Page 5

CHAPTER 4

“This is it?”

Nova stared at the nondescript building rising out of a plateau of dirt and scrubby trees. The kind of setting she’d expect a drug dealer to have selected. But maybe that was why Paulin had chosen it if he really had been running drugs. She just hoped she wasn’t giving the guy too much credit.

Spotting only one car in the lot eased a few of the lingering doubts. Gave her a glimmer of hope. Not that she wouldn’t suit up for a possible ambush, but if the guy wanted her dead, it would be easier to kill her before she stepped out of her car. And seeing as there wasn’t anywhere close enough for a squad of thugs to hide…

The trunk creaked as she cracked it open, dragging her container of supplies toward the back edge. She didn’t have half the gear she would have carried in Columbia, but it was enough to give her a fighting chance if things ended up bloody.

She popped off the lid, wishing she’d been able to grab a vest from the Virginia branch or bring hers with her from Columbia. But she’d traveled to Hawai’i under the guise of a vacation, and signing out a ballistic vest from a sister office after attending Tate’s funeral wouldn’t have added any credence to her claims.

Ironic that there was likely a spare in the office. Not that it would do her any good if this wasn’t the benign meeting she hoped it would be.

As if on cue her phone vibrated, a text popping up from Paulin’s number.

I’m not playing you, Nova. So just grab whatever makes you feel secure and get your ass inside before you put us both at risk.

Great, now Paulin was questioning her skill.

Nova pocketed some extra mags, shoved her spare Sig in her ankle holster, then clipped a flashlight and burner cell on her jeans. Not that she thought she’d need them but going in with only her service weapon felt wrong.

Water from a fountain in the center of the gravel lot gurgled in the background as she made her way onto the landing. A dull light brightened the entryway, another burning in a room at the end of a hallway. She didn’t bother knocking, just opened the door and headed inside — muscles primed. Scanning each direction just to be safe.

Was that a thud? Or was it just her imagination getting the better of her? All the doubts and anxieties over Tate’s death — the thought that she really had failed him — manifesting into her seeing and hearing ghosts.

“Richard? Everything okay?”

There was no mistaking the next sound, a mix of someone falling and glass breaking. Echoing down the hallway. Mocking her for not trusting her instincts.

Nova drew her gun, sweeping through the small array of rooms — a makeshift kitchen and bathroom, along with a couple of closets and a storage area — stopping shy of the main space at the end of the corridor. She checked her six, silently hoping this was just her paranoia getting the better of her. That he’d simply dropped a glass or knocked over his chair.

Until she stepped out — saw Paulin lying on the floor. An increasing circle of blood slowly soaking into the carpet. Broken glass was scattered beneath a window, a briefcase lying on the floor beside him. He made a wet sputtering gasp, reaching one hand toward her before it fell with another thud on the floor.

“Shit. Richard.”

One last quick glance over her shoulder then Nova was out and clearing the room before darting to him. His eyes were half-lidded as blood oozed from his mouth. She checked his pulse but there was nothing. No strumming. No sucking breath sounds.

Realizing she didn’t have any service when she palmed her cell only pissed her off more. Had her placing her phone and her gun on the floor as she started giving the man compressions.

“Damn it, Richard, don’t you fucking die on me. I need to know who you’re working for. Who was really behind Tate’s death. So, breathe, buddy.”

She kept compressing his chest, humming that Bee Gee’s tune in an effort to maintain the proper pacing. Doing her best to get him breathing again so she could dart outside long enough to get a signal and send off an SOS to Cooper and Emery when the floor creaked by the doorway a moment before Simmons came barreling around the corner. Guns blazing like he’d walked into a saloon of some Wild West movie.

Nova had no other choice but to grab her weapon and scramble for cover. Pain shot through through her arm and side as she managed to slide behind Paulin’s desk — using it and his chair for cover.

Simmons unleashed another flurry of bullets, a few punching right through the desk and past her shoulders. She yanked out the drawers, hoping Paulin kept some extra weapons in one, when two notebooks fell onto the floor from beneath the lower drawer, the top cover fluttering open. While she couldn’t read the entries, she knew a damn ledger when she saw it. What was either proof or a bargaining chip. A small glimmer of hope that she might have a chance at collaring whoever was running the drugs.

