“Michaela, wait!” Gray yelled as he ran after her, his heart pounding out of his rib cage.
Why did he have to buy her flipping tennis shoes? He cursed as he ran faster to catch her in his slick-soled leather dress shoes. His heart slammed to a stop when he reached the end of the alley and saw a black limo, which he knew she didn’t see, headed directly toward her.
“Look out!” he shouted as he rounded the corner and hit the street at a sprint.
She spun, her eyes widened and the limo slid to a stop. The back door opened and a guy in a black suit slid out to grab her arm. Gray didn’t miss the pistol in his hand as he reached for his air pistol cursing the politicians in his hometown who thought it was a great idea to restrict his ability to protect himself. In slow motion, he watched her purse strap slide down her arm as the thug pushed her against the fender of the car.
“Hey, back here!” Gray shouted, stopping to take aim at the guy, wishing like hell now he’d have spent his free time at the compound on the range, instead of in the gym. No, what he really wished is the BB gun in his hand was a real pistol. At least the guy would think it was real and maybe let her go, he thought, raising it in front of him to take aim.
The man’s gaze swung to Gray and his arm raised. Gray’s life flashed before his eyes as he gripped the air pistol tighter and jerked the trigger. As soon as the BB left the gun in a throaty, gas-powered whoomp, he dove for the pavement, landed hard, then rolled. At least he remembered something from his FBI training, even though he’d never had to put it into practice before now.
A bullet ricocheted off the asphalt near his shoulder, and he rolled again. When he sat up again, he saw Mickie running toward him and scrambled to his feet. He glanced behind her and the front door of the limo opened. The guy at the rear was slumped against the trunk holding his head. Gray took aim at the second man, fired off a pellet and he ducked behind the door.
Kid’s toys for the win, he thought, and a grin tightened his face.
Mickie reached him and like a relay runner grabbing a baton, he grabbed her hand and ran as hard as he could toward the alley. When they emerged from the other end onto the sidewalk, he towed her across the street, narrowly missing being hit by a police car as it whizzed by, headed for the hotel.
He zigzagged their path through alleyways, turned in different directions, and kept them running. When he couldn’t breathe anymore and she was wheezing, Gray finally stopped. Over the pounding in his ears, he heard loud sirens ringing in the distance, and relief swamped him because he knew they were headed to help Lou Ellen.
“That was stupid!” Gray grated, heaving breaths. “You could’ve gotten us both killed!”
“The intent,” Mickie said, then paused to swallow hard. “Was to keep you from getting killed!” Her shoulders slumped, and she dragged her eyes away. “This is my problem, so just go back to your office and help Lou Ellen.”
“We need to go somewhere and talk, but we can’t go back to the hotel,” he said.
The best place for them right now would be at the Deep Six compound in Dallas. At least there, he’d have better trained and armed men who could protect her while he figured things out. Gray was sure the hotel was now crawling with police, and possibly hidden lookouts for the Italian hit squad. Going back there would only give them a second chance at her.
He just hoped that Lou Ellen was okay.
“Trust me, talking isn’t going to solve my problems…” Michaela said, dragging her eyes away. “Only finding 1.2 million dollars will solve them.”
Shock rocked him, and he holstered his gun to grab her shoulders. “One and a quarter million dollars?!?” Gray’s stomach went into a freefall to his toes. That definitely fell into the murder-for-hire range of debts. Jesus.
Her fear-filled eyes met his and a tremor shook her as she pressed her back into the wall and pushed her hands into his chest. She edged her way to the side, Gray let his hands fall away and he took a step back. Michaela eyed him warily.
The question in his mind popped out of his mouth. “If you stole that much money from them, why in the hell are you flat broke and living in a shelter?”
Her chin lifted, and her shoulders stiffened. “I didn’t steal anything,” she replied indignantly. “I think my cousin took the mob’s money and ran, which is why they killed my uncle.” She shook her head, and wiped her brow with her wrist. “I came here to find her and the money so they don’t kill me too.”
