Page 80 of Blood Money

“I know.” The concern in Cassie’s voice came through over the phone. “Dom called me. He thought you would be too busy organizing the search.”

“Which is abso-fucking-lutely going nowhere,” he shouted, then took a deep breath. His sister was only trying to be supportive. “Sorry. For the first time in my career, I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing everything you can, and you know it. You’re blaming yourself. Aren’t you?”

He exhaled a frustrated breath. “If only I’d believed her sooner I could have made a better case to IA on her behalf so she didn’t feel pushed into this.”

“That wasn’t your place, Gray. I know how much you care about her.”

“Yeah, I—”

A crackle on the radio caught his attention. “Cass, I gotta go.”

“Intel Forty-six, Chopper Four. We got a hit in the north Bronx, but the signal just died. Location is an old barn. Looks to be abandoned.” The pilot gave the address. “Standby.”

The hell with standing by. Gray slammed on the gas, nearly rear-ending a taxi. He braked then veered to the left and shot toward the West Side Drive uptown to the Bronx.

“Smoke is coming from the building vent pipes, and…we can see flames inside.” The chopper pilot paused. “Dispatch, notify FDNY.”

When the dispatcher complied with the chopper’s request, Gray cued up the mic. “Dom, you get that?”

“On my way,” came Dom’s voice.

“Chopper Four, any movement in or outside the building?” Gray asked, surprised at the calmness in his tone. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and he cursed the building rush-hour traffic blocking his way.

Shooting to the left lane, he hit the lights and sirens, clearing a path uptown. “Move, move, move!” he shouted to no one who could actually hear him.

He blasted past the on-ramp to the George Washington Bridge, still heading north to the Bronx. Traffic was lighter north of the bridge, and Gray pushed the gas pedal to the floor. As he neared his exit, he slowed to keep from flipping the sedan in the sharply curved off-ramp. Once on local roads, traffic lights and residential drivers forced him to ease up on the gas.

“Negative,” the chopper’s pilot finally responded. “Fire’s building fast.”

“Any more hits on the locator?” Gray held his breath, knowing Alex could already be dead.

“Negative. We’re gonna have to get outta here. Smoke’s getting thick. With the shifting wind this old barn could fully ignite any second.”

No, she can’t be in there! But she is. Or, at least, the locator is.

Behind him, Gray heard and saw the first responding fire engines. He slowed at the next red light for oncoming vehicles. Seeing none, he blasted through the intersection. A wisp of smoke trailed overhead. He made the last turn and his heart stopped. The entire exterior of the barn was about to be engulfed in flames. Smoke spewed from every crack. Orange flames flickered behind windows.

Marked units began pouring in from all side streets, blocking off the area. Gray stomped on the gas and drove right up to the side of the barn. He bolted from the car.

“Detective,” a uniformed cop yelled. “Wait. That place is gonna go up any second.”

Ignoring him, Gray tore across the sidewalk and hauled ass up the short, rickety wood stairway along the side of the barn. When he flung open the door, smoke blasted him in the face, filling his nostrils.

Behind him, fire trucks screeched to a halt. Gray barreled through the door into a dark corridor. He coughed as the smoke began clogging his lungs.

An inner door slammed. Pounding feet. Coughing.

Not his.

A woman materialized from the grayness. She raised her arm and pointed a gun at him. Gray drew his weapon, diving for the floor. A gunshot blasted, so close he felt the whir over his head. He fired three times in rapid succession.

A heavy thud sounded through the smoky hallway. Still on his belly, Gray outstretched his arms, preparing to fire again if necessary.

Crouching low, he moved forward. A woman lay on the floor, a gun gripped in her half-open hand. Her eyes were open, unseeing. Three holes marked her chest. He grabbed her gun and stuffed it into his waistband.

A muffled scream came from somewhere inside the barn.