Shift (18 page)

Gabriel meanwhile kept watch through the glass window set into the door as he shrugged back into his hospital gown.

“There's a wheelchair to the right of the door,” Gabriel said when Emery was almost done.

“Service elevator?”

“No clue.”

“Okay, let's go now before Canales shows up.”

Gabriel pushed the door open. Neither of the nurses glanced up at them. Emery grabbed the wheelchair and held it for Gabriel. They'd make a go for the main elevator. He hadn't seen Smith yet. All he could do was hope the detective had Canales in handcuffs already. It would take a lot of the load off Emery's shoulders.

Emery wheeled the chair down the hall. It seemed so much farther to the elevators than what he remembered. They passed a stairwell and a dozen or so rooms when two men stepped around the corner ahead of them at the end of the hall.

They were not cops. Or nurses.

It was two of Canales's boys. One of whom was the same one he'd seen outside the cafeteria earlier.

“You!” The man pointed at Emery, his voice booming down the tiled surface.

Now it didn't matter where Smith was.

“Stairs,” Gabriel said. He lurched up, out of the chair.

“Stop right there,” someone else yelled from the other end of the hall.

“Freeze! Police!” A third figure edged into view. A uniformed officer aimed his weapon at the driver.

“Emery.” That voice was from behind them.

Emery turned and faced Detective Smith. The man wore stress like a second skin, but Emery was happy to see him.

“Shit.” Gabriel sat back down in the chair, head cradled in his hands.

“Canales is still in the hospital.” Emery glanced back at the other two—two less concerns for him.

“He's not on this floor.” Smith put his hands on his hips. He seemed . . . thinner. More worn around the edges. Then again, the last few months hadn't exactly been a cakewalk.

“We have to go.” Emery grabbed the chair and pushed Gabriel forward.

“We'll escort you out.” Smith fell into step with Emery while the two arresting officers were still patting down the Eleventh gang members at the other end of the hall.

Emery led Smith and two uniforms into the elevator. He waited until the doors closed before asking, “Heard from the others?”

Smith didn't reply. It was as if he hadn't heard Emery speak.

Emery straightened, warning bells going off in his head.

“Have you heard from Tori?” he asked.

A muscle at Smith's jaw twitched.

“What happened?” Emery took a step toward Smith. If something had happened to Tori he would search this hospital for Canales himself and kill the bastard.

Smith's gaze dropped to Emery's face.

“She died before they got to the hospital.” His voice was soft with a hard edge.

She . . . Emery paused . . . Not Tori. Kathy.

“She who?” Gabriel turned in the chair.

“Kathy?” Emery had to be sure.

“Yeah.” Smith nodded. “She'd lost too much blood.”

“Kathy's dead?” Gabriel's voice rose. He was usually the unflappable man, making calm, cool, and collected an art form so far above the rest of them, and yet, Kathy's death would shake him, too.

“Fuck.” Emery put his back to the wall. He'd known it was bad—but he'd hoped that this one time, they'd catch a break.

“What the hell happened?” Gabriel stood, swaying slightly on his feet. They were about the same height, but where Emery had the build of a linebacker, Gabriel was lighter, quicker, and deadly.

“We got pinned down by a hit team who wanted to take out Tori and Roni. Kathy got shot.” He'd known something was wrong. At the time, he'd suspected it was CJ and Kathy he couldn't trust. The hit team had probably followed CJ and Kathy to the meet as a way to find Emery and Tori, and while they worked through things, the hit team eliminated their audience and set up for an ambush.

“Is Roni okay?” Smith asked.

“Yeah, last time I checked her status.” For now at least.

“Kathy—she's dead?” Gabriel glanced between Smith and Emery, his gaze begged for a different answer.

“Yes, I'm sorry,” Smith said.

The unis shifted, doing their best to mesh into the wall.

The elevator dinged, hitting the first floor. The two cops were the first off, probably wanting away from the horrible news of death. Emery paused, letting the officers do the hard work for a moment.

“Is there anything I can do?” Smith asked.

“Stay away from us.” Emery stared at him. “These guys don't care who they hit.”

