72 Hours (13 page)

Grace arched an eyebrow at Alex. “So tell me, how do you happen to know a drug lord well enough to borrow his truck, anyway?”

He actually blushed. “He was referred to me when a two-bit wanna-be managed to snatch his five-year-old daughter from Sunday School.”

“The Devlin Group did a drug job?” She was totally blown away. Alex’s standards were high and pretty nonnegotiable.

“No. Alex Rossi got a kidnapped little girl back.”

“Semantics.”

“It was outside of the Group and I didn’t take any money, if that makes it better. But he did tell me if I ever needed anything…” He shrugged. “And this situation is exactly what the vehicle’s designed for.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, each of them silently running scenarios—the
what-ifs
and the
if…thens
. And when Alex cleared his throat, she and Gallagher were both startled, so lost were they in their pre-game shows.

“No stupid hero bullshit, people. I’ve wanted to kill this guy most of my life, but I’ll settle for him just being dead. I’d really like it to be my bullet his name is on, but if you get a chance, you take him out.” He waited for them both to nod before continuing. “Carmen is priority one. We’ll let him have the case if there’s no other alternative. We’re good enough to get it back, though we’d have to bust our asses. We don’t get a second chance at Carm.”

The pilot let them know they were on approach over the drug lord’s private landing strip and they buckled up. Grace couldn’t believe they were about to borrow a vehicle and a helicopter from one of Florida’s most notorious criminals. She had an overwhelming urge to close her eyes and stick her fingers in her ears, but now was a good time to have a little faith in Alex.

As if reading her thoughts, he turned, grinned, then held out his fist. “You ready to ride this river?”

She tapped her knuckles against his. “Yippe-ki-yea.”

Chapter Ten

Alex stood next to the massive SUV, never taking his eyes off the long, black luxury sedan already parked when they arrived.

He imagined the gunfighters of the Old West, standing in the middle of the street under the hot high noon sun. Slow breathing. Fast heartbeat. Finger twitching over the butt of the gun, anticipating the quick draw.

The driver, who—judging by his bulk and the bulge under his coat—doubled as a bodyguard, got out of the car. He opened the back door, and Alex’s villain in a black hat stepped out.

Somehow, over the years, the monster had grown into humongous proportions in his mind. But in reality the man who had murdered Maria Rossi was…average. Average height, average build, brown hair, brown mustache, brown eyes. Brown silk suit, brown leather shoes.

But there was nothing average about his smile. It transformed his face from bland to chilling.

“Mr. Rossi,” the man said, his voice only slightly accented with his native Italian. “After all these years, we finally cross paths.”

Alex tamped down on the little boy inside who wanted to launch himself at the man and beat him bloody with his fists. “I’ve been trying to run into you for years.”

Alex noted the driver crossing to the passenger side and pulling Carmen out of the car. She’d been roughed up, but her eyes were clear and she was steady on her feet. Now he just had to keep her that way
and
keep possession of the case.

“You look like your mother,” the man said, and Alex came as close as he’d ever come to losing his composure in the field. He could practically feel the man’s skin splitting—his skull caving—under the force of his fist. “Maria Rossi.”

The bastard said her name in a lover’s voice, and Alex rocked onto the balls of his feet, then settled back again. He would get his vengeance tonight. He could feel it in his blood. But it would have to wait until the objective had been met.

“I’ve thought many times about giving you enough crumbs to follow a trail back to me,” the man continued. “But your reputation has preceded you and, to be quite frank, I wasn’t sure I would survive.”

“I want your name,” Alex growled, and he hated himself for showing how much it mattered. He hadn’t wanted to give the son of a bitch anything.

The man made an apologetic gesture with his hands, as if appalled by his lack of manners. “Angelo Contadino.”

Alex’s control broke. With a snarl he launched himself at Contadino, only to be brought up short by the sight of Carmen shoved down to her knees, gun to the nape of her neck—execution style.

Chest heaving with unexpressed rage, Alex glared at the smug crime lord. “You were my father’s friend. I
remember
you now. You went to her fucking funeral.”

Again with the apology by hand gesture. “Your father confided in me. He was getting close. Too close, and our friendship wasn’t going to matter to him—he was too good, too straight to turn his back on what I was doing. He would have betrayed me to the authorities. Your mother’s murder…it was only business, Allesandro.”

Alex drew his gun, pointing it at Contadino. “Don’t you call me that, you cocksucker. Don’t you ever call me that.”

* * *

Shit.
Hell had frozen over, the sky was really falling and Alex Rossi was totally losing his cool in the middle of a mission.

Grace shifted her weight and spoke into her mouth piece to Gallagher in an almost nonexistent voice. “Situation officially FUBAR.”

“Acknowledged.”

Like acknowledgement really helped right now. She needed a miracle, dammit. Or barring that, a decent plan, at least. Cursing the three-ton vehicle above her and wishing she’d had time to get totally set up before Alex started losing it, Grace sighted down the scope.

Through the crosshairs, she spotted Carmen’s knees and the right Achilles of the man behind her. Contadino’s glossy leather shoes. And the lower part of Alex’s legs. And that wasn’t good. He was rocking to the balls of his feet, then relaxing, then rocking forward again. He was going to strike any second, and all hell was going to break loose.

She zeroed back in on Contadino’s sidekick’s Achilles tendon. That she couldn’t see the gun she guessed was pressed against either Carmen’s temple or the nape of her neck kept her from pulling the trigger. If he was holding it casually—merely in the vicinity of her head—she might risk a shot. She’d bet money the sidekick was actually holding the gun away from Carmen, enabling him to shoot either his hostage or Alex in a split second, but she wasn’t willing to bet Carm’s life on it.

