Chapter Thirty
Heart thundering in his chest, Seth risked another glance over his shoulder—and finally saw his attacker.
Recognition hit him like a fist to the gut.
Another cop from the precinct.
Bob Ellis.
Seth had known the old-timer most of his life. He’d attended Michael Cooper’s funeral, sitting red-eyed with the rest of the guys. He’d been one of Gene’s fishing buddies for decades.
And one of Gene’s thugs.
Bob’s face was tight with determination. With murder. He didn’t speak. Didn’t warn. Didn’t even try to negotiate.
Seth was pretty fucking sure that Gene had sent him. And told Bob to silence him…one way or another.
Thank god, he hadn’t called 911. He’d be surrounded by more cops on Gene’s payroll, ready to finish what Bob was doing his best to start.
A glint of something metallic caught Seth’s gaze. He caught sight of the weapon in Bob’s hand. It wasn’t his police-issue weapon, a less-than-legal street piece, or even a shotgun.
It was something Seth hadn’t expected.
A dart-style tranquilizer gun.
Understanding slammed through Seth’s brain pan. Gene didn’t want him dead…yet. The bastard wanted him incapacitated. Contained. Then…yeah, after enough torture to suit Specter’s anger and bloodlust, Gene would off him.
Seth refused to give the motherfucker the satisfaction.
Teeth bared, Bob fired.
Seth feinted hard to the left, diving and rolling, somehow managing to keep the pouch under his arm. The dart whistled past him and clattered harmlessly to the pavement.
Bob’s eyes widened with something that looked like panic. Then he cursed and backed away, fumbling to frantically reload the next dart.
Seth didn’t give the son of a bitch the chance.
He pivoted and barreled into Bob, who stumbled and tried to regain his footing. But Seth was bigger, stronger, twenty-five years younger, and a hell of a lot more pissed off.
In desperation, Bob raised shaking hands and pointed the tranq gun at him. Seth grabbed the gun by the barrel and shoved it back at him, ramming it between Bob’s eyes with a bone-cracking thwack. Bob grunted. Blood spurted from his nose as his head snapped back.
As he stumbled unsteadily, Seth ripped the weapon from his grip. His hands shook as he shoved the half-loaded dart into the chamber and pointed the weapon Bob’s way. The old cop froze, fear flashing across his face.
“Did Gene fucking send you?” Seth snarled.
Bob hesitated, then nodded. He half expected the old-timer to beg or bargain. Seth didn’t have the time or patience for either. Instead, he grabbed Bob’s arm, held him immobile, and pressed the barrel against Bob’s carotid artery.
Then Seth pulled the trigger.
Bob staggered, his hand flying to his neck. Shock widened his eyes. His legs buckled—just as his goddamn phone buzzed.
Quickly the drug worked its way through his system. Before the bastard passed out, Seth held him upright as he patted Bob down and located his phone.
“Passcode,” Seth growled as he held up the device. “Now.”
Bob’s mouth moved, slurred words tumbling out almost unintelligibly. “Four…seven…two…nine. Please—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Then Bob’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees gave out as his consciousness slipped away.
Seth dropped Bob, not giving two shits when he fell to the asphalt in a head-thumping heap.
Then, as he pocketed Bob’s phone, he glanced up reflexively—a cop’s instinct.
The wiring had already been cut from the security cameras mounted around the parking lot, their cables dangling loose against the building’s exterior.
Bob had prepared this kill zone. No footage. No witnesses. Clean elimination.
Gene’s orders. Gene’s reach. Gene’s professionalism.
Seth clenched his jaw as he glanced back at Bob, unconscious. Vulnerable.
Fuck that. Bob hadn’t planned to show him any mercy, and if the asshole came to, the first thing he’d do was call Gene. Then everyone at the house—everyone he loved—would die.
As far as Seth saw it, he only had one option, and he wasn’t going to cry for Bob. The fucking bastard had made his choices. And he was about to find out that when you played stupid games, you won stupid prizes.
Without a second thought, he shoved the tranq gun into his waistband, forced Bob face-down against the asphalt, then gripped Bob’s head in both hands twisted—hard. Quick. Controlled. Final.
He was dead.
Seth stepped over him and ran for the SUV, refusing to dwell on the fact that he’d just killed a man he’d known since childhood.
No time to process it. No time to feel any certain way.
He had to get to the house before Gene got suspicious—if he wasn’t already.
Seth’s thirty-minute window was closing fast.
He had to save his family.
And as much as he wished he could, Seth knew he couldn’t do that alone.
First, he had to see who the fuck had texted Bob during their scuffle.
As Seth sprinted to the vehicle and yanked the door open, he threw the tranq gun in the back seat and hauled himself behind the wheel.
He settled the pouch on the passenger seat, jammed the key into the ignition, and peeled out of the lot.
As he pulled onto the street, he tugged Bob’s phone from his pocket, entered the passcode with trembling fingers, and saw a text from Specter.
A single question mark.
Seth’s gut tightened. Gene wanted confirmation that Bob had offed him, his best friend’s son, the kid he’d known since he was eight years old.
Too bad for Gene that the former cop who turned vigilante, who had left his badge behind years ago, intended to both save his loved ones and kill the motherfucker—no matter what it took.
As he drove, Seth skimmed the message thread between Specter and Bob. Short. Clipped. Professional. No emotion, no detail. Just efficient communication between crooked men with a common criminal purpose.
Cursing, Seth typed a response.
Target down. All secure.
He hit Send without hesitation.
Then he floored it, tires screeching as he rocketed away from the storage facility. Adrenaline spiked through his veins, sharp and electric. His hands shook on the wheel.
Seth forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to focus.
The leather slid across the passenger seat—proof he suspected would take down Gene and his entire organization. Evidence his father had posthumously protected for the past sixteen years.
