Chapter 9 - Warehouse 14
The rain had stopped by the time the blue sedan pulled up behind a row of rusted shipping containers near the Queens waterfront.
The sky was a pale, bruising purple as dawn approached over the East River.
Warehouse 14 was a towering corrugated-iron structure surrounded by chain-link fencing and overgrown weeds. Two dark SUVs were parked near the open loading bay doors.
Vincent checked his sidearm one last time, then turned to Mave in the passenger seat.
“Stay in the car,” he commanded. “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, take the highway north and call the federal agent whose number I put in your phone.”
“Vincent, no,” Mave said, grabbing his arm. “Don't go in there alone. Donovan has men. Julian has men.”
Vincent looked down at her hand on his arm, then reached up and cupped her face with his hand.
“If I don't settle this here, Mave, you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder,” he said softly. “You deserve a clean life. A real life.”
He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against her forehead.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
Before she could argue, Vincent slipped out of the car, shutting the door quietly, and disappeared into the shadows between the shipping containers.
Mave sat in the quiet interior of the car, watching the second hand sweep around the clock on the dashboard.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
Suddenly, the muffled sound of a single gunshot echoed from inside the warehouse!
Mave’s heart dropped into her stomach.
May you like
She didn't wait for the fifteen minutes to expire.
She grabbed the spare weapon Vincent had left in the glove box—a small snub-nosed .38 revolver—tucked it into her jacket pocket, and threw open the car door, running low through the cold morning air toward the loading bay.
