As soon as I disconnected from Holt’s call, I hit the speed dial for Hellhound. The call went directly to voicemail.
Shit. That meant he was in position already.
“It’s Aydan,” I said rapidly after the beep. “The buyer just changed the drop point. We have to be south of town near De Winton by eleven.” I described the site to him in as much detail as I could, hoping I wasn’t missing anything.
My heart sank as I talked. He wouldn’t make it there in time. The original site was in the north end of Calgary, so his travel time would be a good twenty minutes longer than mine; and I was barely going to make it. There was no way he’d be able to take down his setup, pack up, drive to De Winton, and be ready for action.
“Thanks for trying,” I added. “And don’t bother calling me back; I won’t be able to pick up anyway. I love you. ’Bye.”
I disconnected and got back on the highway, taking the first exit to get onto the southbound side.
Navigating the traffic with only half my attention, I racked my brain for a safer way to accomplish this meeting. By the time my exit rushed up, I still had no inspiration.
I couldn’t drive us to the drop. I couldn’t control Grandin and look as though I was his captive at the same time. And if we cut Grandin out of the loop entirely and Holt impersonated him, and if our buyer knew Grandin by sight, Holt was pretty much guaranteed to get shot.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
What would Kane do? Surely he’d have a better plan.
Should I phone him?
I growled and thumped the steering wheel. No. He had made it clear where his priorities lay. And after all my lofty talk about not influencing him, it would be pretty damn hypocritical to call him now and ask for help. He’d feel obligated to rescue me again; and if this meeting ended up being as fatal to witnesses as I feared…
No. Just no.
The sportsplex loomed up on my left, and I turned in.
Holt was standing beside a white panel truck splashed with a gaudy ‘Fitz-Rite Fine Flooring’ logo, his phone to his ear. When I parked beside him, he headed for my passenger door. I popped the locks and he slid in, pocketing his phone as he did.
“Where’s Grandin?” I asked.
“Back of the truck.” Holt jerked a thumb in that direction. “I’ve been keeping him sedated. This kind of situation is his best opportunity to escape, so I’m taking extra precautions. We’ll get him into your back seat before he comes to.” He hesitated, not looking at me. “So, did you think of any better plans?”
“No. Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Okay.” Glancing over, he added, “Where’s your vest?”
“This is it.” I plucked at the light jacket Reggie had given me.
“Are you fucking nuts?” Holt barked. “Put on a fucking vest!”
“This is better than a vest. It’s bulletproof and blade-proof, too. It’s a prototype I tested last summer for the Weapons Department.”
“No shit.” Holt poked a tentative finger at my sleeve. “So you’re saying I could stab you and the blade wouldn’t go through this? Bullshit.”
“It stopped a broadhead from a hunting bow at point-blank range.”
“Wow.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “No wonder you suck up to Chow.”
“Fuck off,” I said without heat. “Are your security guys in place?”
“Yeah, I was just talking to them. The site’s clear except for some old farts ice-fishing down on the river, but it’s too late to clear them out. They’ve got coolers and lawn chairs and a campfire, so they’re probably not going anywhere in the next half hour; and we’re not going near them anyway. They should be pretty safe. The bushes block their view, and the way they’ve got their radio cranked they won’t notice us, or even hear gunshots if there are any.” He grimaced. “And if they’re working with the buyer, they’re too far away to be much of a threat. Our sniper will take them out before they can get to us.”
I eased out a shaky breath. “I guess that’s the best we can do.” A glance at my watch did nothing to calm my nerves. “It’s time.”
“Bring the car around the back of the van and help me with Grandin.”
Holt got out and I followed his instructions, pulling in close to the double rear doors as he opened them. My heart thumped as I surveyed the parking lot and nearby highway. A cluster of parked vehicles huddled near the building’s entrance, but none were close to us. The sparse traffic on the highway whisked by, oblivious to the drama about to be enacted. We wouldn’t get a better chance.
