Chapter 19
It was early morning before the task force was informed that their request for court orders to search the Coppola mansion for Millie Toner were denied. The bureau accepted Coppola’s deal when Benton was forced to admit there was no “incriminating files,” and his superiors didn’t want to hear anything about Millie being kidnapped, potentially in the mansion, because the team had no evidence. Though Millie had been declared missing three years ago, a rumor that she was at the mansion wasn’t enough to kill the bureau’s hard-won deal. Coppola promised names, dates, and evidence galore if they gave him immunity, so the court orders were denied and Federal Marshalls were flying out now to collect Coppola.
And, not incidentally, the task force was to be reassigned.
Oddly enough, it was the Feds’ deal with Coppola that made Vincent suspect Millie was, indeed, at the mansion. Why else would Coppola make a deal? Nothing had changed. They had no evidence to charge him. If he did have a snitch in the FBI, Coppola knew they had nothing to pin on him, so why make a deal? Coppola had to be afraid the Feds would find Millie at the mansion, and then he’d be charged with kidnapping. Forgoing another explanation, it was a motive Vincent was willing to run with.
At the mansion or not, Avery thought Millie was there, so that’s where she’d go. Instead of booking a flight, Vincent decided to stay and save her ass. Once the task force discovered what he was doing, they canceled their flights and told him they were sticking around long enough to make sure he didn’t destroy his career…or maybe die. Vincent was grateful, but anxious, because their involvement now meant it wasn’t just his career he was risking. It was all their careers.
By ten a.m., they were in the van, on the road leading to the Coppola mansion’s complex, parked beyond the stone walls, just outside of the mansion’s many security cameras’ range. The team was irritable and hungry as they waited for Avery to make her move. Vincent’s plan was simple. Stop Avery. His team’s plan was just as simple. They wanted to stop him from doing something stupid. He feared that was too late, that he’d fallen in love with Avery. If she died… He wouldn’t be able to handle it.
“Are you getting this, Benton? Do you have the PDF?” Sitting inside the van on one of the two stools next to the computer shelving, Deming frowned at her phone, slowly scrolling.
“Yeah.” Benton sat before her, on the van’s floor, his legs hanging out its open side door. He, too, was focused on his phone, frowning. He swiped left.
Gilroy sat in the van’s driver’s seat, peering into the rearview mirror. “Head’s up, folks. I think I see her driving toward us.”
Vincent looked out the van’s tinted back window and recognized the stolen sedan heading their way. His heart clutched as he hurried out of the van, pushing past Deming and Benton, who didn’t move an inch.
“This is it,” Vincent said. “We can’t allow her to pass. Once she drives onto the property, we’ll be breaking the law to retrieve her.”
“Shit,” Benton whispered, still reading. “You need to see this, Modena.”
Vincent refused to be distracted by whatever was consuming them. He had this one shot to stop Avery, and he couldn’t screw it up. She was convinced Millie was at the mansion, but after a long night of thinking things over, he wasn’t. He didn’t know why Coppola decided to make a deal with the Feds, but it wasn’t because he feared being charged with kidnapping. It was a felony, and if caught, it would kill Coppola’s deal. The court order to search the mansion was denied by a random judge, and no one knew which way the ruling would land. To keep his immunity, Coppola had to have assumed the worst; that Feds were coming, and they’d find Millie at the mansion. He moved her.
Millie wasn’t at the mansion.
Vincent stared down the road, watching Avery’s car fast approach. Benton lifted a hand, eyes still on his screen. “Wait. Things are moving fast, Modena.” He held up his phone.
Vincent stepped into the center of the road. “I have to stop her. Coppola wants her dead.” She was driving straight at him, and the car’s speed seemed to increase rather than slow.
Deming remained in the van, her attention torn between what she was seeing on her phone and Avery’s speedy progress. “Once she’s past us, she’ll be within range of the mansion’s security cameras. Coppola’s been searching for her for years. Finding her outside his property’s walls will be an early Christmas.”
“She isn’t driving past me,” Vincent said. “I won’t allow it. She’ll stop.”
He lifted his hands over his head and waved his arms. Soon, he could make out her features. Their gazes locked, but he saw no recognition there…nothing. Stone cold. And her car wasn’t slowing. Only then did it occur to him that she was playing fucking chicken with him, assuming he’d step out of her way. It infuriated him.
He inhaled the crisp, morning air, as blood pounded in his head, sharpening his senses, and wondered what the hell he was doing. She wasn’t stopping. He knew she wouldn’t stop. What he didn’t know was…would she hit him?
“Ah, Vincent?” Gilroy said. “Last time she did this, she nearly killed Bernard Ponte. Why don’t you—”
“Avery! She is not in there!” Fists clenched, he held his ground, unwilling to allow her to hurt herself this way. “Millie’s not in there!” The car was almost upon him, and he saw her eyes widen with panic. They’d both waited too long. There wasn’t enough time for her to avoid hitting Vincent, and just as he was about to jump out of the way, Gilroy plowed into him, lifting him off his feet, and hurtling them toward the embankment. Avery’s car zoomed past as they landed with a thud.
Spitting dirt and brush, Vincent pushed away from Gilroy, furious and afraid. “She tried to kill you,” Gilroy said, climbing to his feet, dusting himself off.
Vincent shook his head, standing. “She’s sacrificing herself to save her sister.”
