“I hope so,” Charlie said, snapping Sean’s thoughts back to the moment.
“He’ll be okay,” Sean said, putting his arm on Charlie’s other shoulder.
Charlie’s head drooped again. “I feel like it’s my fault.”
Sean frowned. “Hey.” He waited until Charlie’s pale eyes met his. “None of this was anyone’s fault but the bad guys. Okay? Your friend wanted to know more about a family heirloom, and you helped him with it. There was no way for either of you to know any of this would happen. So let that crap go.”
Charlie thought for a minute before speaking again. “I suppose you’re right. But I still feel bad. And there’s no reason for you two to get dragged into this.”
Adriana raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about us,” she said, smiling. “We can take care of ourselves.”
The situation had changed drastically, and Sean knew it. His next concern came to the forefront while Charlie was talking. If the men who’d attacked them knew where he and the others were going, that would be the next place they’d appear.
Sean excused himself from the other two and pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his khakis. A few seconds later, Tommy answered on the other end.
“What’s up, man?”
“Well, we have had a change of plans. I need you to get everybody either locked down or evacuated from the building. We were just attacked by some kind of hit squad. The guy from yesterday brought some friends to the party. They ambushed us at the house this morning as we were headed to your office. My guess is they probably know where we were going.”
Tommy listened carefully before saying anything. “These guys must really want that coin.”
“Apparently.”
“Where are you now?”
Sean looked around the waiting room, more out of instinct than anything else. He’d learned long ago not to become too comfortable in public settings. That’s when bad things could happen. “We’re at the hospital. Charlie’s friend, the owner of the coin, was shot. I think he’s going to be all right. I’ve definitely seen worse. But he’s in surgery right now. I need you to come to us.”
“Understood. I’ll bring the kids too. They may have some more information you’d be interested in hearing.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, bud.”
“No problem,” Tommy hesitated for a second. “Sorry about your friend. I hope he’s okay.”
“He will be,” Sean said, as much to convince himself as anything. “Just hurry up, and get out of there.”
Chapter 13
Sirens blared in the distance. It would have been impossible for the gunfight to go unnoticed in the peaceful suburban area. Petrov figured they had less than ninety seconds to get clear.
He and his men had opened fire on Wyatt’s SUV in plain daylight. Wyatt had gone one direction, then been herded to Petrov’s end of the street where he peppered the vehicle with hot metal. He continued walking toward the SUV, hammering it with a fresh magazine of bullets as the Audi changed direction again. Only when Wyatt shot through the metal gates did Petrov spin around and hurriedly return to his sedan.
Once inside, he stepped on the gas in an attempt to catch up to the fleeing target. Wyatt’s gate had closed too quickly, though, and the iron supports would have done more damage to Petrov’s car than the other way around. He was forced to slam on his brakes and back out of the driveway entrance.
The man playing the role of the plumber limped over to Petrov’s car, dragging his bloody leg behind him. He waved at the Russian, trying to get his attention. Petrov rolled down his window.
“What your plan?” the man gasped through clenched teeth, his accent distinctly from Eastern Europe.
“Distract the police.”
A baffled look replaced the agony on the man’s face. “How do you expect me to do that?”
Petrov raised a black handgun and squeezed the trigger three times. The long sound suppressor on the end kept the noise resigned to a puff with each shot. The rounds lodged deep into the man’s chest and sent him reeling backward onto the asphalt.
The Russian set the gun back on the passenger seat and sped down to the other end of the street where the two remaining men awaited orders. “Follow me. I know where they’re headed.”
“What about the police?” the American mercenary asked. The man’s head was shaved, and his trapezius muscles bulged around his neck, almost tearing his skintight black T-shirt.
“We’ll lose them on the way.”
Neither of the remaining men asked about the dead man Petrov had left at the gate. They didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t them that were dead. The code of mercenary life was to survive at all costs. Sometimes that meant leaving coworkers behind.
The two jumped into their SUV and tucked in behind the sedan. The two cars turned down a side street three blocks away, disappearing from view just before the first police car arrived on the scene.
Petrov slowed down slightly, despite his foot feeling the natural urge to speed through the back streets of North Atlanta. The last thing they needed was to be noticed fleeing the scene by one of the swarming police officers. Casually, the Russian led the way through the outskirts of the city, careful to obey all traffic laws if at all possible.
After several minutes of watching rearview mirrors and twitching at every sound that resembled a siren, the convoy reached an intersection just a few hundred feet from the interstate. The light went from yellow to red before they could get through, so Petrov stopped at the white line to wait his turn. Across the street, in the lane going the opposite direction, sat a city police car.
Petrov glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure his two men were keeping their cool. Both of the muscular hit men acted as casual as possible, even appearing to keep up a conversation complete with fake laughs and smiles. The Russian returned his stare to the police unit on the other side of the intersection, disappearing intermittently as cars crossed by in the other directions.
The reflection of the lights turned yellow, and Petrov noticed the cop suddenly reach for his radio. He seemed to be staring directly at the sedan and the SUV behind it. Petrov’s fingers gripped the leather steering wheel a little tighter, and he readied his foot to hammer the accelerator. They were so close to getting clear of the area only to be found by a random officer.
The blue lights flashed on the top of the squad car, and it suddenly swung around in front of one of the cars in the turn lane and sped away down the street to Petrov’s right. The light turned green, but he didn’t notice at first. His eyes still stared off in the direction the policeman had driven.
He snapped back to the intersection and stepped on the gas before his comrades behind him had to wake him up with a polite honk of the horn. The two vehicles eased through the crossroads and down the sloping interstate on ramp.
Close call averted. For now.
Chapter 14
Tommy strode purposefully through the hospital corridor, his canvas laptop bag slung over one shoulder. The minute he’d hung up the phone with Sean, Tommy evacuated the entire IAA part of the Georgia Historical Center. His agency only took up two floors, and one of those was for secure storage of artifacts. The other floor housed the research facilities, labs, and offices. With most of the IAA agents out in the field at the time, only he and three others had to leave, one being the receptionist, the other two being Alex and Tara.
Wary that he might be followed, Tommy took an extra twenty minutes to reach the hospital, ducking down offshoot roads and alleyways to throw off anyone who might be trying to keep up. While he desperately wanted to reach Sean and the others as quickly as possible, he also didn’t want to lead trouble to their doorstep again. From what Sean had told him, they’d somehow lost the hit squad for now. He wondered, though, if they could find them again. Really, it wasn’t question of if, but when. Tommy had spent enough time in the field, dealing with the seedy underbelly of the world. He’d seen his fair share of thievery and killing. Wealthy men, men without morals, would do anything to get what they wanted. From time to time, that put Tommy and his IAA agents squarely in the crosshairs.