Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(9)

Mick unlocked a wooden storage bin in the rear of the garage. He took out two assault rifles and a box of ammo Sam had bought off one of his ex—military pals. He put the firepower in the trunk and covered it with a tarp. Then he slid behind the wheel and settled into the black leather seat with a satisfied groan. The engine started with the satisfying rumble of a V-8. He grinned at his brother through the open window.

Mick backed out of the garage. Sam opened the back gate, closing and locking it with the chain and padlock after the Charger passed through. He got into the passenger seat.

“No smoking in the car.” Mick stroked the steering wheel and inhaled the new-car smell.

Sam sighed. “OK, Mick. Gonna be a long drive, though.”

“I’ve barely driven her. She isn’t even broken in yet.” Mick thought about the cool blond waiting for him in New York. He couldn’t wait to break her. “Tell you what. When I’m done with the blond, I’ll let you have a crack at her before I kill her.”

“Promise?”

“You bet. We’re family, right?”

“Right.” Sam’s eyes lit up as if he were eight, and Mick had promised him a new bike.

He checked his phone. A text message showed on the screen. Every week the drop was in a different place, which wasn’t revealed until thirty minutes prior to his drop time. He opened the message. The address wasn’t familiar. Mr. K never used the same location twice.

“Plug this into your phone.” He read the address to Sam.

“It’s in an industrial park. Turn right at the light.”

Mick cruised through the residential streets, more slum than neighborhood. He followed Sam’s directions, and fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of a vacant warehouse. Litter piled up against the bottom of a Dumpster. There were no people in sight, but Mick knew they were being watched. A member of Mr. K’s inner circle was nearby, waiting to pick up the cash. He drove around the building. In the far corner of the lot, in the middle of a flat, open space with absolutely no cover, huddled a blue Goodwill donation bin. Mick pulled the car up to the receptacle. Leaving the engine running, he stepped out of the car. A cool night breeze swept across the flat and empty space.

Goose bumps rose on his arms, and the hairs on his nape lifted. Eyes were definitely on him. And maybe the crosshairs of a sniper scope.

His bowels clenched as he walked to the blue bin and dropped the envelope in the chute. The drop landed with a dull echo. As always, he pictured a little red dot between his shoulder blades and half expected a bullet to strike his back. But nothing happened. He turned and walked the four strides back to the car.

Back in the driver’s seat, he slowly turned the vehicle around and headed for the exit.

“Those drops are freaky,” Sam said.

“Mr. K doesn’t screw around.” Mick turned onto the access road and made his way back to the highway. His sweat-dampened shirt clung to his back. Every week when he made his drop, his balls wanted to crawl up inside his body. “You know what? I’m sick of this shit. What would you think about not coming back?”

Sam scratched his belly. “Rules are getting old.”

“I’m tired of giving away eighty percent of our money.” Mick punched the gas pedal. “You leave anything important back at the house?”

Sam shook his head. “What about Mr. K?”

The brothers had been recruited after they’d robbed a convenience store, and Sam had beaten the clerk to death with his bare hands. The cops hadn’t solved the case, but Mr. K’s men had come calling with a job offer. There hadn’t been an exit clause, but Mick and Sam were very good at disappearing.

“Won’t miss us until the drop is due next week. By that time, we’ll be on the East Coast.” Mick changed lanes. “We can grab a few girls and start our own business.”

“No rules.”

“No rules,” Mick agreed.

A memory of the blond formed in his mind. Long-legged, polished hair and nails, expensive clothes. Everything about Hannah Barrett screamed class and money. He deserved her. But without exceeding the legal speed limit, he’d be parking outside Hannah Barrett’s house Saturday night, planning her abduction and his revenge.





Chapter Four

The hospital hallway bustled with activity. From the bed nearest the door, Hannah held an ice pack to her face. The ache in her temple echoed all the way down to her tailbone. She was glad the second bed had been empty all night.

“I called your brother.” Royce frowned down at her.

Hannah turned her head to listen out of her uninjured ear. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Royce shot her a Seriously? look. “You were assaulted, and you’ve spent the night in the hospital.”

“Only because you made me,” she scoffed. “I need to call Grant and tell him I’m fine.” Grant would worry, and his anxiety had been elevated since they’d lost Lee.

Hannah sat up. The small pains radiating through her body foretold of up-and-coming bruises. But her injuries were minor. She was lucky, unlike the girl who’d been abducted.

“He’s already on his way.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, he should be here soon. His plane lands at ten forty-five.”

Hannah adjusted the hard pillow. “He’s going to miss Faith’s birthday tomorrow.”