“Forget a regular job, Taylor needs to go into acting,” Slade said, with a smug smile.

“Oh, yeah?” Gray asked, itching to snatch the black duffle away from Slade so he could count the money.

“She did so well, I told her to go to the spa for a massage and she told me to go to hell.  Said she’d do it when she pleased, because she didn’t need my permission.  I think she’s still in her role and that scares the crap out of me.  Are you really dating a woman from New Jersey?”

Oh, God—why did he have to mention a massage? 

Every muscle in Gray’s body felt like it was tied in a double knot at the moment and the woman who could fix that wasn’t here.  She would be in five hours and twenty-seven minutes, though.  After Taylor and Slade dropped of the first satchel of money two hours ago and left to go to the second bank, Gray’s entertainment had been watching the minutes tick off of the clock on the nightstand.

“I’m not dating anyone.  I’m just trying to save the real woman from her mouth and the mob.”  The thing he couldn’t save her from was the life sentence she faced, but he could save her from the death penalty and himself from a lifetime of guilt.

Slade finally dropped the bag beside the bed and sat down and Gray picked it up, his heart beating as he unzipped it.  The banded hundreds inside sent relief washing through him to make his knees weak as he carried it to the desk and sat down to count it.

They had done it.

“It wasn’t just that.  She morphed into a woman I didn’t know. A gorgeous, spoiled rotten, soon-to-be trophy wife from Jersey.  She sashayed into that bank in that suit, hat and heels, and owned that role.  The teller gave her a little grief, but she backed that train up fast by talking to a manager.”  Slade raised his voice several octaves and mimicked the accent. “That is my money and I want it now.  We are buying a boat to cruise to Tahiti tonight for our honeymoon, and you are not going to ruin it or my uncle, Vincent Girabaldi, won’t be happy.  I believe he has a little bit of money in your bank?  The look on that manager’s face was priceless, and I had to bite my jaw not to burst out laughing.”

“So it was that easy?” Gray asked, sending up silent thanks, but his stomach clenched because it had been almost too easy.  Things just didn’t come that easy where Michaela Girabaldi was concerned.  He always expected the worst because so far, since he’d known her, trouble waited around every corner.

“Yeah, she and the manager bullshitted for a few minutes after that, talking about The Shore, then she went into the vault and came out with the money.  It was beautiful.”  Slade leaned his forearms on his knees and pinned Gray with a serious look.  “So, do you need us to watch your six tonight? I don’t like the idea of you going there alone.  I checked my rifle and our pistols.”

Gray stopped counting to think about it, then quickly tossed the idea away.  Slade and Taylor had already pulled off a miracle.  He was not going to ask them to do more, to face more danger, because he was pursuing this stupid plan that could get them all killed.

“No thanks. I told you this was a no danger kind of gig, and that’s what it will be.  I don’t need a team death on my conscience because of my stupidity in doing this.”

“You and Dexter seem to forget that we’re a team. We don’t let our teammates go off on their own to get themselves killed. That’s the way we work, so you need to get with the program, man.  We are going with you.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think the fewer people who go to the meet, the better, because I don’t want to spook Lazarro and chance Mickie being hurt. Her brother Dante is going with me,” Gray replied.  “I’ll give him one bag to hold as insurance, and I’ll tell Lazarro he won’t get it until Michaela and I are safely gone.”

“For a smart man, you are an idiot. Two men doing something like this is insane. You’re not even a field operative, you’re an accountant. You think the mob is going to show up with two men?” Slade rolled his eyes. “If you do, you’re mistaken.  Like you, I don’t want a team death on my conscience, so we’re going with you. End of discussion.  We should’ve had the whole team in on this, but it’s too late now.”

“Logan is going to kill me as it is, Slade,” Gray said laying down the stack of bills in his hands to look at him.  “When he sees the expenses, hears about the shit I’ve done, he will not be happy. If I’m not in jail or dead when this is over, I’ll likely be jobless.  I just don’t want to drag you and Taylor further into it.”

“Bullshit,” Slade said, his eyebrows crashing together.  “You cover all of our asses, including Dave’s.  You’ve been a one-man accounting team for way too long. He rides you like a donkey, and needs you. There is no fucking way he is going to fire you—or me—even if we robbed a bank.  He knows, like I do, you’d only do it because you had a damned good reason.  I’d say saving a woman’s life is a good reason.”

