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“You bet you did.”
I pressed the gun barrel against his temple, and he winced.
“Please, not in front of my kid.”
My eyes darted to the back seat, and all kinds of alarms went off inside my head when I saw a damn kid sitting in the car seat staring back at me with big doe eyes. He couldn’t be more than two years old.
Dammit! Why didn’t I look in the back seat before I climbed in?
Because in the two weeks I’d been watching him, he had never brought his kid with him.
Wait! Did he somehow know today was the day?
Is that what this is about?
Did he know I was coming, so he brought his kid with him as a shield?
I turned away from the kid to glare at my mark ready to drag him outside the car and off him right there on the wharf for putting his kid in harm’s way.
But I didn’t.
Because after watching him for two weeks, I instinctively knew that wasn’t the case. This schmuck might be an opportunistic thief, but he wasn’t about to risk his kid’s life.
This was just dumb luck.
Or bad luck.
Depended which side of the gun you were on.
“Please, let me get my kid home, and then I’ll go anywhere you want.”
I looked at the kid again.
Fuck.
Now the little guy was sucking in his lower lip. Any minute and he was going to start crying.
Double fuck.
I looked away to refocus and pressed the barrel of my gun to Graham’s temple. He yelped, and it set the kid off. He started hollering in his car seat, and damn if I didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to comfort the little guy.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I took in a frustrated breath. “How much of the money is left?”
“A-all of it.”
Hating myself for what I was about to do because it meant I was going to have to smooth this shit over with Vinnie somehow, I said, “Then today is your lucky day, Graham, because I’m giving you a second chance. Do you understand? You’re going to get that eight million dollars, and you’re going to give it back to Vinnie De Kysa. Every last penny.”
“H-how do I give it back?”
“I don’t care how. FedEx it, Uber it, hell, send it via fucking carrier pigeon, I don’t give a fuck, just fucking do it. You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
“Okay, I-I will.”
I looked at the kid. He’d stopped crying, but he was staring at me with those big eyes, and it was the strangest encounter I’d ever had during a hit. Because it wasn’t fear I saw in his eyes, it was sadness. Hell, if I’m real honest, he looked more disappointed in me than anything.
Christ. I must have been losing my mind because I felt that look right through to my bones.