“Exactly what kind of business was your uncle into, Michaela?” Gray asked, his eyes narrowing.
“You’re a smart man. What kind of business do you think he’d be involved in with associates like that?” Michaela rolled her eyes and snorted. “Bookmaking, money laundering, loan sharking…you name it. My cousin kept several sets of books, if that tells you anything.”
“Racketeering, protection money? Drugs, gunrunning?” Gray added, remembering dealing with just that kind of scum for the FBI. “Follow the money and you’ll find your cousin.”
“I followed it here, but so far I’ve found nothing except trouble.” Her chin fell and she sighed. “My cousin is probably not in DC at all. She’s probably living the high life somewhere and I’ll be on the run for the rest of my life because of her.”
Why did he want to help her? Because Gray loved a challenge, and he could. Following the money, even laundered or hidden money, was his business and he was damned good at it. And if he didn’t help her, she’d likely end up dead. Gray looked at Michaela, who was staring at him.
“I’ll help you find her,” Gray offered and her eyes widened. She had to go back to the compound for training anyway, so there was no reason he couldn’t help her.
“Why in the world would you do that?” she asked, her beautiful hazel eyes shaded by her thick, black lashes and narrowed lids.
Bedroom eyes and that is exactly where he’d like to see them. Not now, Grayson.
“Because I can,” he replied, pulling out his phone. “But first I need to make sure Lou Ellen is okay.” Gray dialed Lou Ellen’s cell phone, and after five rings, she finally answered, out of breath and agitated.
“What in the ever-loving hell are you doing, boy?” she demanded, her voice trembling, which he’d never heard before. Their office manager was the most unshakable person in the whole company, and that was saying something because most of them were all former operators. Nothing shook her up, but it was obvious she was very shaken at the moment.
“Right now, I’m standing in an alley with Michaela, being thankful that you’re okay,” Gray replied calmly.
“I’m not okay. That damned goomba got the drop on me, because of the stupid gun laws in this town, which forced me to leave Bruno at home. I couldn’t even protect myself! A criminal can have a gun here, but a damned woman can’t even protect herself. It’s ridiculous!”
A man couldn’t protect himself either, and he wholeheartedly agreed with her frustration.
“Did they catch him?” Gray asked.
“No—he ran out of here like a scalded ape when he heard the sirens. Thank God, or I’d have had to put his eye out with my shoe.”
“Did he mention why he was there? What he wanted?” Gray knew the answer to that—he wanted Michaela—but maybe he’d dropped other clues.
“No, he just walked in here with a pistol and said he would just wait. I told him I’d call you to get you back here, so I could warn you.”
“That was smart. Thank you for doing that.” If she hadn’t, he and Michaela would’ve probably walked right into that situation. “Are you sure he was a mobster?”
“Oh, yeah, he was Mafioso. Italian, slick suit, gold chains, and all attitude. I asked him what the hell his mama would think of him holding an old lady hostage,” she grumbled.
“What did he say?” Gray asked, unable to stop his laugh, because he imagined that wasn’t all she said to him. She might not have had Bruno, her forty-five, with her, but that tongue of hers was just as lethal a weapon.
“That was right before the cops showed up, so he didn’t say anything. He just hightailed it out of here. Now, I’ve got to spend an hour giving an interview to this wet-behind-the-ears detective, thank you very much. And he wants to talk to you and Mickie, too.”
“Excuse me, lady—I’ve been a detect—” a disgruntled male voice grumbled in the background, but Lou Ellen shushed him. Gray could just picture her giving him that look to back it up too. The one that said he was treading on thin ice.
“Lou, we can’t come back to the office. Those mobsters shot at us in front of the shelter,” Gray said sobering. “Call Hawk to meet us at the general aviation airport. I’m going to take Mickie back to the compound with me to keep her safe, while we work on her, ah, situation.”
