Chapter 23 #2
As he flipped more pages, Aleksei thanked the gods of preparation and paranoia. Before they’d trashed her phone, he’d told Rose to copy down all the phone numbers she might need. Neither of them had paper, so they’d written them down in the back of Phillipe’s godsend of a notebook.
Rose said Christian was a cyber whiz. Hopefully, he could access Kemper’s files and figure out where the hell Kemper was taking Rosemary.
* * *
Gunshots exploded behind her. The sounds were almost deafening.
A streak of white-hot pain seared her arm.
Rosemary stumbled but kept running. A car door slammed, and an engine revved.
In front of her was a sea of blacktop. To the left, a concrete curb and a field of grass filled with a line of craggy trees separated the parking lot she was in from the one for the group of buildings next door.
She cut left, aiming for the trees, her arm burning and her knees shaking. The moon had not risen, so it was hard to see. She tripped over the curb, onto the strip of greenery, and then ran face-first into a chain link fence.
The force of the hit rattled the fence and her lungs, but she ignored the sensation. She was used to ignoring pain. She was used to pushing through. Her fingers gripped cold metal, and her hiking boots found purchase on the chain links. She climbed, tuning out the sound of the approaching engine.
If Gary got there before she made it over the fence, she was a dead woman.
Her strong arms pulled her up despite the fiery throbbing that ran from her wrist to her shoulder.
She threw one leg over the top and jumped just as the Ford Bronco crashed through the fence and into a tree.
She landed hard, twisting her ankle. She risked a glance over her shoulder.
Smoke billowed from the hood of the SUV, creating an eerie fog in the headlights.
Shutting out her sore ankle, she scrambled to her feet and ran.
She stuck to the shadows, heading in the direction Kemper had indicated Moresco’s warehouse was located, being as quiet as she could despite the agony in her ankle and arm.
She jogged around the edges of two parking lots and climbed another fence, her lungs aching from stress, constant motion, and the weight of the backpack.
Finally, she came to a warehouse where light emanated from the narrow windows above the loading bays.
At the end of the building, two large men stood on either side of a door illuminated by an overhead light.
They both held weapons similar to the one she’d seen Virus holding.
It looked like she’d found Moresco’s warehouse.
She glanced behind her. Darkness. She heard no footsteps, but Kemper could close in on her at any minute.
It was now or never.
She raised her hands, her injured arm screaming at the motion, and walked into the light. “My name is Rosemary Cashman. I’m an accountant. I worked for Armando Pannetone. I need to see Mr. Moresco. It’s an emergency.”
She’d never been frisked before, but she didn’t flinch as rough hands groped her, ostensibly searching for weapons.
She’d seen so many doctors that she was used to strangers touching her body.
She tried to object when one of the men—Nico, if she could trust what the other called him—took her backpack from her, but he ignored her protests.
He opened the door and waved her forward. His partner remained outside.
The sound of the heavy door slamming behind her sent her already erratic heartbeat skittering. This was a terrible idea. Maybe she should have kept running and tried to make her way out of the industrial park. Maybe she could have found a Good Samaritan to take her to a police station.
Or maybe Kemper would have found her and shot her.
At least with Moresco, she had a chance of getting out of this alive.
But she started second-guessing that assumption as soon as Nico pushed open the door that separated the small foyer they’d entered from the main warehouse.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with pallet after pallet of boxed TVs, computers, video games, high-end mixers, and loads of other stuff took up most of the building.
She’d feel like she was in Costco if it weren’t for the six empty poker tables, bar, and improvised lounge that occupied a small portion of the warehouse.
Costco didn’t have an opulent sitting area with jewel-toned couches, chairs with plush pillows, and exquisite tables decorated with candles and fresh flowers. It also didn’t have numerous oversized men holding automatic weapons.
Salvatore Moresco’s icy, accusatory gaze also ratcheted down the happy shopping vibe.
Nico dropped her backpack on the ground.
A man with a leashed German shepherd approached.
The dog sniffed the backpack for a minute, then pulled away.
