Showdown Page 9

  Wow. The counterfeiter had put this meeting together fast. Zane didn’t know if that was good or bad. Maybe it meant a team of assassins wasn’t waiting for him inside the theater, then. Yes. It was definitely good that this rendezvous was so short notice.

  “Thanks.” He grabbed the ticket and headed inside. Once in the theater, he slipped into a restroom, where he donned the suit jacket. Ensconced in a toilet stall, he took a quick peek at the engraved plates. Their fronts, the ones congratulating the recipient on being Salesperson of the Year, looked made of brass. But when he turned them over, they were shiny and silver-colored. The carved detail on them was stunning. Which, he supposed, was the point. He lifted one out of the case and was surprised to feel how heavy it was. They must be stainless steel or some equally dense metal.

  His seat turned out to be in the orchestra, center section, only about a dozen rows from the stage. Dang. Give the counterfeiter credit for great taste in seats at the ballet. As the house lights were going down, an amazon of a woman, a few inches over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a turban of the same turquoise spandex knit as her dress and undersized-for-her-face diamond-rimmed glasses, slipped into the vacant seat on the aisle beside him. A spider brooch the size and shape of a real tarantula was pinned to the front of the turban, and the dozens of diamonds crusting it looked real.

  “Oh good,” she murmured in a contralto voice. “I’m glad my son’s seat didn’t go to waste. He has a cold and couldn’t come tonight.”

  “I hope he feels better soon,” Zane murmured politely. “And thank you for making the seat available.”

  There was no more time for small talk as the orchestra launched into the prelude and the stage lights came up.

  The woman beside him stepped out several minutes before the intermission, murmuring about beating the crowd to the restrooms, and he sat alone to watch a breathtaking adagio. The romance between the prima ballerina and her leading man—a dark-haired, muscular Russian star who reminded Zane of Sebastian—was fraught with sexual tension that did nothing to ease Zane’s own lust. Uncomfortable and frankly horny, he uncharacteristically stayed in his seat during the intermission and did not go out into the lobby to see and be seen.

  Truth be told, he was scared to meet the counterfeiter. He was no secret agent to be running around making million-dollar handoffs.

  The three-minute bell had chimed and the crowd was shuffling back in to their seats when his left pocket vibrated. The burner phone. He pulled it out and peered at the screen in the diminishing lights. An address he didn’t know scrolled across the screen. Then: One hour after the show ends. Bring the plaques and come alone.

  When he tried to text a response, he got a message back that the phone he was trying to contact was not in service. The person at the other end must have turned off his phone immediately after sending the text. Drat.

  He typed the address into a maps program, and the screen lit up just as the music started again. The patron on his right harrumphed in annoyance at the light, and he closed his phone hastily, his thoughts racing. The address was only a few blocks away, a tiny side street. For that matter, it could be an alley from the looks of it. It was a perfect spot for a secret meeting. He would deliver the plates and Sebastian would be none the wiser. The money would be handed over to him for services rendered, and then he could get on with his life.

  Sebastian would understand if he made the handoff and bailed out on being a hero, right? Sebastian’s friend would probably be pissed, but that wasn’t Zane’s problem. The friend could figure out where the plates had come from some other way that didn’t involve him or Sebastian being hurt or killed.

  And truth be told, this whole mess wasn’t Sebastian’s problem either. Heck, for all Zane knew, Sebastian’s friend was one of the counterfeiters and was using the excuse of Sebastian protecting him to actually protect the plates. Although in response to that notion, his instincts suggested that Sebastian was too uptight and honorable to hang out with master criminals, let alone be one himself. However, the guy had come from one of the poorest parts of London and risen to spectacular wealth in a surprisingly short period of time. Maybe Sebastian had criminal connections after all.

  As hard as he tried to talk himself into it during the last half of the performance, Zane knew deep in his heart that Sebastian would be furious if Zane made the delivery alone. He hated the idea of getting Sebastian in trouble with a friend almost as much as he hated the idea of betraying Sebastian’s trust. No question, it all boiled down to a choice between Sebastian and the cash. A life free of financial worry, or an uncertain future. His safety versus Sebastian’s trust.