“Yeah, I doubt the feds will see it that way since I’m giving away the money I swore to give them in exchange for my immunity.  It may not be up to Logan as to whether I’m jobless, because I’ll be in jail. The deal didn’t cover the additional offenses, which I’m committing right now.”

“Why in the fuck didn’t you get them involved?  They gave you immunity, their fugitive has been kidnapped by the mob, so they should be covering your ass tonight and they probably could’ve gotten that money legally.  If they know about it, condone what you’re doing, you’re not committing another offense.”

“Have you ever seen the feds do anything in seventy-two hours?” Gray asked, getting a little pissed at Slade’s badgering. “Do you know how much paperwork they would have had to fill out? They’d have had to go through Interpol to get an international warrant to get that money out of the Mexican bank, then obtain two more warrants for the accounts in the states, if they could find a judge to sign them.  Michaela would be dead for three months before they got their ducks in a row.  That is why I didn’t involve them.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. What time do we need to meet you downstairs?” Slade asked.

Gray ground his teeth, thought about the situation and decided Slade was right. Going there with two men, even three with Brad, was insane, so he didn’t argue. 

Dante would be out of sight with the second bag of money, so having Taylor and Slade with him would make him feel better.  If things went to hell, like he suspected they might, because that feeling of doom was back, at least he had a chance that they could still save Mickie.

“We’re leaving at eight. I rented a limo to take us to the port and got a guy I met in DC to come drive us.  He’s former Secret Service, so he’ll be armed too.  Just meet us at the curb outside the front door.”

*** 

“Get up, puttana.  It’s time to get ready for your final voyage.”  Lazarro’s laugh, speared through Mickie’s skull like a knife and she groaned when he jerked her off of the floor. 

How long had she been lying there?  A wave of dizziness slammed into her when she stood and she fought the sickness that pushed up into her throat, because she knew he’d probably hit her again if she threw up on his expensive Persian carpet. 

This is what she got for trying to warn a man who’d betrayed her in the worst way that this was a setup. For trying to warn him he would die tonight too, if he was dumb enough to show up with the money.  Mickie had no idea how he could do that anyway, because, like a coward, he’d turned the money over to the FBI with his evidence against her to save himself.

She was surprised Lazarro didn’t know that because it was an FBI agent, or someone impersonating one, who checked her out of prison and brought her here.  At the time, Mickie had been too thrilled to ask questions.  She thought Dante had pulled strings, but it was Lazarro and the man he called Spencer who had pulled a fast one on the guards.

Mickie kept her mouth shut for as long as she could, because she knew this man would kill her even if he got that money.  He slapped her and threatened her, but he didn’t break her. Her plan was to die having the last laugh, knowing that this figlio di puttana wouldn’t get what he wanted.

Her breaking point came when he sliced her left wrist and told her he was going to enjoy watching her bleed to death.  Because her hands were tied to the handles of a chair, Mickie watched herself bleeding to death for as long as she could, but finally gave him Grayson’s name and told him he knew where the money was.  Maybe she was the one who was the coward for not just letting it happen, but if she was alive, there was still a chance she could escape from this monster.

That bought her the piece of duct tape around her wrist, which was cutting off the circulation to her hand.  Mickie’s time was running out, though.  It was eight o’clock and she knew Grayson would not be showing up with the money. 

Lazarro pushed her toward the door and her legs were too weak to hold her up. She tripped on the carpet, but two of his grim-faced goons caught her by the arms and dragged her through the house.  They stuffed her into the back seat of a limo, and Mickie crawled as far away from the door as she could.  She didn’t make it to the seat, she was just too damned sick and weak.  She laid on the floor, curled up in a ball and prayed to make her final peace.

She heard several men get inside the car, then heard Lazarro’s voice as he ordered the driver to take them to the warehouse.  Mickie moaned when the car lurched, and slapped her hand over her mouth.  The thought she might see her Nonna very soon was the only thing that kept her from being terrified.  The roar of the tires when the car hit the road lulled her to sleep after a few minutes. 

It wasn’t so bad to be asleep. It removed her from the horror movie she was living through, so it probably wouldn’t be so bad to die. 

Lord, just please let it be quick.