“Let me help.”

“You're doing more than enough already.”

Gabriel stripped the gown off, chucked it onto the wheelchair and stepped off the elevator. Emery followed, keeping an eye on the man.

“I don't know where CJ or Tori went after they left the hospital.” Smith followed them while the two cops walked ahead, toward the nearest exit.

“Don't worry about that.” The detective knew a lot about them, but some things only their crew could know. And right now, they needed to close ranks to protect their own. All others could only wind up as casualties of a war Michael Evers had started.

“Call me if there's anything I can do.” Smith stopped at the glass doors, going no farther. The parking lot spread out on the other side of the door, and the obnoxious red monstrosity was illegally parked in a handicapped spot.

“You'll be my first call,” Emery promised. And he meant it. They couldn't trust the FBI, but Matt Smith had proven to be a valuable friend. Emery just hoped it didn't cost the man his life or job.

“Canales is watching us,” Gabriel said as they strode out into the night.

“Probably.”

“I can feel him.”

“Me too.”

Chapter Seventeen

Tori paced in front of the monitors. The seat at the helm remained empty. The security cameras covered every angle of entry to the Shop and the side streets and rooftops. She'd always thought security here was a little over-the-top, but Emery's additions since the Evers arrest three months ago took it to a whole new level. Tonight she was grateful for it.

The warehouse was outfitted with equipment to service their less-than-legal rides, flip cars, store munitions, and other activities they wanted to keep secret. She'd never been to the Shop when it wasn't loud and buzzing with activity. Tonight it might as well be a tomb. CJ had retreated to the main office and locked her out. He needed time to grieve. And then there was reporting Kathy's death to the FBI, informing family, making arrangements.

Tori didn't want to even go there. She still couldn't believe Kathy was . . . gone.

She needed to hold Emery. To know he was okay. It could have easily been him that was shot. Or her. That it was Kathy was just—wrong.

“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up,” she chanted into the burner phone.

Normally she wouldn't dream of making this call with the crew so close, but these were desperate times.

The call went to voice mail. Figured.

A mechanical voice rattled off the default message, then the line beeped.

“Pass the ketchup.” Her voice trembled. “I don't like ketchup anymore. Leaves a funny taste.”

Tori ended the call and quickly broke the phone down into its pieces. Once a month either Roni or Tori made the same call to check in with their old man as a way of telling him they were alive. If they didn't make the call, or if they used a different phrase, he'd come. And then the bloodshed happened. She didn't know what the Russians wanted her father for, but she wouldn't help them find him.

A red two-door car pulled up to the fence on one of the monitors. She held her breath. The driver punched in a code and the gate slid back.

Emery.

He'd made it.

She exhaled, shoved the pieces of the phone into her pockets and rushed to the rolling door. He didn't honk as was their custom, but she heard the engine idling. She pulled the chain, raising the door so the car could clear. Once the car was in, she lowered it again.

The doors opened and Emery and Gabriel emerged, wearing scrubs of all things. She wasn't sure she wanted to know why.

Her eyes burned and suddenly she couldn't speak. She took three steps and wrapped her arms around Emery, burying her face in his chest. The scrubs smelled of clean linen, but under that, she could smell him. He wrapped her in his arms and for a moment, she felt his lips on the top of her head.

“Where's CJ?” he asked.

He knew. She didn't know how, but from his voice she could tell he already knew about Kathy.

“In the office. He locked me out when we got here.”

She could see Gabriel in her peripheral vision. There wasn't a lot of light in the warehouse, but she could make out the bruising on his face.

“What about Kathy, is she—is she really . . .” Gabriel leaned on the top of the car, one arm extended toward her.

Tori nodded.

It was hard to believe. An ugly truth she didn't want to be real. But it was.

“She couldn't hold on any longer.” Tori let Emery go and took a step back. If it wasn't for her, for the enemies her father had made, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't be part of this crew, she'd never have met Emery, and Kathy would still be alive.