“She told you about it?” Lou Ellen asked, sounding surprised.
“Not really, but she’s going to,” Gray replied, giving Michaela a potent stare. “Lou, I think you should change your flight home, too. It’s not safe there anymore, and we’ve done all we can this week anyway.”
They’d done a lot, like negotiating and closing the sale on the land outside of DC, which he realized now was a very good thing, because their guys would never be without their weapons. They’d gotten drawings, hired a contractor to begin construction, and secured a construction loan to cover the build. After that, they’d interviewed six people to staff the office.
Logan had definitely gotten more than his money’s worth from this trip.
“I need you to do me a favor…” Gray said, thinking that he couldn’t just go off without his clothes, like Michaela had done, because he wouldn’t be shopping at the thrift store for replacements.
“You always want favors, but you know I can’t say no to you, so shoot,” Lou Ellen replied with a sniff.
“Can you go to my room and pack up my clothes for me? Have the concierge get a car to pick us up at the corner eight blocks east to give us a ride to the airport.”
“Not afraid I’ll see your Superman drawers?” Lou Ellen asked with a bawdy laugh.
“I think you have me confused with Slade,” Gray bantered back, glad to hear the tension leave her tone. “I’d be very afraid if he were the one asking the favor.”
Slade’s unusual choices in underwear was a running office joke. According to him, he formed his underwear fetish while in the service. He said it was his middle finger to the military. Gray’s summation was he wore them to titillate all the women he used to sleep with before he met his soon-to-be-wife. Taylor was the only one he showed them to now, because she was a better shot than him and threatened to blow his balls off.
“Well, I’ll make sure your suits don’t get wrinkled and your boring tighty-whities are neatly zipped inside your Burberry bag, then. You just make sure they don’t get bullet holes in them.”
Again with the tighty-whities? Did every woman realize he wore them? Maybe it was time for a change. “No bullet holes, just a rip from trying to climb over a fence,” he replied, shooting a hot glance at Michaela.
“Keep it that way,” Lou Ellen grumbled.
“Yes, ma’am. And you make sure you get out of there as soon as you can.”
Gray hung up the phone, and stuffed it into the bag. The hair on the back of his neck raised when he felt eyes on him. His gaze tracked to the opening of the alley to meet flat, black snake eyes set in sockets with not one, but three, tear drops tattooed at one corner. A chill zipped down his spine and his hand jerked as he reached for his pistol.
What the ever loving fresh hell was this? Were they being robbed too?
He found the pistol grip, but a shot rang out and Michaela squeaked as a bullet ricocheted off the wall very close to his right ear. Another round pinged even closer to his head as his hand closed around the grip. Gray yanked the air pistol from the holster and blindly fired a pellet toward the guy and then another, because there wasn’t time to take aim.
The loudest Spanish-inflected F bomb he’d ever heard said he must’ve hit something. With his hand covering his left eye, the gangster ducked around the corner but not before Gray saw the large Z that was the centerpiece of the network of tattoos on his forearm.
His blood froze because he knew exactly what that meant. This guy was Los Zetas, the second most dangerous Latin gang to infiltrate the US with their criminal cartel. The teardrops said he was an assassin. The question was, who was he trying to kill and why?
Gray no longer had a connection with the federal gang task force, and Michaela was running from the mob, not Zetas, so it made zero sense.
He grabbed Michaela’s hand and ran out of the opposite end of the alley.
This situation got more complex and confusing by the second. It had turned into something that was going to take a lot longer than a few days to sort out.
If he took her to the compound in Dallas, he wouldn’t have more than a few seconds, because Logan would be there looking over his shoulder. He would want to know what Gray was working on other than the mound of work that likely waited for him on his desk.
If he got that answer, Michaela would be sent packing. If she was sent back to New Jersey, she’d be killed. He needed somewhere he could focus only on this situation to get it quietly resolved, and he knew where that was.
Logan’s beach house in Galveston.