I was tired. That was it. And this whole thing would be easier if I weren’t coming to admire her—at least a little. She’d held herself together remarkably in a situation that would have most people sobbing, terrified, and an all-around wreck.
The water turned on. I stretched near the window, groaning as I tried to work out the aching knot in my neck. Never again was I sleeping in a damn motel chair for any reason.
As I waited and jonesed for coffee, I considered my plans. They weren’t great. Get my youngest brother Ryan’s help in ditching the car and acquiring another with clean plates and not on any hot sheet. Find out why Freddy Russo and the Sartinis had loosed me on Sofia. Get Declan to help with a safe place to lie low until the heat died down. And keep Sofia close. She was the only card I had to play. My ace in the hole.
The shower shut off. A few minutes later, she appeared again, dressed casual in a t-shirt and blue-jeans while drying her hair with a towel.
She saw me watching and glared. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks, Princess.”
“Calling me ‘Princess’ isn’t very original. You could at least try to be creative.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick with the classics.”
Her dark brown eyes narrowed. “I used all the hot water, by the way. And all the towels.”
She stared at me as if this was some kind of payback. But the joke was on her. I couldn’t afford to take a shower. She’d rabbit if I did. Then I’d have to chase her while soaking wet, my cock flopping in the wind, and my dignity abandoned in the goddamn bathroom.
In other words, it would be a problem.
“The only thing I care about it coffee,” I told her. “So pack up your crap and we’ll get moving.”
Even though I was careful not to show it, I couldn’t escape that uneasy feeling still haunting me. The one that had lingered all sleepless night.
Maybe it was because I was driving the same stolen car I’d used at the murder scene. Maybe it was because I had the daughter of a mafia don as a hostage. Or maybe it was my instincts telling me that my old friend Freddy Russo intended to have me permanently silenced after this job.
Ten minutes later, we were ready to leave. That was good because I needed the coffee. The cold December air was a brisk slap in the face, though.
Sofia held the carry-on’s handle and walked behind me as we stepped outside. I didn’t grab her arm this time. She’d earned a little trust. Not much, but enough that I didn’t need to constantly keep her like a dog on a leash.
Besides, the motel parking lot was empty of people. The street at the far end of the lot had plenty of cars, even before rush hour really started, but we were too far for Sofia to make a break for it. There were a few cars further down at other rooms, but the Audi was too fancy for a dump like this. All night, I’d been worried someone would try and steal my damn stolen car. But I’d awake most of the night and armed. If any thief had been dumb enough to set off the car alarm or incompetent enough to be seen by me, I would’ve strolled out shooting and asked questions later.
I scanned the lot as I headed for the Audi’s driver-side door. A Cadillac Seville straight out of the 90s was parked just past the motel office. Its engine was running from the sound and the vapor billowing from the exhaust pipe. The sedan sat maybe two hundred feet away.
It started cruising toward us after Sofia shut the motel room door. The dawn light wasn’t great, but I could see two guys inside that car. Immediately, my instincts went full red alert.
“Sofia,” I said, using the key fob to unlock and remote start the Audi’s engine. “Get in the car.”
“That’s what I’m doing—”
“Now.” My overcoat was open so I could get at my gun. I was hoping I was only being paranoid.
The car surged forward, the driver stomping on the gas.
My heart lurched in my chest, adrenaline crackling in my veins. I reached into my jacket and put my hand on the butt of the pistol. I’d removed the suppressor last night so it would better fit in my pocket. If I needed to use the gun, it was going to be loud. That was a problem.
The car veered straight for us, picking up speed, its engine roaring. I pulled the pistol and had the weapon up and firing in one smooth motion.
The first shot hit just off-center, putting a hole in the windshield and spider-webbing cracks through it.
Sofia screamed—not a horror movie scream, but more of a surprised shriek. Probably because gunfire was far louder in real life than in the movies.
I didn’t glance her way. I couldn’t afford to let my concentration lapse. Instead, I went cold, but that’s what was needed at times like this.
The car was still coming, although both men were ducking in their seats. If they crashed into me or smashed into our car, we were both screwed. This was a hit, but how the hell had they found us?
I kicked that thought from my mind, aimed, and fired again. This time, I hit my target. The driver’s forehead. The driver slumped in the seat like a ragdoll, and the car veered hard to the left. The front end smashed into one of the support pillars holding up the second-floor walkway.