I hopped out and joined Holt in the van where Grandin lay sprawled on the floor in leg shackles and handcuffs.
“Cover me,” Holt said. As I drew my Glock, he raised his voice and added, “Grandin, if you’re faking it, just remember that Kelly’s holding a gun on you. If you try anything, she’ll be really happy to blow your brains out.”
He seized Grandin’s feet and dragged him to the doors of the van, then stepped down to the ground. Stooping, he draped Grandin over his shoulder, then pivoted and flopped Grandin’s inert body into my back seat.
Swearing under his breath, he wrestled Grandin roughly upright and removed his restraints, then drew his weapon and jerked his chin at me. “Grandin, I’ve got you covered and Kelly’s getting in the other side with her gun drawn, so don’t get any ideas.”
Hurrying around to the other side of the car, I sucked in a deep breath in the hope of gathering any stray courage that might be floating around in the frigid air.
I didn’t find any, so I dropped gracelessly into the back seat and fumbled on my seatbelt left-handed.
Holt closed Grandin’s door, locked the van, then rounded my car and got behind the wheel. We sat in silence.
A couple of minutes later, Holt twisted and reached over the seat to give Grandin’s shoulder a rough shake.
No response.
Holt checked his watch. “He should wake up any minute now.” Enviably calm, he threaded an earpiece over his ear and tucked the transmitter into his jacket. “Black Team, this is Base, do you read?” He waited, then said, “Black Team One, report.”
Another pause while he listened.
“Black Team Two?” Holt asked. He listened again, then said, “Radio silence unless there’s a change.” Turning to me, he said, “Still no sign of the buyer, and the area’s clear except for the old farts. Our guys have a sightline to the road, so they’ll let us know if anybody arrives before we get there.”
I nodded and silence fell again.
A couple more minutes crawled past. Tension ratcheted my shoulders up to the vicinity of my ears. God, waiting was far worse than action.
What if the buyer had spotted our men and aborted?
Or worse, what if the buyer had brought a team? What if they had killed all our men and were even now slaughtering the old fishermen to eliminate any potential witnesses? My stomach lurched at the memory of Dirk’s bright blood spraying across white snow.
Grandin twitched and mumbled, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Holt raised a sardonic eyebrow in the rearview mirror. “Don’t shoot him by accident.”
“If I shoot him, it’ll be on purpose,” I growled.
Grandin groaned and his eyes opened halfway. More long moments oozed by as he gradually regained consciousness. At last he straightened in the seat, his eyes focusing.
“Grandin,” Holt said sharply. “It’s showtime. Tell me again what you’re going to do.”
Grandin shot him a look that blazed with pure hatred. “I’m going to sit here in the car until the buyer drives up,” he said in a monotone. “Then Kelly’s going to hold her gun on me until you come around and open her door. You’ll lean in as though you’re dragging her out but you’ll actually be aiming your gun at me. She’ll holster her weapon and stand up, and you’ll hold her in front of you to hide your weapon from any observers. I’ll get out and pretend to grab her and push her forward. You’ll be right behind me with your gun on my spine. As soon as the buyer gets out of the car, your team will take him down. Then we’ll go back to the car and you’ll put the shackles and handcuffs back on me.”
“Very good.” Holt gave him a short mocking round of applause. “And if you do anything besides what you just described, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair.”
“Whatever,” Grandin snarled. “Let’s get this over with.”
Holt shifted into gear, and my pulse accelerated along with the car.
I could do this.
I wasn’t in any actual danger. They wanted me alive.
But not necessarily uninjured…
Blocking that thought out as best I could, I reviewed our plans again.
So many ways this could go wrong…
The drive took exactly seven minutes. In that blip of time I aged ten years.
I couldn’t do this. I was only a middle-aged bookkeeper, for fucksakes, not James Fucking Bond. I should be sitting behind a desk bored out of my mind right now, looking forward to leaving my boring job and going home to my boring life-
“The team just spotted a guy moving into place under the bridge on the north side,” Holt said as we coasted down the hill. “But we don’t have time to clear him out.”
