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He also wasn't stupid enough to have Ackmeyer on-site until a firm deal was in hand. Vince had his hostage stowed and secured in the van, which was parked about a mile down the road, in another part of the conservation area. Once he had cash in hand, Vince would turn over his goods, but not a second before.
The guy in the suit didn't seem to understand the concept. "Until I can assure my employer that you will deliver what you promise, we have nothing to negotiate."
"Your employer?" Vince echoed, not a little put out to hear this. "I thought I'd be speaking to the man in charge, not some lackey."
"Do you intend to produce the package or not?" asked the suit, unfazed but unyielding.
"Hell no, I don't!" Vince vaulted off the picnic table, agitation vibrating through him. "You're wasting my time, man. I got four - no, five! - other potentials I could be talking to right now, every one of them ready, willing, and able to pony up serious cash." A bluff, but anger was making him cocky. He started pacing a tight track in front of the sharp-dressed gofer. "I'm in a situation where I want to get this done pronto, so tell you what. I'm willing to make a quick deal with you - or, rather, your employer. Ten million cash. Right here and now, no games, or I fucking walk."
The guy didn't say a word. Vince wasn't even sure he was listening. He watched as the guy lifted his hand to the comm device in his ear. "Status," he murmured, more of an order than an inquiry. A second later he grunted, said, "Excellent," then lowered his hand and continued to stare past Vince as if he were invisible.
"Well?" Vince demanded, impatient as hell and quickly getting beyond pissed at the lack of respect. "What's it gonna be? Make me wait another second for your answer, and my price doub - "
A sudden engine roar and screech of tires in the parking lot cut Vince off mid-threat. Not the throaty purr of another sweet sedan but the rusty bellow and knock of a vehicle he knew well. The same vehicle he'd stashed in what he assumed to be a safe place in another part of the park.
The van that contained Jeremy Ackmeyer, Vince's future fortune.
Some other goon in a dark suit was seated behind the wheel. The guy standing in front of Vince in the grass gave the driver a brief nod.
"What the fuck!" Vince shouted. "What the fuck is this?"
How the hell had this gone so wrong, so fast?
He didn't have time to guess. When he swung his head back around to look at the guy in the suit next to him, the nose of a black 9-mm pistol was leveled dead center on his face.
Now the suit finally managed to show some interest. He cracked a thin smile. "Get in the car, asshole."
Vince was shoved into motion, the gun ensuring he kept moving.
As he staggered toward the waiting sedan, he had a sinking feeling this was the closest he would ever get to feeling a few hundred grand worth of metal and leather and high-end performance machinery wrapped around his stupid, sorry ass.
* * *
Mira dumped an armful of wet, blood-soaked towels into a sink of cold, soapy water in the bunker's shower room and watched as the suds turned scarlet.
She should have left when she had the chance.
She should have just run away after hearing what Kellan told her. Back to the Order. Back to her teammates in Montreal. Back home to Niko and Renata.
Anywhere but here.
If what Kellan said was true, that fate would take him from her again - for good, this time - then she would do well to take whatever measures she could to spare herself that kind of hurt. She'd barely survived losing him the first time. How would she be able to bear that kind of pain again?
But she hadn't been able to make her feet take the path that would have led her out the door of Kellan's rebel base.
She couldn't make herself walk away from him, not when she could see that she still meant something to him. He still cared. Some hopeful part of her wanted to believe that he still loved her, even if he refused to admit that to himself or to her.
So, Mira hadn't run.
She'd stayed, taking it upon herself to mop up the blood from Vince's attack, while Kellan, Doc, and Nina were elsewhere in the bunker, ostensibly seeing to rebel business and looking after Chaz's remains once Candice had been stabilized.
Mira plunged her hands into the bloodied water and started washing the towels and rinsing them out. She tried to separate herself from the reality of the task - the knowledge that the blood staining her hands and clothes, running in a scarlet river down the opened drain of the sink, represented a life taken today, and another one narrowly spared. She tried to tell herself that this place, these people who lived and had now died here, were not hers to worry about.
But she was worried.
Worried about Candice, about Doc and Nina, all of whom had lost an old friend and made a new enemy today. She was worried about Jeremy Ackmeyer too, because as frightened as she'd been for him in Kellan's keeping, it was nothing compared to the dread she felt knowing Vince had him now and was obviously willing to kill anyone who stood in his way.
And she was worried about Kellan, of course.