  Was losing Sebastian worth a million bucks? Zane was stunned that he actually had to think about the choice. He barely knew Sebastian Gigoni.

  And yet, he knew enough. Sebastian was unlike any man he’d ever engaged in an actual relationship with. He would be stable and steady, a commitment kind of guy. All in. Real and lasting relationship material. Sebastian was an adult, not a flaky model or starving artist. He would also be demanding at times, with ironclad ethics that would be a pain in the ass to live with now and then. But honestly, Zane found that challenge appealing. And the man kissed like a god.

  Was he ready to step up to that kind of a relationship? Had he finally grown up himself? The temptation was incredible. But he couldn’t turn his back on the million dollars. It represented an education, financial stability. A secure future, dammit.

  The ballet ended, and the woman beside him dived out and rushed up the aisle just as the last note sounded. Zane wasn’t as fast and got caught in the crush of people trying to leave. Of course, his trepidation might have made him hold back a little on trying to leave the auditorium.

  He was so nervous, he made another stop in the restroom to pee a teaspoonful and check on the currency plates again before he reluctantly made his way to the now-mobbed lobby.

  It took him a while to file out of the theater and into the night. Good thing the counterfeiter had given him an hour to get to the rendezvous site. Long enough to imagine a thousand things that could go wrong at this meeting. What the hell had he been thinking to agree to it and not tell Sebastian about it?

  Clutching the briefcase tightly, he walked away from the broad plaza in front of the theater. The address, which he headed toward on foot, was in a largely business area. At night these streets were empty of pedestrians, and traffic was thin. He ducked under construction scaffolding that created a tunnel over the sidewalk and cast it in deep shadows. Under the cover of the darkness, he risked a glance over his shoulder. Was that a man skulking back there in a recessed doorway?

  He waited a moment, and when the shadow didn’t move, Zane silently declared himself paranoid. He moved on. Only a block or so ahead now was the side street he sought. His steps slowed again. Was that a man ahead of him?

  It made sense that the counterfeiter would bring a security guard or two. Like Zane should have. It was sheer insanity to be out here like this without Sebastian. He sorely missed having a strong, confident, competent partner in this enterprise.

  He frantically reviewed everything he could remember about self-defense strategies and moves for average civilians to protect themselves. But who was he kidding? He was going to freeze up and forget all of it if somebody jumped out at him and attacked.

  He turned the corner onto the street. It was indeed more of an alley than a street. Tall, blackened brick walls rose in a narrow canyon. A delivery truck blocked the exit perhaps fifty feet into the alley off the main street. Its lights were off and its engine was silent. It was parked and not going anywhere. At a glance, the truck cab looked empty. Zane picked his way around it nervously.

  Only a few yards beyond the truck, the street opened up into a tiny square ringed by the utility entrances to various businesses and apartment buildings.

  He seemed to be alone. Was he in the right place? He pulled out the burner phone and double-checked the address in his own cell phon
e’s mapping program. Yup, he was definitely in the right spot. Where, then, was his contact? He fidgeted nervously, wondering how long he was supposed to just stand here and wait.

  He’d been there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes—long enough to jump at every damned noise and get thoroughly terrified—when, without warning, a male voice rang out in the darkness.

  “Don’t move. Stay where you are.”

  Chapter Eight

  AS A voice shattered the silence of the night, Sebastian reacted sharply from the top of the building overlooking the alley. Out of breath from racing up a half-dozen flights of stairs at top speed, he’d only been here a few seconds before that voice spoke out of the darkness.

  He didn’t see the source of the sharp order, and the acoustics of the alley, tucked in between these tall buildings, made the noise bounce around so much he couldn’t tell anything about the location of the owner of that gruff voice. He scanned across the neighboring rooftops fast. Nothing.

