Chapter 20
"Are you sure about these locations?" I asked Krause through the car's speaker system.
"Pretty damn sure." His voice came through with the confidence of someone who'd spent years tracking Russian operations. "Boarded up meatpacking plant in Vernon. Auto body shop in Van Nuys—they use the paint booth and everybody turns a blind eye. And a warehouse near the docks in San Pedro."
"Makes sense for me to take Vernon," Krause continued. "You take San Pedro. Simon, you can hit Van Nuys since you’re in Malibu. I’ll text you both the addresses."
My phone buzzed with the locations thirty seconds later. I pulled away from Eddie's girlfriend's house and headed for the highway, my ribs screaming with every breath.
The 405 South was a parking lot even at this hour.
I merged into traffic and immediately wanted to throw the rental car off a bridge.
No acceleration and I couldn’t change lanes for shit.
When I did manage to change a lane, it sent fire through my ribcage.
The body armor pressed against the cracked bones like a vise.
Forty minutes to reach San Pedro. Forty minutes while Eddie Pope could be bleeding out in some warehouse.
The industrial area near the docks sprawled out like something from a post-apocalyptic movie.
Empty buildings, chain-link fences with rusted "CLOSED" signs, cracked pavement sprouting weeds.
Most of the warehouses looked abandoned, victims of shipping industry consolidation or businesses that had moved operations overseas.
Perfect place to torture someone. No witnesses. No one to hear screaming.
I spotted the target warehouse three blocks from the water. Different from the others. The chain-link gate stood open. A black Escalade sat parked near a side door.
Russians.
I drove past, keeping my speed casual, and parked two blocks away behind another abandoned warehouse. I killed the engine and sat for thirty seconds, listening.
Distant traffic from the highway. A ship's horn from the port. Nothing close.
I climbed out carefully, every movement deliberate. The Sig Sauer felt solid against my back. Krause's body armor sat tight across my chest, the plates pressing into my damaged ribs with each breath.
The warehouse loomed three stories tall—corrugated metal siding, windows on the second and third floors dark with grime and decades of neglect. Exterior metal stairs zigzagged up the south side of the building.
I circled the perimeter, staying low, using abandoned equipment for cover. No guards posted outside. Sloppy. They were confident, comfortable, not expecting company.
That would be their last mistake.
The exterior stairs groaned under my weight, so I forced myself to step lighter. Each step sent shockwaves through my torso. I clenched my jaw and kept climbing, one hand on the Sig, the other gripping the rusted railing.
On the second floor a service door hung half off its hinges. I eased it open, and slipped inside.
The interior catwalk ran the length of the building, metal grating suspended twenty feet above the warehouse floor. The only light in the place came from below.
Voices drifted up from the ground level. English with thick Russian accents.
And screaming. Eddie's screaming.
I moved along the catwalk, each footstep placed with precision despite the pain radiating from my ribs. The grating was solid, no give, but sound carried in the empty space and I couldn’t afford to be heard.
Through the metal framework, I could see them. They actually had two fucking ring lights set up facing Eddie, like they were ready to film a TikTok or some shit.
There were three men. All big, all armed. Eddie was tied to a metal chair in the center of the warehouse floor, his face a mask of blood. They'd worked him over hard. Broken nose, swollen eyes, cuts across his cheeks.
A cell phone sat on a folding table, speaker engaged.
"Where is Russell Dunlap?" The voice from the phone was cultured, precise English with a Russian accent underneath. Viktor Sokolov.
"I don't know!" Eddie's voice came out thick, distorted through swollen lips. "I've been trying to find him for weeks! I swear!"
The largest Russian—shaved head, tree trunk neck, Makarov in a shoulder holster—stepped forward and drove his fist into Eddie's stomach. Eddie doubled over as much as the restraints allowed, retching.
"You worked with him." The interrogator's tone stayed conversational. "You know how he thinks."
"He disappeared after I refused to pay his blackmail!" Eddie gasped for air. "I hired investigators. I tried everything. He's gone!"
Viktor's voice crackled through the speaker. "Then you are useless to me. Kill him."
The interrogator pulled his Makarov.
"Wait!" Eddie's voice cracked with desperation. "Wait! I have information! I do!"
The gun paused six inches from Eddie's forehead.
“Russell has a stepsister. Sophie. They’re close.”
The Russians looked at each other. This seemed like new information to them. It had to be, or they would have gone after her before now.
"And I know about his other target! Kit Lord, the actress! He's blackmailing her too!"
My blood turned to ice.
The second Russian—leaner, colder eyes—leaned against the table. "Tell us something useful about her or die."
Eddie talked faster, words tumbling over each other. "I hired a private investigator to find her! She was hiding in Tennessee! Small town called Jasper Creek! The investigator tracked her through her friend Angelica Drakos!"
No. No, no, no.
"Jasper Creek, Tennessee." Viktor's voice sharpened with interest. "The actress is there now?"
"I don't know! The PI lost track of her a few days ago, but that's where she was! He was asking around town, but nobody would talk to him. Some old woman fed him crazy stories about Hulk Hogan and Elvis!"
Little Grandma. God bless her sly heart.
The interrogator raised the Makarov again, pressing it against Eddie's temple.
No choice now. Sophie and Katherine exposed, Jasper Creek compromised.
I pulled the Sig Sauer, braced against the catwalk railing, and fired.
Two shots. Center mass. The interrogator dropped.
The lean Russian spun toward the sound. I put one in his chest before he could draw his weapon.
The third Russian went for his gun. I shot him in the shoulder, watched him stagger, then put one in his head.