If she didn’t get herself killed.

Tate’s face wavered off to her right, his dead eyes openly mocking her. She took it as a sign to get her ass moving before Simmons had a chance to reload.

She shoved the books inside her shirt, fired off some cover rounds then darted out, hoofing it to the hallway before Simmons had a chance to recover. She hit the corridor at a full sprint, bouncing off the wall as she made a beeline for the front door. She didn’t even stop running in order to shoot out the light gleaming by the entrance, just lifted her arm and fired — sent glass and bits of filament raining all over the floor. Darkness blanketed the front of the building, only a hint of gray brightening the sky through the windows.

Nova was halfway to freedom — Simmons’ footsteps racing across that back room — when three men bustled in through the door. Large. What looked like AR-15s slung across their chests. They cleared the front room then headed for the hallway, heads on a swivel. Those massive guns lifted to their shoulders.

A skid and a pivot, and she was diving into the storage room — shooting out the small window on the far wall before launching herself through. Her shoulder took the brunt of the force as she smashed through the remaining glass, landing on the ground several feet from the building.

More pain sparked through her torso, but she didn’t have time to worry if she’d broken anything. Not with those assholes sending a barrage of gunfire out through the shattered window. She rolled to the left then staggered to her feet, stumbling around the back of the office before heading for the parking lot.

Until some guy busted out another window in front of her, rolling to his feet as he turned and raised his gun. Nova didn’t have time to work through any moves, just reacted on instinct, diving toward the guy before he had a chance to get off a round.

She pushed to her feet with a firm strike to his crotch, doubling him over as he grunted out a strangled breath. A quick turn and a heave, and the bastard was flying over her shoulder. Hitting the dirt in a billow of dust. A hard kick to his elbow and head and he was out, his broken arm lying at an odd angle across his body.

Voices shouted in the background, a mixture of English, Spanish and what she swore was Mandarin. Not that she understood most of it, the sound too muffled to make out individual words. But she recognized the tone and that they weren’t looking to take prisoners or make exchanges. They were out for blood.

Preferably hers.

Nova sucked in a quick breath then focused on moving. Placing each foot in front of the other as she raced toward the front of the building. She needed to find a place to hide one of the ledgers — leave a tangible piece of evidence for Cooper and his team to track down if she didn’t make it out of there alive. Because she knew, without a doubt, Cooper wouldn’t let her death slide, regardless of how Simmons spun the tale.

Nova rounded the front of the building, sticking to the shadows as she scanned the lot. Headlights winked in and out in the distance as a few more vehicles bounced along some obscure dirt road. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out where they were headed.

Heavy footsteps pounding the dirt behind her gave her the motivation she needed to make a run for the fountain. Pray she could duck behind it before anyone caught sight of her. She pushed hard, sliding the last couple feet across the gravel as three heavily armed assholes charged out from the side of the building, chests heaving. Their weapons sweeping the lot.

Nova tucked in her legs, pressing her back into the fountain as she worked through how she’d eliminate them if they’d noticed the lingering dust cloud she’d likely kicked up or how her shadow peeked out from the side. The hint of moonlight definitely playing against her.

Gravel crunched off to her right as the men walked halfway across the lot, their long, distorted silhouettes burning black against the dark gray stones. Nova followed their progression, making herself as small as possible when they stopped on the other side, a whiff of smoke and musky sweat drifting along the breeze.

No backing out, now. Either she challenged them, or she died without a fight.

She took a deep breath, running through her strategy one more time before she dove out, catching the closest asshole in the thigh and dropping him like a sack of bricks. His buddies shifted, their gazes sweeping the area four feet above her before finally dropping to her location. But that slight hesitation was all she needed.

Two shots, two hits. One in the chest, the other in the head. Sending them both tumbling backwards, a low vibration shaking through the ground beneath her as they landed with a firm thud.

