The light turned yellow as the ambulance pulled up. Winters gunned the engine, driving the vehicle through the yellow light. The sudden flash forward caught the black Escalade—Nantz’s bodyguards’ SUV—off guard. It lagged behind the ambulance, creating an opening. Wolf gunned the Corsa forward, squeezing between the two cars.
Brakes squealed and horns blared. Ignoring the protests from behind, he crept up behind Winters. He was in position now toshut the entire lane down, assuming Mackenzie had the truck in position.
Two streetlights down, he saw the box truck on the right. It was second in line, behind another Ford Fiesta. Blue this time. He slowed the Corsa, allowing Winters to get further ahead.
Hit the light on Albany by Warren.
A couple of heartbeats later and the traffic light turned yellow.
Once again, Winters sped up, shooting through the intersection. Wolf slowed down, coming to a stop as the light turned red. The driver of the Escalade laid on the horn, one long, continuous scream of frustration. But the stream of oncoming traffic, along with Wolf’s Corsa blocking the road in front, kept the SUV locked in place. The ambulance continued on without its guards.
The Fiesta pulled onto Albany from Warren Street, followed by the bulky box truck. Wolf caught sight of Mackenzie’s hawkish profile as the truck squeezed in front of him.
Wolf’s lips stretched into a thin, satisfied smile.
There were three vehicles between the ambulance and Nantz’s bodyguards. Now they just needed to stall Nantz’s team long enough for the ambulance to disappear.
Two streetlights later, the truck suddenly jolted. Dense white smoke—courtesy of the smoke bomb his mechanic had attached to its hood—seeped from its engine compartment, tinting the air above. The truck jolted forward a few feet, the white smoke thickening into a cloud. Then it stopped dead.
The oncoming traffic hadn’t slowed, and the steady parade of people walking the sidewalk to the Escalade’s right prevented the SUV from climbing the curb and driving past the truck on the walkway. When they’d devised the plan, Wolf had questioned whether Nantz’s bodyguards would take the sidewalk regardless of the danger to pedestrians. But apparently, concern overretaining their driver’s licenses was stronger than concern over sticking close to their client.
Wolf inched up behind the truck and settled in.
Now it was a matter of keeping the car behind him blocked until Winters announced they’d reached the rendezvous point and moved to the escape van. Thisaggresswas all but over.
The knot in his gut loosened.
Mackenzie remained behind the steering wheel, while Ollie hopped out of the passenger seat and headed to the front of the truck. Once there, he’d pop the hood and pretended to tinker with the engine. After Winters sent the all clear, Ollie would miraculously get the truck running again. By then, the ambulance would be long gone.
Through the rearview mirror, Wolf watched the Escalade’s passenger door burst open. A broad shoulderedwoohantawearing a dark suit practically exploded from the SUV and charged the truck. As he passed Wolf, he nudged his jacket open, exposing his holstered weapon. The move was deliberate and threatening. So was the death glare he’d locked on the driver’s door of the truck. Everything from thewoohanta’sreflective sunglasses to his black suit, tie, and shoes screamed bodyguard.
Winters should have abandoned Albany Street by now, in favor of a collection of side streets that would lead to the parking garage and their rendezvous point. They were minutes away from being in the clear.
Now that theaggresswas all but finished, Wolf rolled down his window and settled back to enjoy the impending show. Mackenzie was not one to allow bullying unless he was the bully. Which made him perfect for this role. Thewoohantacharging the truck like an angry rhino was about to get out-assholed by the emperor of assholes.
Sure enough, the frustrated rhino skidded to a stop in front of the truck’s driver’s door and commenced screaming. Wolf couldonly hear a fraction of the bodyguard’s demands. Mackenzie thrust open the truck door and hopped down, squaring off against the enragedwoohanta.
“Get…it out…the…” screamed the bodyguard.
“How…motherfucker... am I ….carry it?” Mackenzie roared back, his face darkening like a thundercloud. Tendons started bulging in his neck.
The skirmish escalated from shouting to shoving. Wolf frowned as the bodyguard reared back, his hand diving for the gun holstered beneath his armpit. Things were getting too heated. He’d given explicit instructions. No shooting. The last thing they needed was for Mackenzie to take a round.
Time to intervene.
Before he could exit the Corsa, the bodyguard pulled his weapon. Mackenzie countered the move like a machine—he smacked the weapon from thewoohanta’shand, rammed his shoulder into the bodyguard’s shoulder, grabbed his wrist, and pivoted. In two seconds, Mackenzie had his opponent’s arm pinned behind his back. Then he slammed him against the truck—hard.
As the former commander screamed in his opponent’s ear, Wolf’s cell phone pinged. A text lit up the screen.
Transfer complete.
Ollie would have gotten the same message, which meant the truck would be operational at any moment. Sure enough, Ollie stuck his head around the corner of the hood and yelled something. For a moment, it looked like Mackenzie intended to ignore his instructions in favor of beating his adversary to a pulp. That was the problem with hotheads. Their tempers often led them astray.
Not this time though. Mackenzie yanked the bodyguard back from the truck door, let go of his arm and shoved him hard enough to send thewoohantasprawling. Before climbing backinto the driver’s seat, he swooped down and snatched up the abandoned gun.
Seconds later, the truck rumbled to life.
His face the color of a late summer sunset over Mount Denali—deep red, with hints of purple—Nantz’s bodyguard slunk back to the Escalade.