The text he’d just sent would buy him a little time—hopefully enough to game plan and execute. But Gene wasn’t stupid. Soon enough, he’d figure out that Bob was dead, and he’d been played. And once Gene realized that, he wouldn’t wait. He’d act—swiftly and brutally.
Fatally.
Because now, Gene had nothing to lose.
Tamping down his panic, Seth grabbed his own phone and dialed Matt.
His brother answered on the second ring. “Hey, what’s—”
“Shut up and listen carefully.” Seth cut him off. “Gene Hammond killed Dad.”
Silence.
“Gene knows I found Dad’s evidence this morning. He’s been running a criminal organization for decades, hiding behind his badge. That’s what had my head fucked up earlier—not the baby. And everyone is still at the house with him.”
“Fuck,” Matt breathed.
“I just offed Bob Ellis in the parking lot after he tried to tranq me. Once Gene realizes his guy failed, he’s going to assume I know everything. And then…” Seth couldn’t finish that sentence.
“What do you need?” Matt’s voice sharpened.
“Get a gun. Get back to the house. I’ll be there. Stay out of Gene’s sight.”
“I’ve got one in my car,” Matt said immediately. “I was running an errand, so I’m only ten minutes out. Wait for me. Don’t you dare be a fucking hero.”
Seth ended the call without making promises. He’d do whatever he had to in order to rescue his loved ones from Gene.
He floored the accelerator, praying he wasn’t already too late, and hit a number on his phone he hadn’t dialed in years.
He also prayed Nikolai Volkov was feeling generous.
The big Russian answered right away. “Seth Cooper. To what do I owe pleasure?”
“This isn’t a social call. I need help. I’ll repay you in kind, whatever you want.”
“Anything?” Nik drawled. “First, you warn me away from woman and now you want help?”
He’d been pissed off that day at the hotel. Jumpy. Overprotective. Nikolai was beyond brutal, but he lived by his own code of honor. He’d never hurt Heavenly.
“Everyone I love is being held hostage,” Seth blurted past his panic. “Including her. She’s pregnant.”
“This is serious problem,” Nik conceded. “I may have time. Busy schedule, you know.”
Seth gripped the wheel, half tempted to climb through the phone and beat Nik. “Don’t fuck with me. In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve asked for one name. One. And before you gave it to me, I did your dirty work for a fucking year—”
“Tell me what you seek.”
Nik was going to play ball. Thank fuck.
Seth let out a breath. “Weapons. Muscle who aren’t afraid to kill dirty cops. And I need them now.”
Nikolai’s voice shifted, turning more calculating. “And for me? I am businessman. Favors require…context.”
Seth’s jaw clenched. “The person holding my family hostage? Specter. I know his identity. I have proof. You help me…your turf problem goes away.”
“I am listening.”
“You would have listened anyway. You just enjoy being an asshole.”
Nik laughed. “True. But I provide assistance. You have my word. You give me name.”
“Gene Hammond, NYPD detective. I’m pretty sure he’s been running the organization for close to two decades.”
“For long time, I try to identify Specter,” Nikolai spit. “Gene Hammond fits profile well. You want him dead?”
“I do, but he’s mine. My father was his partner. He built a case against Gene before the son of a bitch murdered him. I just found the evidence this morning.”
“Ah, this is personal for you. And now personal for me, too.” A pause. “Next time, lead with that. Now I am motivated to help.”
Despite everything, Seth’s mouth twitched. “Fucker.”
That made Nik laugh. “As always. Tell me situation.”
Seth gave him the essentials. When he finished, Nikolai let out a low, dark chuckle. “Specter sent man to kill you before lunch? Very rude. Clearly, he must die.”
“That’s the plan.”
“I approve.” Nikolai’s tone shifted slightly. “What does Specter want?”
“We haven’t had contact, but my guess? The evidence. Me dead. And the leverage to disappear.”
“He will not kill hostages unless forced,” Nikolai mused aloud. “Bodies create problems. Hostages create options.”
“Agreed. But I can’t leave him any of those options.”
“You cannot.” A pause. “So you wish to end him and this enterprise. Permanently.”
“Exactly. You’re in?”
“Of course. And I bring muscle.”
“I’m three minutes out from my mom’s house. The address is—”
“Do not be na?ve, Seth Cooper. I know where she lives.”
That took Seth aback…and it probably shouldn’t have. “How?”
“It is business to know where important people live. In case they need help.” Nikolai’s voice was almost gentle. “Like you. So I come. Fifteen minutes. But you wait. You cannot have all fun without me.”
“Hurry. My brother Matt is meeting me there. We’ll assess the situation and have a plan in place when you arrive.”
“Wait for reinforcements. Playing cowboy is bad for health.”
It wasn’t an order, but advice from someone who knew what cornered criminals did when they panicked.
Seth’s jaw worked. “If he starts killing people—”
“Then, yes. Act. But if house is quiet, be smart.”
“Hurry the fuck up.” Seth exhaled hard. “And Nik? Thanks.”
“Save thanks for after killing. We have much to do.” Another dark chuckle. “Then? You owe me very expensive vodka.”
“Done.”
“Good. See you soon, friend. Try not to die before I arrive. Would be very inconvenient.”
The line went dead.
His finger hovered over Tony Marconi’s contact…
and hesitated. He was ninety-nine percent sure his former partner was clean.
But his dad had clearly thought the same thing—and look where that faith had gotten him.
On the off-chance Tony was dirty, the last thing Seth wanted to do was tip him off.
And if his pal was innocent…best not to put him in danger.
With a curse, Seth tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and made the final turn into his mom’s neighborhood, hoping like hell he could keep everyone alive long enough to neutralize Gene.