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It had been a while since Clay considered East Canon to be his stomping ground, but he remembered places like he knew the curves of Lark’s body.
“We’re headed to the warehouse.”
“Jesus. Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he bit off.
“Surely they’re not stupid enough to believe we won’t look there. Not after Desantis and I paid them a visit the other night.”
“The kid’s cocky as hell. I’m sure his friends feel like they’re just as untouchable. Hold on. We’re coming in hot.”
The street that ran behind the warehouse connected to a gravel parking lot. They hit hard. The truck went into a sideways skid and Clay righted it just before the passenger door slammed into the back of the building.
If Quaide was shaken by the close call, he didn’t let on. He might have unpeeled his fingers from the handle, though. Clay didn’t have time to look—he jumped out and hit the ground running.
A padlock on the back door would keep out common criminals, but not him.
He yanked his weapon up, took aim and fired. The lock splintered.
When he kicked in the door, Quaide was on his six. Just like the old days.
They stormed into the space. No windows let in light and the door offered only a dim gray cast on the floor to guide them.
Taking a defensive pose, he threw out his senses. At the same moment he picked up a voice, Quaide twitched a finger in the direction he’d heard it too.
They sneaked through a back room filled with boxes and junk—and possibly bomb parts if they made a delivery after Quaide and Desantis’s raid. When they reached a doorway, Clay darted his head around the jamb.
He only had a split second to see. But it was enough to send his adrenaline through the roof.
A hearse was parked in the middle of the open space. Holding three fingers up behind his back, he ticked them down for Quaide.
On three, they burst into the big space with a high roof that carried sound, a fact that worked to their advantage.
The thud of their boots gained the attention of two men dressed in the black funeral attire.
“Step away from the vehicle!” Clay commanded in a bellow bordering on a roar.
“He’s got a weapon!” Quaide didn’t pause—he swung his weapon up and fired.
The man was hurled backward by the force of his bullet.
Clay quickly picked off the other man.
“Secure the area. I’ll check the hearse!” A quick scan showed nobody sat in the vehicle. When he saw the coffin in the back, his heart gave a sickening jolt of dread.
Oh god.
What if they were too late? Those guys could have done something to Lark in the time since he’d heard from her. Not a sound emitted from the coffin or from the phone line.
He threw open the back doors. “Help me!” he yelled to Quaide.
He rushed over and together they hefted the heavy coffin out. Just looking at the thing made his stomach churn.
“How do you open this thing?” His hands shook harder as he fought with clasps.
“Here! I got it.” Quaide stepped back just as Clay whipped the lid open.
His gut bottomed out.