  Hastily, he laid his soft-sided rifle bag down on the roof and pulled out the short-range sniper’s rig. He flopped on his belly fast, draping his body over and around the fully customized Wilson Combat AR-10. Flipping down the integral bipod stand to support the rifle’s barrel, he planted the weapon’s butt against his shoulder and focused through the sight. He scanned the alley again, this time through his low-light sight, in search of the speaker. C’mon, Zane. Get him to talk again.

  Nada.

  On the assumption that the person here from Erebus would have to make physical contact with Zane to actually take the printing plates from him, Sebastian scooted over to the edge of the roof and lay flat, the tip of his rifle poking over the flat edge and angling down into the open space in the alley where Zane stood.

  It felt weird as hell to be training a lethal weapon on Zane like this. He didn’t think of the guy as a hostile, but in this situation, he had no idea who was a bad guy and who wasn’t. For now, he had to assume the worst about Zane and hope for the best.

  Worst case would be Zane recognizing and being all buddy-buddy with whoever was here to pick up the plates. Best case: the Erebus contact would try to kill Zane. Bizarre best case, but this whole situation was a bit bizarre. At least then Sebastian would know Zane wasn’t part of the criminal syndicate.

  Zane stood not far from the rear of a delivery truck randomly parked in the alley, which was a worrisome potential wrinkle in this op. If Zane was grabbed and thrown in the truck just before it sped away, it would be up to Etienne, waiting in an SUV down the main street, to follow the truck and not lose it.

  “Did you bring the case and the plaques?” the voice demanded.

  Sebastian zeroed in on a dark loading dock beyond the truck. He saw no movement, but the space was plenty wide and deep enough to conceal several men.

  “Of course I brought them,” Zane answered. “I’m trying to make this go as smoothly as possible for all of us.”

  Crap. This is the actual handoff. He’d hoped this was just a quick meeting to set up a final time and place for the exchange of the plates and perhaps a payoff to Zane for his service.

  What was Zane thinking? They’d talked about this. Sebastian was supposed to go along and spot the counterfeiters, follow them away from the handoff. Find out where they lived and who they were. That was all. No drama. No violence. Minimal physical danger to Zane.

  Even with an impeccable source within Erebus, Peregrine Cardiffe needed any physical evidence against Erebus that they could get, not to mention they needed the identities of all the Erebus employees they could get. When they cut the heads off the snakes, they needed to get all the heads, all at once. Of more immediate importance, on the off chance that Zane wasn’t a member of Erebus and actually was an amateur, he needed professional protection.

  Yet, there he was below, barging into a rendezvous completely alone. It would serve him right if he got shot.

  Except the idea of Zane being injured or killed tied Sebastian’s gut up in knots he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  The voice came out of the shadows once more. “Put the case down on the ground and step away from it.”

  Yup. The speaker was definitely hiding in that doorway. If only Zane was miked up and had an earpiece. Sebastian would give anything to be able to whisper to him to ease back, beside the truck, to prepare to use the vehicle’s bulk for cover if this thing went to hell in a handbasket. Get the guy talking, he silently urged Zane. Distract him. Put him at ease.

  “How am I going to collect my payment for delivering the goods?” Zane asked.

  Payment? What payment? Apparently Zane had been a busy camper: either he’d made a prior arrangement before he came to New York, or he’d been talking to the counterfeiters on the sly and arranging some sort of payoff for making the delivery. Wasn’t he the clever one?

  An urge to swear—loudly—passed through him. At least bringing up the subject of payment was a great misdirect away from the security concerns of this moment.

  “Bank transfer,” the voice bit out.

  Ha. Not bloody likely. Which meant this alley was a kill zone. If Zane were wired for sound, Sebastian would tell him to get the hell out of there, right now.

  “You don’t have my account number,” Zane shot back.

  C’mon, Zane. Make the leap of logic. If the guy can’t pay you, he intends to kill you. Get. Out. But no matter how hard Sebastian thought the words, he couldn’t seem to make Zane hear them.

  “Getting your bank account number is child’s play for my people.”

