Chapter 14
“You know what?”
Duncan side-eyed the new best friend he’d never wanted, AKA Enders Knight. The man hadn’t left his side and now occupied more than half the available space in the confines of the car. When they’d had the hotel room as their main base of operation, it hadn’t been so bad.
But in this…
Rattletrap might be a good name for it.
He grimaced and glanced around the interior of the nondescript, dark blue sedan—stained and sagging headliner, ripped seats, dry-rotted dashboard, and dirty and cracked windshield.
It was by far the worst of the five vehicles the other man had acquired and placed in various locations in the city.
They’d used them in rotation during their surveillance of Spivey the past. Being confined in yet another small car—Enders had said they’d be less conspicuous—with the man sitting in the driver’s seat twenty hours out of the day for the past week did not make for a good time.
He repositioned himself in the front passenger seat, then sighed in disgust at the way his ass sank into the cushion.
“What?”
“Your team’s pretty good.”
“I’m aware.” Duncan twisted in his seat in an attempt to get comfortable. It didn’t help. It might even be that his ass sank even lower. It was going to be a long night. “But just for the sake of conversation, what prompted you to make that observation?”
“Because,” he murmured peering past him through the passenger window and nodding in the same direction.
“I’ve got Carter surveilling the asshole.
He and Rothe have been rotating in and out since your phone call.
No one else would notice them.” The other man grinned over at him like he was pleased with himself.
Which, knowing Enders, he was. “But I don’t miss much. Because, you know, it’s me.”
“Right,” Duncan said. “I saw them too, by the way.” Rothe and Carter had taken solitary shifts watching their man.
But only them. Was he disappointed Solace wasn’t on this detail?
Yes and no. Yes, because it would be nice knowing she was at least close by.
And no, because he didn’t want her in danger.
I’m losing it.
“I guess you telling your people not to get involved didn’t do you any good,” Enders said, settling back in his seat.
“I guess not,” he said, distractedly. But he wasn’t surprised. He’d give it to them, though. Except for being made by him and Enders, they’d been good at staying undetected. Overall, he doubted anyone else would have realized that not one, but two teams were present. Especially Spivey.
Had Rothe and Carter been aware of his and Enders’ presence?
If he had to guess, he’d say yes.
Knowing Carter the way he did, it had more than likely taken great, personal restraint on his part—and a strong arm from Rothe—to not approach them.
“Well, well, well,” Enders muttered, putting Duncan on alert.
“What?” He sat forward, pulled out his high-powered binoculars, and peered through the dingy windshield. “The men leaving the SUVs?” How long had he been staring into space to have missed seeing them pull up?
Get it together, man.
Not being aware of his surroundings wasn’t something he could afford to do. Not in his current situation.
“Yeah.” Enders lowered his own, identical binoculars. “Do you know who they are?”
Duncan zoomed in on the four men walking up the stairs to the Spivey townhouse—one of several homes they owned in the area. For a former DA, he sure had a lot of assets. But no, he didn’t recognize a one of them.
“The tall, black-haired one standing at the top of the steps is Ilia Krasnov.”
“Russians?” Duncan lowered his binoculars, his brows slamming down as he watched Enders twisting his big body around and reaching over his seat.
“Yeah.” Enders grabbed the parabolic microphone they’d only used a couple of times and brought it to the front. “But not just any Russians. The Russian syndicate.” Enders tilted his head at him as he settled back in his seat. “Have you pissed off any Russians who might want you dead?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” he said, while Enders lifted the listening device and Duncan once more pulled up his binoculars. The front door opened, showing Spivey standing in the doorway.
“He does not look happy.”
Enders was right, the man’s posture had gone rigid and features tight immediately upon seeing who was waiting on the other side of his door.
“Wh…what are you doing here?”
Spivey’s voice came over the mic’s speaker crystal clear. What was also obviously clear? The man was nervous.
“Is that any way to greet a guest?”
Ilia Krasnov’s accent wasn’t as heavy as Duncan had anticipated. If anything, it was smooth and cultured—almost bored. Behind Krasnov, the three men who had stayed two steps below him, moved up those to flank the man.
“I bet ol’ asshole’s about to piss himself,” Enders said, chuckling.
“We have business to discuss.”
With that one statement from Krasnov, he and his men entered the home, one of them giving Spivey a shove that sent him stumbling against the doorframe. The older man stared off into his home, then let out a long breath and shook his head, before taking hesitant steps back inside.
“Well,” Duncan said, relaxing—at least the best he could—back into his seat once the townhouse door had closed. “Now we know one thing for sure.”
“Yeah, we do,” Enders said, once again placing the microphone behind him in the backseat. “If Russians had anything to do with this, they sure as hell wouldn’t have contracted me.”
Duncan pulled their second burner phone from his pocket and dialed.
“Rothe.” Duncan grinned when he answered. It was a good bet he’d been expecting his call.
“So, just you and Carter?”
“Yeah,” he answered, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “We figured you’d made us.”
“We figured the same about you,” Duncan said, glancing toward the car where Carter sat. “Our suspect is not Spivey. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep eyes on him. Something’s going on.”
“The Russians?”
Duncan grinned. More than likely Carter had been listening in too and had picked up on Krasnov’s slight accent. After that, of course, he would have called Rothe. But along with that thought, came a frown.
“You haven’t been using any devices to spy on me, have you?”
“No, sir,” Rothe said, his tone at full attention—maybe even a little insulted.
“Good.” Duncan stared off toward Carter’s vehicle. “Shaw needs to know about this latest development.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll contact?—”
“Is that my dad?”
Duncan hurriedly ended the call. Before they got back to the motel, he’d destroy the phone and dispose of it.
“Something wrong?”
“Haven,” he murmured, knocking his head back against the headrest. He should have considered his daughter could have been around. She’d sounded excited. And he’d just poured ice water on that excitement.
She was either going to be pissed or hurt over him hanging up before she could speak with him. Hell, probably both. Once he got home, she could yell at him all she wanted.
He blindly stared toward Spivey’s home. The one lead they’d had was gone and Enders had a deadline.
What’s going to happen when time runs out?