Emery pulled her to his side and wrapped an arm around her. She'd only ever relied on Roni, and yet she was quickly wondering how she'd survive without this man in her life. Even when she wasn't aware of what he did, he was looking out for her.

“How is he?” Emery asked.

“He won't talk. He wouldn't even stay with her. Said she was gone and we had shit to do. He's been locked up in the office since we got here.”

“Let's give him some space,” Gabriel said. He closed his door to the Scion and walked toward the block of offices they'd repurposed into a variety of uses.

Emery and Tori followed. She hooked her fingers in his, needing some form of contact. A reassurance he was real. And there. Gabriel led them into a long rectangular room with cots, a wardrobe, mini fridge and microwave. Their irregular schedules, odd operations, and covert dealings often left them at loose ends for a while. Like now.

“What are we going to do?” Gabriel sank onto the edge of a cot.

It was rather amazing the two quietest members of their crew were essentially the summation of their defensive strategy planning.

“Get some rest,” Emery said. “Tori and I can watch things for now. We can switch later.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Gabriel stretched out on the cot nearest the door.

Emery grabbed some energy bars from a cupboard and water from the fridge before ushering her out of the room. The light under the small office CJ and Kathy had used on occasion was still on. She bet the door was also locked.

“I'm worried about him,” Tori said as they entered the security room.

“Me too, but we don't have time to mourn Kathy right now unless we want to join her.”

Her imaginary Emery would have never said something like that, but it was the truth. The real Emery was far more pragmatic and less romantic than she'd dreamed him to be, but that was probably for the best. What would she have done with her made-up version anyway? He totally wouldn't have done her in a garage, while the real Emery had.

“Something wrong?” Emery paused, studying her from across the L-shaped desk.

“No, just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing related to the conversation.”

He shrugged and sat down at the monitors. With a few keystrokes he took control of the cameras, swiveling them around before returning them to their programmed positions.

“Who was that man? The old guy?” Tori asked.

“I don't know. I'm guessing he's Evers's replacement, or maybe his stand-in.”

Emery sat back and blew out a breath.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

“You.” He swung the rolling chair around to face her.

It was all too easy to imagine herself crawling onto Emery's lap, straddling him . . .

Her cheeks heated and she glanced away. A pang of guilt stabbed her. She should not have those kinds of thoughts now.

“I think it would benefit us to have a lookout on top of the building. With Matvei gone, we don't know who will take control of the situation.” He rubbed his brow. They were all exhausted, but the bulk of the burden was falling on his shoulders.

“Evers gets out in the morning.”

“Yeah, but what if this new guy has developed a liking for being in charge? How does the hit team factor into this? Even with Matvei gone, those other three guys are no joke. The little one? I'd bet money he's a Spetsnaz.”

“There's no such thing as a Spetsnaz anymore.” She rolled her eyes. Sure, during the Cold War, the USSR had super soldiers called Spetsnaz, but they'd been disbanded.

“If that's what you want to believe. Remember Pasha?”

“Evers's old bodyguard?”

“No one ever picked him up, so I did some digging. He was a soldier, but there are entire years where it's like he didn't even exist. Aiden said he fought like a Spetsnaz.”

“Okay, so let's say Shorty is a Spetsnaz soldier turned hit man.” That was a terrifying thought, especially considering what she knew of the training from her father. The things men were forced to do to prepare for war were . . . inhumane.

“So I guess I'll go up to the roof.” She scrubbed her face with her hand. This day would never end.

“We'll both go.”

She wasn't going to argue with him. They gathered a few guns from their cache and climbed the stairs up to the catwalk and used a ladder to access the roof. She'd come up here a handful of times in the beginning when Emery was doing the security install. At the time she'd been suspicious of the whole team and wanted to know what he was about. Maybe that was where the seed of attraction had taken root?

Unlike the others who rebuffed her questions, Emery had answered. They'd been short replies, but he hadn't begrudged her wanting to know who the hell he was and why she should trust him.

They sat on the roof, backs against an AC unit, and tore into the protein bars.

“Your father is alive.” Emery didn't ask. He wasn't questioning her.