Eight seconds. Three targets down.
Training. Muscle memory. Twenty years of this.
Viktor's voice erupted from the speaker phone. "What's happening? Report! What was that shooting?"
I descended the catwalk stairs, each step agony, and crossed to the table. Grabbed the phone. Viktor was shouting in Russian now, demanding answers.
I disconnected the call and pocketed the phone.
Eddie slumped in the chair, barely conscious, staring at me with terrified confusion through swollen eyes. Blood dripped from his chin.
I checked his pulse. Strong enough. Breathing ragged but steady. The injuries looked bad but survivable if he got medical attention soon.
I pulled out my burner phone and dialed 911.
"Emergency services, what's your—"
"Shots fired at warehouse 342 San Pedro. Multiple people down." I hung up before they could ask questions.
Sirens would be here in minutes. Time to move.
I crouched in front of Eddie, met his eyes. "You don't know me. You never saw me. Tell the police it was a Russian gang fight. Stay quiet, stay alive. Understand?"
He nodded weakly.
I moved to each body, grabbed their phones, pocketed them. Intel. Evidence. Anything that might help.
I didn’t hear sirens yet, but they’d get here, and I’d need to be gone.
I headed for the side door, moving as fast as my ribs would allow. Out into the cool night air. Down the block to my rental car.
Started the engine and pulled away as I heard the first distant siren.
My hands shook on the steering wheel.
Viktor had heard everything before I intervened. Knew about Jasper Creek. Knew about Angie. Knew Katherine had been there. They might find Sophie’s apartment and see that she’d bolted, two mugs of coffee sitting cold on the counter.
Damn. I’d fucked up, leaving that behind for them to find. And if they got access to any camera footage that showed the three of us leaving together, they’d go to Jasper Creek.
Even if he saw me on camera, he didn't know me, didn’t know he’d be coming to a town full of former special operators. Didn't know Katherine had an entire town ready to protect her and Sophie.
That was the only advantage we had left. And it was a good one.
I pulled out my phone and texted Simon and Krause while sitting at a red light.
Abort. Eddie is safe but compromised. Russians know about Sophie and Jasper Creek. Regroup at motel.
Simon's reply came first.
En route. ETA 30 minutes.
Then Krause.
Understood. Vernon location was empty anyway.
I merged North onto the highway, heading back to San Fernando Valley. My mind raced through tactical options.
Viktor would send people to Jasper Creek, hoping that Katherine and Sophie would be a big enough draw to lure Russell out of hiding.
Hell, Viktor might even come, himself. But he'd be cautious now, knowing someone professional had taken out three of his men.
He'd bring more firepower. Better planning.
Which meant we had maybe twenty-four hours before this turned into a war.
Only one play left—lead them to exactly where we wanted them to go. Away from town. Away from Jase and his family. Control the battlefield. We'd set the trap and draw Viktor's men in.
Better to fight on ground we knew than keep running through LA while Viktor hunted us.
Now that the adrenaline was gone, my ribs hurt like a son of a bitch. But the thought of seeing Katherine's face flashed through my mind. That could help keep any man going.
I pressed harder on the accelerator.
The motel appeared forty minutes later, a beacon of neon and peeling paint. I parked in front of room 247 and sat for a moment, trying to compose myself.
My shirt was soaked with sweat. The body armor had saved my ribs from worse damage, but I looked like hell. Katherine would take one look at me and know.
I climbed out of the car, every movement deliberate, and walked to the door. Knocked twice.
"Code?" Her voice came through immediately. Scared. Hopeful.
"It's me."
The door flew open.
Katherine stood there in jeans and my Army t-shirt, blonde hair pulled back, eyes red from crying or exhaustion or both. She took one look at my face—at whatever expression I couldn't hide—and her hand flew to her mouth.
"What happened?"
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, locked it, and engaged the chain. Then I turned to face her.
“Simon and Krause should be here shortly. When they get here, we’re going back to Jasper Creek with Simon.”
"Code, what—"
"Viktor knows, Katherine. He knows about Sophie and it won’t take him long to figure out she’s with us.
He knows about Jasper Creek. He knows you were there.
Eddie Pope broke during interrogation and gave up everything.
" The words came out flat, tactical. Easier than facing the emotion behind them.
"I got there in time to save Eddie. Not in time to stop the leak. "
Her face went pale. "Angelica. Jase. The twins."
"They're targets now. Or they will be once Viktor figures out the connection." I moved to the table where my laptop sat, started shutting everything down. "We go to Jasper Creek, we control the battlefield. We make them come to us on our terms."
“But so many people will be in the crossfire.”
“No they won’t. Like I said, we’ll control the battlefield.”
“This is too much Code,” she said as she walked to stand in front of me. “Everybody’s putting their lives on the line for me, especially you.”
I pulled her close, pressing her face into my neck so she couldn’t see my pained expression. “I would die for you, Katherine. You’re it for me. That’s just the way it is.”
She tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let her. I stroked her hair until she relaxed. “I love you too, Code.”
I held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, letting myself have this moment before the next fight.
Katherine jerked away from me when we heard a soft knock on the door. Sophie must have seen me arrive and gave us a few minutes of alone time. It was a shame he brother had gotten her involved in this mess.
“I’ll get it,” I told her. “You start gathering your things.”
“Okay.”
I caught her behind her neck and gave her a hard wet kiss. When we parted we were both breathing hard.
“I love you too, Katherine.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I turned to open the door, so I could break the news to Sophie that without a doubt, Viktor was now after her too.
Damn Russell.