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The operator informed her that officers were on their way. “Stay on the phone with me, miss.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to help them.” Clicking off her cell, Izzy turned onto the street the warehouse was located on.
* * * *
Staying behind one of the empty barrels to keep out of sight from their attacker, Clay turned to Jay, who was three feet from him hunkered down next to a crate. In a low tone, he asked, “You okay?”
Jay nodded and whispered, “At the moment, I am. You?”
“No bullets hit me, so far.”
“Where is the bastard?”
“The shots came from that direction, but I don’t know where he is now.” They were in an open area of the warehouse, the barrel and crate their only cover. If he or Jay stepped out, the gunman would have a clear shot. “We have no choice but to stay put, bro.”
“I agree. I’m sure Izzy called 911. The police should be arriving any minute.”
He nodded. “I hope she’s following your other instructions, Jay, and staying away.”
Jay frowned. “She’s got too much fire inside her for that. I don’t think she will, bro.”
“Neither do I. If Izzy gets here before they do, she’ll be walking into a trap, just like we did.”
“We can’t wait for the police.” Jay held up his gun.
“You’re right.” Tightening his grip on his gun, Clay let out a hot breath. “We don’t have any other choice but to flush the bastard out. On three, bro.”
Jay nodded.
“One. Two…”
* * * *
Izzy arrived at the warehouse. Parked in front of the building were two cars, but there was no sign of anyone around. The door was ajar.
I should wait for the police.
When she heard shots coming from inside the warehouse, she grabbed her gun and raced inside.
Clay and Jay were firing their weapons to the back of the warehouse. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a man standing on the catwalk, aiming a gun at their backs.
Oh God No! There was no time to warn them, only to act. She fired her gun at their attacker. The man dropped his weapon and fell off the catwalk, plummeting to the cement floor below.
Clay and Jay swung around just as she felt someone grab hold of her from behind and place the barrel of a gun to her head.
“Drop you weapon, bitch.” Moody’s voice echoed in the empty warehouse.
She released her pistol and it fell to the floor.
“I guess you’re not the dumb blonde I thought you were. Now you’ve messed up all my plans. Mason, you okay?” Moody was addressing the man on the floor—the man she’d just shot.
Kenneth Mason. Viktor Grekov. But the killer never answered, instead only moaning.
“Damn it, Mason. This was supposed to be an easy job for you. Kill these three and dispose of their bodies.”
A shiver ran up and down her spine.
“This is your fault. Not mine.” Moody shot Mason in the back, and the man’s moaning ceased.