My heart rattled against my ribs. “That’s only about a hundred yards. No problem for a rifle. Does he have a clear shot?” I tried to crane my neck without taking my eyes off Grandin as we rolled onto the bridge.
“We’ll park where he doesn’t.” Holt hesitated, listening to his earpiece. “No sign of a weapon and he’s scruffy. Might be a homeless guy just holing up…”
As he listened again, my heart rose with momentary hope. Maybe that was Hellhound moving into place.
“Okay, he’s curled up with his garbage bags,” Holt said. “Easy shot for our sniper. If he makes a move, he’s toast.”
My guts froze. My mouth was already half open to tell Holt it might be Hellhound when I realized that if Holt and Dermott found out I’d involved Arnie, we’d both be up Shit Creek.
But what if Hellhound didn’t know he was in the team’s crosshairs?
Oh, God, what if he took out his rifle…
Maybe it wasn’t Arnie. Maybe it was an enemy.
Would that be worse or better?
Shit, shit…
Holt slowed for the turn, and my back prickled with the knowledge of eyes watching us.
And eyes not watching. The fishermen were strung out along the riverbank in a loose group, their attention focused on the river and their unprotected backs turned toward our rendezvous point. Even through the closed car windows, I could hear the country music blaring. They must be deaf as posts. As I watched, one of the figures limped over to the campfire, red jacket bright and white hair almost invisible against the snowy backdrop. A whiff of wood smoke reached my nose, and I imagined them joking and laughing, enjoying their retirement, probably swigging a few beers kept frosty in a snowbank.
Unaware that death was rolling up behind them.
I lost sight of them as the car bounced down the twisting snow-rutted trail that descended to the river. Scrubby bushes surrounded us, their winter-bare branches dark against the snow and thick enough to completely obscure our view. The dead-white sky crowded down, creating an oppressive monochrome landscape far too much like the VR void.
Suppressing a shiver, I glued my gaze on Grandin. One moment of my inattention was all he’d need to overpower me and grab my gun.
My heart thumped in my ears.
Around a bend the trail opened up into a wider section. Holt braked to a bumpy halt, then turned the car around to face back the way we’d come.
“Good as it’s going to get,” he grunted, and shifted into Park.
My hand was icy on my gun and shivers rolled through my belly. “Turn up the heat,” I croaked.
“It’s already a fucking sauna in here,” Holt complained, but he complied. Sweat glistened on the back of his neck.
Was he as scared as I was?
Hell, he should be more scared. He was a lot more likely to be killed.
But it probably wasn’t possible to be more scared than I was right now. Dammit, this was far worse than anything I’d ever been forced to do in my unwanted new career. Car chases; gunfights; hell, even getting beaten up; any of it was better than this ever-mounting pressure-cooker of suspense and dread.
Run.
Run now.
Shut up. Shut up shut up shut-
“Incoming.” Holt’s single word forced another spurt of adrenaline into my already-saturated bloodstream. A moment later he added, “One driver. Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come alone. Maybe it’s not our guy…”
A vintage cream-coloured Lincoln Continental wallowed around the corner and slid to a stop in front of us.
Blocking the road.
“It’s an ambush!” Grandin’s voice crackled with tension.
“Probably,” Holt agreed. He pressed a finger against his earpiece. “Black Team?” After a listening moment, he said, “Okay, we’re on.”
A phone rang, its sudden sharp tone making me jump.
Holt pulled it out and toggled the speakerphone. “This is Mr. Grandin’s phone,” he said primly.
“Let me talk to Grandin.”
Holt passed the phone back to Grandin with a warning look.
“Yeah?” Grandin snapped.
“Bring her out where I can see her.”
“Where’s my money?”
“You’ll see your money when I see her.”
Grandin let out an irritated sigh. “Fine.” He disconnected.
“Let’s do it,” Holt said.