see a foot in front of my face in this fog. When are we going to get there?" Sabrina complained.

He slid an arm about her shoulder and pulled her tight. "We'll be there in less than five minutes. Hang in there."

Whenever he was away, he worried about his siblings and what Petrovich might pull behind his back. He felt like he had to sleep with one eye open all the time in order to protect them. Especially Sabrina. Maybe because she was a girl, although she would probably hit him if he said that out loud. Or maybe because he'd seen how cruel the man could be to other women, and he wasn't sure Sabrina knew the depths to which the man would go. They never talked about the stuff they did or saw, either due to guilt or shame. He couldn't decide which.

They were relaxed while they walked, talking about taking a vacation in the near future and other mundane and unimportant things. But still the sense of doom seemed to pound around his shoulders as if waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

"I made nice with one of the house staff—Jenna," Jake said. "She said she'd leave the door unlocked off the garden so I could sneak into her bedroom. Herr Ricker is overly cautious, but she's ready to sacrifice for my hot bod." Leave it to Jake to make them laugh.

"She's going to be disappointed when she finds out why you're really there." Sabrina rolled her eyes.

Max felt the trouble vibe crawl up his back and grab him around the neck until he found it difficult to breathe. Although Jake fancied himself a ladies' man, getting inside was way too easy. The woman Jake had befriended couldn't look any of them in the eye. And the place was too damn quiet. The inevitability of what was about to happen felt like it was written in a giant neon sign—somebody forewarned the target they were coming.

He knew it. So did his siblings.

"This isn't good," Jake and Sabrina whispered simultaneously, echoing Max's suspicion.

Yep, the Shaw itch was alive and well on this current assignment. He started to think maybe this wasn't an assignment after all. As the idea slid inside his head, the reality shimmied along his spine. Yep, he'd been played by Petrovich once again. The man didn't want any of them to get out of there alive. This confirmed what he'd felt in his gut all along.

"What should we do?" Jake looked to Max for direction.

"Get the hell out of here while we can." They slunk together through the wooded grounds on their way back.

Five men came out of nowhere and attacked. The three of them acted on instinct, fighting their way through the group. Jake took the lead. Sabrina took on the female, while Max handled the three in the back. It was time to get this done and get out. There was nothing left to do but make a break.

Holy shit. What just happened?

They were getting away when somebody came out of the woods and sliced Max across the torso, as if he'd intended to gut him. And he would have if Max hadn't moved out of the way at the last moment. Blood spurted everywhere. "Owwww."

The pain tore through him. He didn't know what or where he hurt more, but then he compartmentalized the discomfort so it couldn't touch him, like he always did when he went on the offense. Blood soaked his shirt. He felt lightheaded while blood dripped onto the snow, coloring it red. Adrenaline made the strike to the man's trachea lethal. Seconds later, the pain returned.