But she was already stumbling her way back to the fountain. She removed the maintenance hatch at the bottom, then quickly closed it once she’d wedged one of the ledgers inside — the one already sticky with her blood from the shootout in Paulin’s office. Either a graze or maybe a through-and-through. Possibly both based on the amount of blood. Regardless, it was exactly what Whiskey or one of the other dogs would need in order to track down the ledger if it came to that.

While she’d admit it wasn’t her best option, she was out of time. Another few seconds, and every remaining cartel asshole would be barreling out the front door in response to the shots she’d fired. And if she wasn’t jumping into her car by then, she was dead.

After one last check to ensure she hadn’t left bloody handprints on the hatch, she was up and running. Sprinting for the rental on the other side of the lot. She yanked the door open as Simmons and two other men appeared on the porch, guns drawn. What looked like tactical vests covering their torsos. But she was already cranking the engine then stomping on the gas, careening backwards in an explosion of dust and dirt before spinning the vehicle a full one-eighty then peeling out.

The men opened fire, hitting the quarter panel as she raced for the entrance, Simmons’ voice shouting behind her.

“You won’t get far. I’ll have every cop on the island hunting you down. You’re dead, Martin.”

Stones ricocheted off the undercarriage, more bullets hitting the trunk as she sped down that gravel road, fighting to keep the damn car on track as it bounced through a series of potholes.

Oncoming headlights cut through the darkness as she rounded a corner, barely missing the first SUV when it veered to the right, skidding to a halt as she danced her car around the second. Engines growled behind her, those headlights lighting up her rearview a few moments later.

She’d never outrun them. Not in a sedan on a dirt track that was little more than a goat trail. At best, she’d be lucky not to careen off the side of the hill. What looked like a nasty ride amidst trees and scrubby bushes.

Were they gaining? Those lights practically blinding her as she took the next turn, accelerating out the other side before slowing for the next. Dodging left when that first SUV tried to ram her bumper.

They’d definitely caught her, though she reclaimed a lead when she took the next bend far too fast, fishtailing through the gravel, the back right tire catching air as she slid along the edge of the embankment. The sedan shimmied sideways, following the ridge line before the other tires finally got enough traction and pulled her back into the center of the road — allowed her stomach to settle.

Until her driver’s mirror exploded, bits of glass and metal spraying across the side of the car. And she knew the vehicle wouldn’t last much longer, even if she didn’t drive off the edge.

Which meant, going on the offensive.

It was nuts. Definitely on the list of poor decisions, but it was only a matter of time before they either shot out a tire or blew up her engine.

Nova punched the gas, using all the skills she’d picked up driving down two tracks in Columbia to keep the car somewhat straight as the vehicle caught some air, bouncing through more ruts before skidding sideways. She let it slide, using the maneuver to take the next corner faster than was likely safe before hitting the gas and shooting the car toward the inside edge. She got a foot away then stomped on the brakes, screeching to a halt as she shoved it into reverse and hit the gas again.

The sedan shot backwards, clipping the first SUV as it barreled around the corner, sending it careening sideways. The engine revved, shouts sounding above the grinding metal as the vehicle hit the edge of the embankment then continued over, quickly disappearing into the tangle of brush.

Not that she had time to celebrate. A quick shift and she was surging forward — getting a helping hand when the second SUV crashed into her back end — nearly sent her spinning off the road. Fate or dumb luck kept the vehicle going, more than a few lights blinking red on her dash. At least the direction of the impact kept the airbags from deploying. A minor positive since she didn’t have the means of cutting through the fabric.

Though, based on how the oil temp was climbing, the car wasn’t going to last that long, regardless.

More motivation to get a bit of distance then abandon the vehicle. Not that she’d make if far on foot even if she lost the assholes behind her. Simmons had likely already called in Paulin’s death, and she knew exactly how the bastard would spin it. The fact she’d left her phone on the floor beside the body would only add credence to Simmons’ claims. And with her career already on thin ice — Tate’s death hanging over her like a damn omen — it wouldn’t take much to convince her boss she’d cracked.

All of which left her with two choices…

Either she went it alone — hoped she could figure out who Simmons was working with and how far up the chain it went — or she swallowed her pride and asked for help. Prayed Cooper would believe her over whatever had gone out over the airwaves.

Nova grabbed the burner and dialed.