Chapter 18
Vincent saw Paley, the safehouse staffer, speaking with an unfamiliar man in front of the property, on the driveway. He’d only seen pictures of Bernard Ponte, and they’d been blurry, but yeah, it looked like Coppola’s number two guy. What the hell was Ponte doing here? Vincent caught sight of Gilroy in the backyard, so he hustled over to him for a consult, not wanting to bust in uninvited into what looked like a heated conversation between the two men.
He nodded to Gilroy as he approached. “Avery’s in the garage. I looked out the kitchen window and saw her running across the backyard. She saw Ponte and had a meltdown. What’s he doing here?”
Gilroy lifted his brows and grimaced. “Negotiations. Benton has been on the phone since we got here.”
“Secure Avery, please.” Vincent glanced at the garage door. “She’s not thinking straight. Make sure she goes nowhere, okay?” He hustled into the house via the back porch, and found Benton in the front hall, pacing, on the phone. A glance at Deming told him she was worried.
“Looks like this thing is going to end sooner rather than later,” she said. “Coppola got wind of the warrants and is working back channels.”
“Yeah?” That sounded bad, so why did Benton look happy?
A screech of tires sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, and then all of them ran to the front door to find Gilroy running full tilt after a sedan leaving the driveway…toward Ponte and Paley. Deming gave chase, but Vincent froze, looking on in horror as Paley jumped out of the way. Bernard Ponte didn’t, and Avery clipped him. Ponte flew in the air, fell hard, and lay unmoving when he hit the ground.
Avery kept her foot on the gas, and was soon gone. Gilroy and Deming ran after the sedan, but stopped at the end of the driveway.
“Gilroy!” Vincent roared, throwing his hands in the air as he hurried to the agent’s side. No less than five minutes ago, he’d told him to watch her, that Avery wasn’t thinking straight. “I gave you one job!” Out of breath, Gilroy met up with Vincent, his finger pressing his wireless earwig radio receiver deeper into his ear.
“I’m getting reports,” Gilroy said, “that she sliced a tire on every vehicle on the property. We’re dead in the water.” Vincent shook his head, speechless. Gilroy avoided his gaze.
“One job!” Vincent paced the driveway, gravel crunching underfoot. His mind couldn’t shake his rage, and it was making it hard to think through this fuck up. Paley was hovering over Ponte, but the lawyer still hadn’t moved. Vincent didn’t want to even think about the repercussions to Avery if the man died.
“You’re one to talk.” Deming was pissed, too. She was huffing and puffing after running after the sedan. “What’s the use of romancing an asset if you can’t control her?”
“Screw you, Deming.” It was nothing like that. He wouldn’t let it be like that. Paley was hovering over Ponte, fists on his hips, looking worried.
Deming holstered her weapon, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Benton ran out of the house toward Vincent, though his eyes were on Paley and Ponte. His iPhone, however, was still pressed to his ear. “What the fuck?”
Gilroy sighed, catching Vincent’s gaze. “Do you think the NSA is hiring?” Then the agent sent Benton a worried glance, before jogging to Ponte’s side.
Vincent’s kingdom for a car with working tires.
He held up a hand, stopping Benton’s tirade before it started. “Avery hit him. I think it’s safe to assume she’s going to the Coppola mansion.”
“Look, I’ll call you back,” Benton said into the phone, his voice tense, his eyes near panic. Deming shot Vincent a glance that seemed chockful of sympathy, but she didn’t say anything, just turned her back, and continued her conversation with the ambulance company.
Benton slipped his phone into his suit jacket pocket and approached Vincent’s side, standing shoulder to shoulder, frowning at the crowd around the lawyer. “This isn’t happening. Do you hear me?”
“I’m sorry,” Vincent said, and he was. He should have known better than to think he could control Avery.
Benton folded his arms over his chest, looking a hairsbreadth away from losing his cool. “I just got off the phone with the bureau. They sealed a deal with Coppola, who is now on the FBI’s payroll as of five minutes ago. Full immunity. No one touches Coppola.” He pressed his lips together, glaring at Vincent, as if that would settle the matter, but they both knew better. Avery was out there, a wild card, and she was looking for blood. “You listen to me, Modena, I did not sacrifice a year of my life for your girlfriend to ruin my endgame! Do you hear me?”
Girlfriend. Deal. Full immunity. Vincent heard probably more than Benton realized. More than he’d wanted to hear. Avery saw this coming days ago. Predicted it. She’d told him from the start the Feds would never take Dante Coppola down, and she was right. Coppola cutting a deal with the Feds left Avery in the wind.
“Deming?” Vincent said. She hung up the phone and pocketed it.
“Ambulance is on the way,” she said.
“Please tell Gilroy to meet me in the garage,” Vincent said. “We have tires to change.”
“What are you planning?” Benton walked with him, their feet kicking up gravel. “This is the endgame. You know what I’ve gone through to get here. Coppola is selling his syndicate out. We could take down the competing east coast syndicates, too. It’s huge. Don’t mess with this deal, Modena.”
“I’m not planning anything,” Vincent said. He still couldn’t believe the Feds had sold Avery out, after promising her the moon. After he’d promised her the moon. “Except changing a few tires.”
“He’s alive.” Deming shouted from across the yard. She and Paley stared down at Ponte, who flopped a bit on the ground, but neither agent touched him.
Gilroy jogged Vincent’s way, still looking chastised as an ambulance siren sounded off in the distance. He slowed his gait when he reached Vincent, and they walked into the garage together.
Vincent wasn’t looking forward to repairing the damage Avery wrought, but he was happy to have something to distract him. She was out there, alone, looking to get herself killed.
This delay gave him time to figure out what he wanted to do about it, or if he should even try.