  My people. An organization, then. Big and powerful, if banking information was so easy to obtain. Confirmation that this was, indeed, an Erebus operation, perhaps? Although the choice of words was interesting. My people seemed to exclude Zane, as if Zane didn’t work for that organization.

  Hope leaped in his gut. Please God, let Zane not be one of the smugglers.

  Zane declared boldly, “I’m not handing over the plaques until the funds transfer to my account is complete.”

  Shit. He did not just threaten the voice! Take it back, take it back, Sebastian silently chanted. His hand tightened around the stock of his high-powered rifle, and he had to forcibly relax the muscles in his palm and wrist, struggling to settle back into the calm readiness of a shooter.

  Zane didn’t take the words back.

  And the tone of the guy in the doorway shifted markedly. “Put the briefcase down,” he barked. “Step away from it and don’t look back. I’m feeling generous tonight, and I’m going to let you walk out of here alive… if you leave right now.”

  Nonononononono!

  Sebastian watched in horror as Zane set the case on the ground. It was his only lifeline! The voice was just making sure it wasn’t handcuffed to Zane’s wrist before he shot Zane. Frantically, Sebastian trained his weapon on the doorway. Sure enough, a dull glint of metal emerged, followed by a large man training a pistol in a two-handed grip in Zane’s direction.

  Sebastian double-tapped his trigger without hesitation, sending two high-caliber rounds into the shooter, who went down hard.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Zane spun and ran. Two more men stepped out of the doorway, both armed, shooting down the alley at Zane’s retreating form. Sebastian grimly took aim at the first guy and shot him once. The guy shouted out and staggered but didn’t go down.

  Dammit. Sebastian, already targeting the second man, was forced to swing his weapon back to the first guy and put two more fast rounds into him. But the second guy got off a volley of shots, accompanied by flashes of light and explosions of sounds, in Zane’s direction.

  Zigzag, Zane! Sebastian screamed silently. He dared not shout it aloud and give away his exact position. Operating on autopilot lest his panic overcome him, Sebastian zeroed in on the second shooter, who’d taken off running after Zane, which meant he was moving almost directly away from Sebastian.

  He exhaled hard, and when his lungs were empty and h
is chest still, he pulled the trigger. The running man screamed, falling and rolling behind the truck, out of Sebastian’s line of sight.

  Crap. Sebastian grabbed his gun, jumped up, and ran along the roof edge, peering down every dozen steps or so, hunting for a sight line on the last man.

  Zane’s silhouette slipped around the corner of the alley and out of sight. Abruptly, one more man stepped out from that recessed doorway, snatched up the briefcase, and sprinted back. He was wearing a hat that completely shadowed his face. Dammit!

  Sebastian took a fast shot at the guy but missed. He only succeeded in making the man duck as chips of brick flew in his face. A door slammed, heavy and metal-sounding, and the alley went silent.

  Swearing, Sebastian threw down his rifle and raced for the stairwell into the office/shop building. He had to get a look at the man with the briefcase. Surely he wouldn’t circle back and use the truck in the alley. Its license plates were clearly displayed, and Zane had seen them and could report them. No, the man would use some different getaway vehicle. There was a loading dock on the south side of the building. Had the man parked a set of wheels in there?

  He ran down the five flights of stairs at top speed, skipping a half-dozen steps at a time, using the rails to catch himself as he bounded downward. He heard a squeal of tires as he burst out onto the ground floor. No! This link to Erebus couldn’t get away!

  Sebastian raced for the south end of the building, slamming against the locked door that had to lead to the loading area. He lost time circling back to find a pedestrian exit. As he threw open the emergency exit, an alarm sounded, splitting the night with piercing noise.

  Ignoring it, he ran outside in search of the vehicle he’d heard leave the scene. The street was empty.

  Quickly he called Etienne. “Any sign of a vehicle fleeing at high speed?”

  “Not from here. But I do have eyes on Zane. He ran about a block from the alley and then hunkered down behind a pile of trash in a covered entry.”