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“Not yet,” Fideli said. “He’ll turn up. He has to, unless he’s got his own supply of the drug stashed somewhere…. Even then, the nanites degrade fast. Two weeks is the longest you can keep the stuff out in the wild, unless you’ve got nitrogen freezers. He’ll have to get to the supplier to make a deal. ”
“Or make a deal with Pharmadene,” she said. “Like I did. ”
“True that, but I can’t see McCallister getting all warm and fuzzy about hiring Freddy. ”
“McCallister would do whatever gets the job done. ”
He sent her an unreadable look and said, “You don’t know him that well. ”
They drove in silence for a while longer before Fideli reached the turnoff to the warehouse. “Right,” he said. “Here’s how this will go. You’ve got your weapon?”
“Yes. ” It was in the pocket of her sweatshirt—not the best place to keep it, but the only one she had, at the moment. She wasn’t going to go all street-corner and stick it in her jeans waistband. She’d seen too many stupid accidents with guys clowning around in the army.
“We roll up and stay in the car. ” He pulled off to the side of the road and killed the lights. “Switch. You’re driving. ”
“Me? Why?” Too late to ask; he was already out of the car and walking around. She scrambled over the seat and buckled in as he took her spot. “Okay, fine, I’m driving. Now what?”
“Follow the directions. ” Fideli took out his gun and checked it with professional calm. “You park somewhere with the passenger side up against the building, preferably out of direct lighting. I’ll get out and into the shadows, and wait for him to pull up next to you on the driver’s side. Then I go around to his passenger door, game over. If things get hairy, hit the gas and get out of the way. ”
“I thought I couldn’t die from a bullet wound. ”
“You can’t, but it’d hurt, and as the one who would die, I’d rather avoid the whole gun battle. You understand the plan?”
“Yes. ” She glanced down at the map. They were at the entrance to the warehouse complex. A turn took her down a deserted, well-maintained road. Four gigantic buildings on the left. Two were occupied, with semi trucks being loaded and forklifts whizzing around. The last two were completely dark, except for security lighting in the parking lots and over the shuttered entrances.
She turned in at the last entrance, made a big circle, and parked as directed with the passenger side close against the building, near the corner. “Joe,” she said, as he turned off the overhead light before opening the door. “Be careful, okay?”
“It warms my heart that you care
. ”
She tried for a smile. “Well, you’re better than McCallister. ”
Fideli leaned in and gave her that odd look again. “Like I said, you don’t know him very well. Lock it. ”
He shut the door, and she hit the lock button. He was out of sight in seconds. Damn, the man was stealthy. She supposed she should be happy about that, in these circumstances.
The minutes ticked by, and she watched the clock. Eight thirty crawled by, and then eight forty-five. She fidgeted and wished she dared to play the radio, but she didn’t want to miss anything, even the slightest noise. If Joe Fideli could creep up on her, so could the enemy, and Bryn kept a constant watch on the mirrors around the car.
At eight fifty-eight, she saw headlights on the road. A car turned into the parking lot and glided almost silently across the empty space. It was black, with heavily darkened windows, and it looked fast.
It pulled to an idling stop with the hood facing her, lights boring into the vehicle. Bryn wasn’t sure, but she thought the driver could probably see her through the tinting—at least her silhouette, which looked nothing like Lincoln Fairview‘s. The headlights were blinding, and she couldn’t see a thing.
She heard Fideli suddenly shout, “Bryn, down!” and flung herself sideways, clicking out of the seat belt, just as a hammering chatter of gunfire filled the air. Full auto, she thought, ears rattling and burning from the onslaught of sound, even as she scrambled for the handle of the passenger door. Damn it—locked! She didn’t know where the buttons were, but she flailed at them as bullets shattered the driver’s-side window into bright, flying shards. One sliced a bright red line across her hand, but she didn’t feel any pain through the rush of adrenaline. When she glanced back she saw light shining through holes punched through the metal of the door. The air was full of drifting particles of dust and fluff from the upholstery, and the firing was still going on.
Bryn found the lock release, opened the door, and slithered out to the ground. She scrambled over and put herself behind the engine block, the safest place, as the Lincoln shuddered under the impact of more bullets.
She heard more shots, measured and of a different pitch, coming from the rear of the car, and looked over to see Joe Fideli crouched there as he returned fire. There was a screech of tires, and their attacker pulled out after one last burst of bullets that rang and echoed against the concrete.
Then the car was gone, speeding for the exit.
“Bryn?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Are you?”
“Fine. ” Fideli sounded frustrated as he changed clips on his gun, chambered a round, and holstered the gun. He took out his phone and dialed. “Pat? You got him?” Pat? McCallister? Bryn waited tensely, and Fideli turned away and talked in too low of a voice to be overheard. She stood up on shaky legs. It finally occurred to her that she hadn’t even drawn her gun. Hadn’t fired a single round at the fleeing car. Stupid.
It seemed to take forever, but Fideli hung up and came back to her. He didn’t look happy.
