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Michael picked it up. “Trevor Mills, Special Agent.”
Trevor hated hearing that title. Normally, he was just an FBI Agent. He didn’t have the full training for the “Special” status, but he required the title for his current duties. His boss insisted his prior Naval Officer training made up for the deficits. He wasn’t so sure.
Nic pulled the rifle away. “Good enough.”
Michael called Sam, insisting she lock down her office and meet them. Unfortunately, he told Sam that Trevor was driving, which would surely chase her away.
Trevor shot a glare at Acer. “Is she coming?” He ran his left hand across the top of his head, then dropped it. Bad habit; it was a dead giveaway that he was nervous. He screeched around another corner—they had to reach Sam before Koslov’s people did.
“She said she’d be ready, but she wasn’t excited about it.” Michael sat back and fastened his seat belt. “She’s calling the court to let them know.”
He nodded. “Just want to keep her alive. You’ve all bitten off more than you can chew.” They had no idea what level of criminal they were dealing with.
Michael snorted. “Oh, and your organization has been so helpful. Those idiots in the bad suits are a joke. We’ve done what we’ve had to do. And we would have survived this too.”
Trevor skidded around a few more corners, too busy driving to reply or look at his passengers. Reaching downtown, he slowed to avoid hitting pedestrians. “Call her.” He had to get Sam away safely.
Michael said, “Get ready, we’re almost there.” He must have put the phone on speaker.
“Okay. I don’t see anyone suspicious.” Sam’s tone was less worried than she should be.
But she was clueless about the Bratva. She was a kitten batting at a mountain lion. “Like she’d know.”
Michael said, “Sam, Wiz says there’s a suspicious car near you. Can you get to the back door? And where do we meet you?”
About to turn to pull up in front of Sam’s office door, Trevor stomped on the brakes. He yanked the wheel, turning the wrong way. Sam’s office had a back alley; he’d hope that was clear. The FBI’s video surveillance team should have notified him of the activity at Sam’s. One more sign things were very rotten.
“Yes. Alleyway behind the building.” Fabric rustled. “I’m headed there now.”
Trevor skidded around two more turns, then crossed the street and entered the alley behind Sam’s office. “Always trouble.” His words were deliberately antagonizing; Sam’s voice was shaking. Annoying her was a small price to pay if it kept her fear at bay.
Sam scoffed. “Like you aren’t, Mills? Save it.”
Trevor mashed the brakes, skidding to a stop. “Now!” Michael yelled.
The back door opened, and Sam ran out, jumping into the front seat. Alleys meant ambushes. Mills shot down the narrow, potholed track, looking for snipers at the top of the brick buildings hemming them in. He passed a connecting alley to his right. Halfway down the next building, a car pulled in front of them. He threw the SUV into reverse and stepped on the gas, using the mirrors and backup camera. The earlier bullet impacts probably obscured the back window.
He reversed through the alley intersection he’d passed earlier, then threw the shifter into drive and peeled around the corner, dust rising behind him. Sam struggled with her seatbelt, but he didn’t dare slow down. Speed was life. He stopped before the nose of the SUV could emerge between the buildings and eased forward. Glancing both ways, he saw no obvious ambushes and smashed the accelerator down, tires squealing.
Flying toward the main highway, he didn’t stop but slid around the corner and accelerated, then turned left onto the Eastside Highway. He was driving too fast for town, but slowing wasn’t an option. He had to get Sam to Wiz’s house; the safest place nearby.
Michael said, “Nic, Kim and the kids are headed to Wiz’s. She’s driving and Wiz is sending the drone to watch her.”
Amazing that a civilian had better equipment than the FBI did. Or maybe it was another sign of the corruption in the organization.
They left the town behind, passing small farms and large residences and the Marcus airport. As traffic lessened, Trevor pushed the SUV faster. With each vehicle he passed, he got a better feel for the SUV’s capabilities and drove more aggressively. At least he’d taken the Bureau’s evasive driving course.
Finally, he spotted a red SUV in front of them. He pulled up right behind it, and the driver slowed.
“Hey, we’re behind you in the black SUV,” Nic said. “Speed up and don’t worry. Yeah, babe…”
Trevor watched their surroundings carefully, driving a too-cautious eighty miles per hour. But he understood; the highway was narrow and Nic’s wife had precious cargo onboard.
He couldn’t help glancing at Sam. If circumstances had been different, they might have had two or three kids in their backseat. He followed Nic’s SUV up the ranch road to Wiz’s mansion, his back tightening inside the narrow, fenced driveway. The open gates slid closed behind them and they rolled toward the house.
A big rifle barrel pointed at the road they’d just driven up, the shooter hidden behind a massive rock and beam pillar holding up an impressive portico. He pulled under the porch behind Nic’s SUV. Before Trevor stopped, Nic opened the door and ran ahead.
Trevor got out, standing behind his open door, hand near his pistol. A useless gesture; Michael had taken his AR-15 behind the other pillar, giving them two rifles guarding their arrival. Nic hustled his wife and kids inside, Sam joining them without a backward glance. His life in a nutshell.
