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Forty
Dean peered at his rearview mirror again, the white sedan, an Alfa Romeo, roaring behind him and incrementally gaining. He clutched his steering wheel with one hand and used his other to pat the pockets of his cargo pants, thanking fuck he hadn’t lost his phone in the scuffle with Andre.
He switched his gaze between the Alfa and the road, making sure the Alfa stayed behind him while he used the voice command to make a call.
“Hello?” Peter Marlin’s voice held a confused note.
“Luciano’s in town.”
“Dean?” The confused note deepened, maybe because Dean was the last person the sheriff expected to receive a call from. “Wait? What?” A shuffling sound took over, denoting movement, like the sheriff already sprang into action. Good. “Where are you? Where is he?”
Dean glanced at his mirror again. “He’s here. As in, trailing me at speed down Sherwood Road. I’m leading him to Mirabelle Falls, but he’s not working alone. So if you’ve got anyone else on duty tonight, call in all the help you can.”
“Got it. Where exactly at Mirabelle can I find you?”
“The bend, just after the picnic grounds. We’re on the move, but I have an idea on how to stop him, so you need to get here fast.”
“Right.” The slam of a car door cut over the sheriff’s voice, followed by a siren. “On my way.”
Dean hung up and tossed his phone to the console. From his glimpses through the mirror, he’d gleaned Luciano had a driver, some guy with a mean-as-fuck glare. Meanwhile, Luciano’s expression remained generally unaffected. Maybe because he’d been in the crime business forever and had seen and done everything there was to do. Maybe because, unlike his driver, this night didn’t necessarily have a live-or-die price tag attached. Maybe Luciano was just an arrogant, ignorant fuck, who could only envision an end where Dean died with a bullet between his eyes.
Maybe the man’s not wrong.
Two against one. And Luciano’s car was built for speed, unlike Dean’s.
The road straightened and now ran parallel to Mirabelle Falls. He planted his foot hard on the accelerator, trees flickering past his driver’s side window, the glow of bugs catching his headlights in the dark while he waited for the river to come into view.
Luciano’s car grew louder, the sedan eating up the distance on his right. His heart raced, the breakneck speed stoking a knowledge of just how this could all go wrong.
The river glinted against the moonlight to his left—his approaching destination a small win in a near impossible setup. The mob boss himself had traveled across the country, which meant the mission to kill Dean had long turned personal.
Luciano likely didn’t know about Dean’s arrest. That information had been suppressed, so why was he so invested? Because Dean had tried to break away? Because he hadn’t followed orders and served himself up for literal termination? Because Luciano’s fragile ego couldn’t allow for others to go their own way?
I guess his suspicions are right. I’ve already sold him for my freedom and to spare any other poor soul that might cross his path.
Not that Dean had any regrets. Any moment now, the cars would be level. Though he tried to take up as much road as possible, Luciano’s car would gain, and that’s when he would start shooting.
A sudden jolt ripped Dean’s attention to his side mirror and Luciano’s car ramming the SUV’s back quarter panel. The active part of this attack had started. Dean’s car fishtailed along the road, and he fought his steering wheel to gain control.
The swerving caused his car to lose ground, and he turned to his left to find the sedan’s front windows at his own.
Fuck!
He swung his wheel hard, a dull thud came, and the sedan wobbled and fell behind, the two men getting a taste of their own bitter medicine. Just what he needed. If he could hold them off, if he survived the next couple of minutes, he might survive altogether.
The Alfa roared again, inciting him to stomp the accelerator. Both cars hurtled on, the unfinished and bumpy road sending rocks and dirt pinging into the body of his car. Within seconds, Luciano’s car came level with his.
Dean’s passenger window exploded. He swore and ducked, a bullet hole appearing in his windshield about ten inches from his head. A lucky miss. Or unlucky, for Luciano. So, Dean took that luck and swerved his car again, ramming the Alfa until its tires edged the ditch on the other side of the road.
Within seconds, the Alfa righted and caught up to Dean once more.
“Pull over.” Luciano’s muffled voice crossed over his driver and through Dean’s shattered window. “Holloway, you’re gonna wanna pull over.”
He could have laughed at that. As if he’d ever stop. But Luciano called out again. “We’ve got your woman. Pull over.”
The muscles over Dean’s chest bunched, and an instant sickness kicked him in the gut.
How would Luciano know about Sarah?
