55. Sophie
55
Sophie
T he car tore through the city streets as I wrestled with the pit in my stomach. The fingers of my left hand tapped an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel when I came to a red light, my right hand swiping at my phone. The tracking app confirmed what I dreaded: Maverick’s signal was stationary at some restaurant too fucking far away.
“Goddamit, Mav. Why couldn’t you just listen?”
I juggled driving and calling. First I hit Duane’s contact. The call connected after two rings.
“Never expected to hear from you directly, Sophie. What’s up?” he answered.
Whipping around some traffic and barely missing a red light, I gave him an abbreviated version of the story. “I need to know how many people are there. I know you can track them.”
“Fun fact: I’ve had their location on for years. Never knew when or if I’d need that information.”
“Great,” I managed, my eyes flicking in the rearview mirror and praying I wasn’t going to attract the cops with my driving. The thought almost made me laugh. Me, a recently retired officer concerned about getting pulled over.
“It’s just his oldest brother who’s there with him.”
The phone almost slipped from my hand, my brows drawing together in a frown. “What? Really?”
“Yeah, the rest of his family is at one of their warehouses.”
I hummed, my fingers still tapping relentlessly on the steering wheel before I took a sharp left. “I need you and Paulie to get them.”
He barked out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, sure, if it were going to be that easy, we’d have done this a long time ago.”
My teeth gritted together. “This isn’t a fucking drill! I have a bad feeling, Duane. I’m on my way to him now with probably more firepower than what he thought to bring, because his judgment is way too clouded to have done this on his own. He wants to take them down—we do it now, assuming he’s even still alive.”
The line was silent for a moment.
“Okay,” he relented. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll message you when it’s done.” He hung up, and I breathed a quick sigh of relief.
Only three minutes to go, and my heart was racing wildly, sweat pricking my underarms the closer I got. What if I was too late? What if I was walking into a bloodbath? Shit, maybe I didn’t think this through, either.
It was dark outside, only the streetlights illuminating the night. The streets were damp from rain that had just started to fall, and all of these details registered in my detective-oriented brain as I turned the last corner. The restaurant had string lights around the front patio and under the awning that led inside. There were a few people dining in the back despite the late hour, which was a good sign. No panic meant there wasn’t a loud shootout happening. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I skidded to a stop in the fire lane, out of view of the patrons in the restaurant.
Maverick suddenly emerged, ducking his head against the rain as the night cloaked him. So quickly, a snapshot of violence began to unfold before me.
While Maverick was walking with his head hung in defeat, my heart stalled. A shadow detached itself from a nearby alcove, giving the person a perfect view of Maverick alone on the sidewalk. The figure, a harbinger of death, reaching under his coat to what I assumed was a gun.
No.
No no no no no no—
This couldn’t be a repeat of my dad, caught off guard and murdered by people he should’ve been able to trust. I couldn’t have been too late for the only men I’d ever loved.
Time seemed to fracture, splintering into razor-sharp shards as my years of training kicked in and I acted on instinct.
“Fuck!” The profanity ripped from my throat as I jumped out of the car, leaving the door open as a shield as I withdrew the gun on my hip. One steady breath later, my gun was firing at the same time as the mystery man’s.
My brain etched every detail into a memory—the glint of the assassin’s weapon, the bright flash from both guns, the loud gunshot from mine with the muted sound of his, the flutter in Maverick’s suit jacket as a bullet grazed his side, the scent of rain, the painful hammering of my heart.
If I was a second too late?
I’d never forgive myself.