After seeing Bernard Ponte speaking with Paley last night, she’d deduced the Feds were in Coppola’s pocket, and, in a way, she wasn’t wrong. The Feds chose to value what Coppola could give them instead of seeking justice for Coppola’s victims.
“She’s on her own now.” Gilroy turned, watching Avery pause the sedan at the security gate about a hundred yards away. His tackle had tweaked Vincent’s bum shoulder, forcing him to crack his neck and roll his shoulders a bit before he could walk to the van.
“Gilroy?” Vincent groaned. “Last time I was hit that hard, it was by a rocket launcher’s concussion.”
Gilroy surveilled the road as they walked back to the van, wiping dirt off his close cropped blond hair. “You’re welcome.”
Angry and frustrated, Vincent turned his glare toward his other teammates, curious to see what Deming and Benton found so fucking interesting that they couldn’t help stop Avery.
Deming waved him over, her eyes still reading. When he stepped to her side, she peeked to the left, watching Avery’s sedan at the security gate. “She doesn’t even know if her sister is in there, yet she’s going in anyway. That’s love.”
Benton was still reading his download and didn’t even look up as he spoke. “We can’t go in after her. If Millie is in there, maybe Avery’s right.”
“What are you reading?” Vincent peered over Benton’s shoulder to see.
Benton sighed. “Maybe Avery inside that mansion isn’t a bad thing.” He glanced up at Vincent, lifted his brows, and then returned to reading. “Especially if Millie is in there.”
“Spill it,” Vincent snapped.
Deming glanced at Benton, and then turned to Vincent. “I think Coppola is playing us all, pretending to deal with the Feds to get his hands around his ex-wife’s throat. He’s crazy.” She shook her head, making her disheveled blond hair fall over her cheeks.
Gilroy lifted his brows, pressing his lips together. “He killed her family and then married her. We already knew he was crazy.”
“No, Gilroy,” Vincent said. “I know that’s what the file says, but Avery explained. There was a coup by Toner’s contract killers.” Vincent saw their skepticism. “They put Coppola into power after killing the Toner family. Something about Avery’s father wanting to go legit and disbanding the contract killers. Coppola found out after the fact, but let it go, because they’d done him a favor by setting him up as boss.”
Deming frowned. “Did Avery tell you this? It would explain why she still married him.”
“And it’s not true,” Benton said, lifting his phone, indicating what he was reading. “Coppola ordered the hit on the Toner family. Avery was either lied to, or she lied to you.” When Vincent opened his mouth to argue, Benton shook his head, stopping him. “Coppola’s guy, Joseph Pinnella—”
“Avery calls him “Fingers”,” Vincent said.
“—he spilled his guts after a Coppola-affiliated lawyer tried to kill him,” Benton said. “It was a failed hit. I’m reading Pinnella’s transcripts now. He says Coppola was behind the syndicate coup that killed Avery’s family.”
Deming shrugged. “Which makes the deal the Feds made even more strange. Why deal with Coppola, if we have Pinnella?”
“Good question. Pinnella’s intel is the jackpot, folks.” Benton continued to read, bent over his phone.
Vincent wasn’t convinced. “I saw Pinnella try to shoot Avery point blank. She’d be dead if his gun hadn’t tapped out. The man can’t be trusted.”
“No one trusts Pinnella,” Gilroy said.
Benton nodded. “But he says he has proof,” he said. “A flash drive found in the belongings of one of The Stinger’s victims. The transcripts are here, but I haven’t gotten to them yet. Have you, Deming?”
“No.” She was peering at her phone, swiping left.
Benton nodded. “The six contract killer deaths were apparently recorded. The whole thing. The flash drive is being vetted even as we speak, and it’s supposedly some rough stuff. Probably proves who The Stinger is, and that Coppola ordered the executions. I know Pinnella’s decision to snitch is what convinced Coppola to cut a deal, but I don’t know if he knows about the audio.”
Vincent’s stomach was in knots. The mansion’s gate was almost completely open, and Avery’s idling sedan would soon be out of his reach. He had to decide, roll up shop, and see how things worked themselves out between Coppola, the Feds, and Pinnella, or run like he’d never run in his life and catch up with that infuriating woman and convince her she was being stupid.
He ran.
And ignored his team’s shouts to come back as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He ran like his life depended on it, because it felt that way. When he reached the gate, adrenaline pumping, he forced himself not to yell, to catch her attention, because he wanted to stay under the radar for as long as possible. Once detected, security would descend, and then he would no longer be her ace in the hole, he’d be screwed alongside her.
He managed to slip through the gate before it closed, but even at a full run, he wasn’t fast enough to catch up with her car. Then Avery floored the gas pedal, and sped off, making the distance between them grow even more. Still his phone vibrated. He ignored it, because his team believed Coppola’s deal with the Feds should be preserved, it would save lives, and Pinnella’s evidence would close their case. They were right, and he had no excuses for what he did now. But he had to save her.
He kept low, bobbing and weaving between shrubs and statuary when the cameras aimed in his direction over the manicured grounds. When there was no more cover, and Avery’s car had pulled up to the mansion, a guard spotted Vincent, so he stopped hiding and ran straight for her car. All hell broke loose. Security spilled from behind trees, out of the mansion, all running toward him, guns drawn, shouting.
Still running, he found himself waiting for the sound of a gun’s discharge, for the pain of a bullet ripping through his flesh. Yet, his goal remained clear. Save Avery, because at some point over the last four days, he couldn’t imagine life without her.