“Yes.” She stared down the street that ran parallel to the building on the north side. It would be easy to jump in a car, hit the road, and never look back.

“Give me a reason to forget that.”

She blew out a breath.

“I can try.” Tori glanced at him, then away.

“So try.”

“When Roni and I were seventeen he faked his death. It was so thorough we believed it. He had been set on fire and burned to death behind the house we were squatting in. His screams, they gave me nightmares for weeks. I have no idea who that really was. Knowing Dad, it was probably some guy who wouldn't be missed. We buried the body. We were so damn happy he was gone, at first we didn't question that he was dead. Then we began to notice little things. A couple missing documents, running low on some supplies, and everything just ended far too neatly.”

Emery squeezed her hand.

She glanced at him, but couldn't bring herself to smile.

“The files I read omitted large chunks of information.”

“He prepared us to survive. In his mind, we needed to be ready for anything, and that meant wilderness survival, shooting, hunting, living in the elements. We lived in a constant state of dread whenever he'd put us in his truck and start driving. I can't tell you how many times he'd take us somewhere, make us get out, and leave. If we were smart, we'd have gone to some house or found a cop to pick us up, but he'd brainwashed us, made us think everyone was out to get us. We hated him back then, but he was all we had. One thing he taught us was how to place a classified ad in code. Roni and I started jumping at our own shadows, so we placed an ad to see if anything happened.”

“Did he answer?”

“Not at first. We put a different ad in each week. There's an art to it. You want it to stick out enough so your intended recipient picks up on it, but not be too obvious. About two months after we placed the first one, we spotted his ad. It essentially told us to stop contacting him. A couple weeks later we were in this dive bar hustling the pool tables and he walks in. Except he didn't look like himself anymore. I've seen him once since that meeting, but he made it clear his debt to us was paid and he was out.”

“But you still contact him?”

She bit her lip. What the hell? He could already sink this ship if he wanted.

“Yes. It's more like we check in. Give the all-clear sign, and move on.”

“Why do that?”

“I think . . . I don't know if he knows how to love. He was a crazy asshole, but he did the best with what he had and took care of us the only way he knew how. Now, it's like his only way of showing us he might have ever cared. If we really needed him, if it was life or death, he'd be here.”

“Is that what you wanted me to tell Roni? To bring him in?”

“No. I wanted her to tell him to stay away. We have a strict do-not-communicate policy.”

“Tori—”

“Bringing him here is what the hit team wants. They were going to kill me no matter what, so why give them what they want? Better to deny them and get Roni out safe than all of us end up dead.”

Emery studied her for a few moments, holding her hand.

“How you doing?” he asked.

She chuckled, but his own reference seemed to go over his head.

“What?” He frowned.

“You never watched
Friends
, did you?”

“No.”

“Then you wouldn't get it.”

“Okay.” He continued to stare at her while she scanned the rooftops for movement.

This was some date. Looking for covert urban operations happening around them. On the other hand, it was nice that he knew, that Emery was aware—and accepted—this part of her life because it was his as well.

“I'm okay. Just . . . sad.”

“Yeah.”

“Part of me feels guilty. CJ and Kathy were there for me, so why wasn't it me they shot?”

“The world isn't wired that way.”

“Are you going to tell the FBI about my dad?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” She pulled her hand from his.

“What's he doing now?”

“I can't tell you that.” Her heart rate kicked up. Damn it all. She'd told him almost everything.

“Tori, is he actively endangering people?”

“No.” She shook her head. Last she knew, he'd gone to work for the Cuban government dealing in intelligence, mostly to do with people already living in Cuba.

“Then no. He's dangerous, and rooting him out from wherever he is could get a lot of people killed, but I'm trusting you.”

She didn't think Emery would lie to her.

“Did you know Kathy and CJ worked together for years before they dated?” Emery tipped his head back, resting it against the air duct.

“No, but she did say it was a gradual falling in love.” Tori leaned her head on his shoulder. “How long were they married?”

“I don't know. Years before they were assigned to this. The FBI tried to break them up, but they refused to let them.” Emery's hand covered hers.