Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“South ramp, cameras down, Oleg wants proof.”
“You’ll have it,” Marcus says. “Tell him the package is intact. Tell him he gets the ledger gaps when I am in the clear. Not before.”
He pockets the phone and looks at me like I’m a receipt.
“You’re going to sit quietly in the car,” he says. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to stay alive until I decide otherwise.”
“You won’t get away with this,” I say, and there’s no point, but it buys seconds.
“I already have,” he says.
Cole shifts his stance, his hand moves, and his weight angles toward the seat. I can feel where his center of gravity is. Marcus is watching the tree line, and he is confident, which helps me.
Another call. Marcus answers, and his voice drops.
“Not now,” he says. “Hold your position. If you move early, you spook him.”
This may be my only opportunity to get away. I test the zip tie again, and I can’t pull free. The plastic burns, and my fingers tingle. I exhale slowly and force my body to relax. I let Cole take more of my weight as he turns me toward the second car.
I glance down, taking in the angle of the driver’s seat in the car, and see how close my knee is to the back of it. Once we’re rolling, going back the way we came, I remember the sharp turn in the road. Cole is driving fast, too cocky to be careful.
I watch the headlights as they ghost over the bend in the road, then pull my legs back as far as I can and kick the seat with all the force I can muster. It’s enough to make Cole lose control of the wheel and send the car careening into a tree. It happens fast, so fast I can barely blink.
The front of the car smashes into the tree so hard a branch spears through the window. It impales Cole but doesn’t go all the way through the seat. Marcus hits his head against the dashboard, knocking him out cold. I don’t know how much time I have, so I work to unfasten my seatbelt. Then, I turn around and use my tied hands to push my door open.
I’m out of the car and running as fast as my legs will take me, the movements awkward with my arms behind me. It’s dark. We’re in the middle of nowhere. I’m probably dead anyway. But I don’t stop moving. I can’t let Marcus win.
26
LEV
The call comes in while we cut across Midtown. It’s Halloran. He has county scanners open and NYSP feeds piped into his laptop. His voice is tight and fast.
“I’ve got a single-vehicle collision on Route 214, just north of Phoenicia. Witness reports a woman ran from the car into the woods. Hispanic female, dark hair in a ponytail, gray top, black leggings.”
That’s her. I feel it in my gut.
“Pin the mile marker,” I say. “Drop it to Yuri and me. Keep the line open. Patch us to county if they move her.”
The pin lands on both our phones.
I point at the driver. “Get us upstate. Now.”
He floors it. We slip out of the city and let the lights fall behind us. I call Pavel.
“I think we’ve got her. Route 214 outside Phoenicia. We’ll need a med kit, trauma bag, fluids, and heat blankets. Bring ground recovery. Pull two K9s that owe us. You’ve got thirty minutes.”
“On it,” he says. I hear him start yelling before the line clicks off.
I call our Bratva IT. Not Levcon’s. Mine. He’s faster, and he doesn’t worry about paperwork.
“If any unknown device pings the Levcon authorization code from a Catskills IP, you alert me. Don’t block it. I want to watch him if he tries to move money.”
“Understood,” he says.
We take the bridge and follow I-87. Kingston slides past. We cut west. The road tightens. Trees close in on all sides. It’s dark now, and I can feel the temperature dropping even through the glass. It does nothing to ease my worries.
Halloran calls back.
“Airbags were deployed. Driver not ambulatory. The female fled on foot. Troopers are en route. Volunteer firefighters are rolling. Stay off their radar.”
“Copy,” I say, and hang up.
“What’s our ETA?” I ask the driver.
“Seven minutes.”
“Make it five.”
We hit a bend and see strobes through the trees. The SUV sits nose-first in a ditch, the grille shoved into a tree. Smoke billows from the hood. The passenger door hangs open, and the driver’s side is caved in. One trooper waves cars past. A chief barks at a kid trying to film the crash. We stop nose-to-nose with a county car. I’m out before we’re fully stopped.
A trooper steps in to block me, hand up.
“Back it up. The scene’s closed.”
Yuri folds a thick card into the trooper’s hand and keeps walking.