A second man approached and waved a metal wand over the bag.
The wand’s slow beeping didn’t change. Moresco nodded, and Nico picked up the backpack, set it on the closest poker table, and pulled out the laptop.
Shit like this did not happen in real life.
Moresco lifted both hands, palms up, and raised one bushy eyebrow. “So, Ms. Cashman, what are you doing here?”
The sound of his voice was like a thousand tiny spiders crawling under her skin. She could see the evil in his near-black eyes. She’d sensed a darkness in him during their first meeting, but it had been muted. Now, the force of it staggered her. She’d miscalculated.
She would have been better off running.
Get your shit together. You’re imagining things.
She pointed to the bag, trying to keep her hand from shaking.
“I think that laptop has your business records on it. The files are password-protected, so I can’t be sure, but I could see the names of the files, so I think they’re there.
Dante gave me the laptop when I left for vacation.
I know the servers were destroyed in the explosion. I thought you’d want it back.”
Moresco stepped toward her, and she had to look up to meet his gaze.
He was trying to intimidate her, trying to make her feel small and inconsequential.
It was working, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of showing she was afraid.
She stood her ground, allowing him to encroach on her personal space.
“How did you know where to find me?”
This was the meat of it. She was here to bargain, and by running his mouth, Kemper had given her a better bargaining chip than the business records. He’d made her a pawn in his game, so now she had no choice but to play.
“Agent Kemper brought me here.” She lifted her bleeding arm.
“He shot me, but I managed to get away. He’s been embezzling from you for years.
The records on the laptop will prove it.
Kemper found out that I told Armando and Dante about some accounting anomalies and was afraid you’d discover what he’d been doing.
He’s the one who planted the bomb at Pannetone & Associates.
He tried to cover up the embezzlement by destroying the servers and” —she swallowed—"murdering all those innocent people. But he didn’t count on you stepping out for espresso and Dante giving me the laptop. ”
Moresco’s sallow cheeks flushed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Where is Kemper?”
Her palms were sweating. Her armpits were soaked. She fought to keep the nervous quiver out of her voice as she pointed in the direction of the smashed fence and smoking car.
“He wrecked his car chasing me. The last time I saw him, he was in a parking lot over that way. I ran and didn’t look back.”
Moresco jerked his head toward two burly men with dead eyes. “Find Kemper. Dispose of him.”
Despite the chill in the warehouse, perspiration continued to trickle down her lower back.
Habit made her squeeze her hands into fists so she wouldn’t scratch her head, but she realized that, for the first time in months, her scalp was cool and comfortable.
Not that it was any consolation. Moresco had just given his men a not-so-veiled order to kill an FBI agent.
She hadn’t considered that Moresco would kill Kemper.
If Kemper hadn’t gotten his ass out of here, his blood would be on her hands...
and since Sal had issued the order in front of her, she likely wasn’t long for this world either.
Hot tears pricked her eyes. The Fates really were fickle.
When her doctors told her that her cancer had returned for a third time, she’d examined her life, said her apologies, asked for forgiveness where it was needed, and prepared her soul.
But then, a miracle happened: Remiza healed her. She let go of death and embraced life.
Now, she was going to die in a desolate industrial park without saying goodbye to her sister, without setting things right with Aleksei, and with the responsibility of putting Kemper’s life in danger clouding her karma.
Moresco stepped away from her, the air around her sweeter in his absence. He picked up a martini from the bar and took a sip, sighing with pleasure. He waved an elegant, tan hand toward Nico.
“Thank you for the laptop, Rosemary. Now, be a good girl and go with Nico. He’s going to take you for a walk. You’re a bit pale. You look like you need some fresh air.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but her tongue was too dry to form words. All she could do was wrap her arms around herself to try to quell the tremors coursing through her body as Nico’s hot, beefy hand settled on her back and shoved her toward the door.
This was going to be the last walk of her life.
She was going to die with her last words to Aleksei having been angry and harsh. She was going to die without telling him she loved him.