“The past is best left in the past,” she heard Contadino saying, and she prayed Alex’s desire to hear what the man had to say would overcome his desire for revenge long enough for her to figure out what the hell she was going to do.

She inched her hand down her body to the utility belt, and opened the well-lubricated, silent zipper. It took only seconds to retrieve the small, dental-like mirror and rezip the pouch. After analyzing the shadows on the ground for a few seconds, she positioned the mirror in such a way as to allow her to see the players in this deadly game without catching any light and reflecting it back at them. Just as she’d expected, Contadino’s henchman was holding the gun so the barrel was aimed at a midpoint between Carmen and Alex.

“At this point, your mother’s death,” Contadino continued, “is …irrelevant.”

Shit
. Grace swung the rifle under the truck, found the sidekick’s heel through the crosshairs and took the shot even as Alex launched himself at Contadino. He wouldn’t simply shoot him. He’d want to feel the crunch of the man’s bones under his fists.

Carmen threw herself down, moving toward the man’s bleeding leg, leaving his body open for Grace’s kill shot. Grace fired, then scrambled from under the big SUV, spraying the rooftop with bullets while Carmen made a mad dash for Contadino’s car. Even as Grace rolled and got to her feet to run in a fast zig-zag for cover, she was aware of the silver briefcase making contact with the side of Contadino’s head. But Alex appeared to be off balance, and it was only a glancing blow.

Grace fired a few more shots toward the sky as she reached the relative safety of the warehouse, yelling instructions for Gallagher into her mike. Why the hell hadn’t Alex just shot Contadino already?

She turned, scanning the ground. They must have thrown a few punches while she was running, because Alex’s gun was on the pavement, several feet behind them. And the only thing saving him from the sniper on the roof was his proximity to the boss. Grace prayed Alex was aware of that.

He must have been because when Contadino turned and sprinted for the warehouse, Alex was right on his heels. Even as good a shot as she was, Grace couldn’t get a clean shot. The two men disappeared into the dilapidated building.

“Gallagher, Rossi is now in structure. Controlled fire only.”

“Acknowledged.”

They had no idea what the roof of the building was made of, nor the structure inside, but they couldn’t risk a strafing run sending a shower of bullets down on Alex’s head.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she heard the whoosh of helo blades and a burst of fire from the rooftop sniper. Several answering shot later, she heard Gallagher give her the signal. The sniper was out of commission. Permanently.

Just in time, too, she thought as the sky opened up and started dumping rain on an already bad situation. As much as she wanted to follow Alex into the building, Grace sprinted to Contadino’s car, and tore open the door. Her breath caught in her throat when the stench of blood burned her nose.

“Carmen? Oh shit, Carm.”

The woman had peeled off her shirt and had it pressed to her head, but the fabric was already soaking through with blood. “I freakin’ tripped and hit the car’s door frame of all damn things.”

“You tripped? Geez, Carm.”

“Hey, I’m a thief, not G. I. Jane. But I’m definitely down. My vision’s nowhere near clear. Alex?”

“I’m going. Gallagher, you need to land and extract Carmen—blow to the head, probable concussion. Other than Contadino, I think we’re clear.”

“Acknowledged.”

He certainly wasn’t a man of many words today, Grace thought as she ran back to the warehouse. Rain was soaking through her shirt, and she swept a hand over her forehead and hairline to sweep away any water that might run into her eyes.

She went through the door, moving immediately to the right and going low while she waited the second it took for her eyes to adjust to the lack of lighting. There were a few emergency lights burning in far corners, but overall the abandoned building stood in darkness.

Her ears picked up the sound of a struggle, and she moved quickly in that direction. She put odds on Alex in a hand-to-hand battle, but who knew what a seasoned crime lord would have hidden up his sleeve?

* * *

Alex caught up to Contadino in a paperstrewn back office, tackling him and driving them both into a dusty filing cabinet. They came up like rabid boxers, circling slowly, ready to strike.

“You call me a coward,” Contadino said, his chest heaving with the exertion of the run, “but the truth is I haven’t killed you before this out of respect for my friendship with your father.”

Alex was too pissed to laugh outright at the bastard’s twisted logic. “You had my mother shot down in the street. If not for being sheltered by her body I would have been dead, too. Friendship, my ass.”

“That was business. At that moment it had to take precedence. Once the threat your father’s investigation posed was neutralized—by his grief, of course—that business was put aside. I haven’t corresponded with your father since, as he returned to America, but it was a simple matter to follow the career of the boy I used to play ball with. Especially since you gave that ridiculous false name to your company just to taunt me.”

Alex straightened and folded his arms across his chest. Contadino was more or less cornered in this room, and he could take him in a fist fight, so he relaxed, determined to get some answers now that the initial shock had run its course.

“What’s the deal with the toy airplanes, anyway? Why Gitmo?”

Contadino blinked, clearly jarred by the sudden return to the present. “I have an…associate in the Middle East, whose business is expanding from small arms to secondhand nuclear toys.”

The hair at the back of Alex’s neck tingled. The man’s diarrhea of the mouth meant he was either exceptionally okay with his imminent death or was sure he had a way to make sure
Alex
was the imminently dead one. The former seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around any plan afoot for the latter.

“He was willing,” Contadino was saying, “with a little help from his friends on your country’s watch list, to invest an obscene amount of money in further deteriorating America’s standing in the international community.”

Keep him talking
. He’d knocked out his comm at some point, but neither Gallagher nor Grace would leave him hanging. “How did you come to be involved?”

Contadino laughed, seemingly warming to the subject. “There was some concern on the part of several of our…benefactors, that the Devlin Group has successfully cleaned up for our chosen pharmaceutical firm in the past. I was the only one who could guarantee a way around your company.”