Quiet, but no less threatening, Alexa’s voice was nothing but a chilling whisper. In one fluid motion, she reached under her long coat and pulled out a twelve-gauge Mossberg pump-action shotgun slung under her arm—a fierce-looking weapon with a pistol grip and flash suppressor.
Without hesitation, Alexa racked the slide and took aim. Pinzolo and No Neck fumbled for their guns, shocked that a woman had gotten the drop on them.
“What the hell?” One of them cried out.
“Oh shit.” Jess scrambled for the Dumpster.
Boom! Thud! A shot roared and a muted muzzle flash lit the dark alley. Brick shards sprayed and pinged off metal. Boom! Thwack! A second blast, and the meaty thump of lead hitting flesh resonated down the alley. And Jess heard a pitiable groan behind her.
The shotgun had done its damage—and so had Alexa.
CHAPTER 17
Alexa hadn’t come to kill, but if these men were intent on using deadly force, she knew how to respond. Her prime objective was to stay alive and get Jessie to safety. With her first round, she’d aimed over their heads, raining brick down to get their attention. And with the second, she drew blood. This time when she pumped the shotgun, the men would have a choice.
She stepped closer and aimed the barrel between the eyes of the bully with the fists. He had fallen to the asphalt when he got hit.
“That last one was birdshot. You won’t sit for a while, but you’ll live. The rest are double-ought buckshot and deer slugs. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s open season. You wanna see if I’m bluffing?”
The man glared, but she saw his fear.
“No, I’ll take your word for it, but this ain’t over.” He tried a weak attempt at bravado for his friend’s benefit, but a load of lead in his ass had taken the fight from his eyes.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. You mess with us, and the CIA will take it real personal. You got that?” To make her point, Alexa flashed a badge. “If you don’t want feds crawling up your riddled butt, you better let this one go.”
The man’s eyes grew wide as he stared at her badge and picture ID. He cursed and stumbled to his feet with the help of his buddy, then turned to limp away. Knowing the area, they took a different way out of the alley, through the shadows behind them.
And with relief, Jessie watched them go.
“Hold on,” the blonde called out before they got too far. Alexa grabbed her Colt Python from No Neck’s belt. “And you might consider taking your friend to a veterinarian. They’ve got plenty of experience picking birdshot out of mutts.”
“I don’t care who you are. This ain’t over,” Pinzolo spat, venom in his eyes. Jess knew that look, had seen it up close. And his eye twitch was back.
“Then you’re dumber than you look.” Alexa stared him down. “Now move it.”
She watched them go, and the blonde made sure the fight was over before she got down to business.
“You sure know how to pick ’em, Beckett. But looking at you, I think we can make a good case for self-defense if the local law comes calling.” Alexa picked up her spent shell casings as she spoke. She wouldn’t leave evidence behind. “Come on. Let’s go before we draw a crowd. I’ll drop you off at your van, but I’m following you home. We need to patch you up.”
“I thought you didn’t have wheels.” She wiped blood from her brow, feeling every new ache.
“It’s a rental. Figured I could use it.” Alexa pocketed her shells. “Any bones broken? Can you walk?”
“My pride is a little bent. Help me up, will ya?” With a hand from her new friend, she winced and struggled to her feet, stretching her bruised muscles and stiff joints. “Ow, damn it. How’d you find me anyway?”
Jess steadied herself, making sure she could stand before she took a step. Once she got her wind, she hobbled alongside her tall companion, heading for the lights coming from the street. After a quick glance, Alexa returned her Colt Python and stared straight ahead, her blond hair wafting in the faint breeze. She noticed the woman shortened her long strides to let her keep up.
“Old habits die hard. When I hitched a ride in that monstrosity you call a vehicle, I put a tracking beacon on it. You have a habit of going off the reservation. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a little insurance.”
Alexa had done that once before, a few months back. The woman was neck deep in high-tech spy gear. And she knew when and how to use it.
“But tracking me in the middle of the night? What’s up with that?”
“I couldn’t sleep anyway. And Conan O’Brien was a rerun.” She glanced over her shoulder as she hobbled a step behind. “Besides, I didn’t like your odds this time.”
“I could’ve taken ’em.” She moved her jaw, making sure it still worked. “I was wearin’ ’em down.”
“Yeah, their knuckles will be real bruised tomorrow. I know how hard your head is.” Alexa smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I hope you realize I didn’t have to tell you the truth about that tracking beacon. And I probably messed up a perfectly fine manicure for you. Consider this my way of bonding.”
“Yeah? Well, next time…let’s go bowling instead.” Even aching, she forced a smile, pondering what had just happened. “And what’s with the CIA badge? On St. Lawrence Island, you were wearing FBI gear.”
The blonde shrugged. “A girl has to know how to accessorize.”
Jess knew she wasn’t going to get any more out of her. But as she turned to get a better look at the woman, she took stock of the black trench coat with matching Kevlar. It felt good to have someone backing her up, even if the woman had a flair for drama.
“So what’s with the Matrix knockoff, Trinity?”
“A little over the top?”
“Maybe.” Jess shrugged. “But it worked for Keanu Reeves.”
Alexa grinned. “Damned straight.”
Buena Vista Motel
Off Madison Street
4:20 A.M.
Even at this hour, the Eisenhower Expressway droned, nothing more than white noise to urban sprawl as Ray Garza drove by Garfield Park on his way to another murder. He pulled into a motel parking lot after spying the rotating red-and-blue beacons of police cruisers and the Mobile Crime Lab on the scene. ET-South drew the short straw, and evidence techs were hard at work as he walked through the police barrier, past the curious onlookers who had already gathered outside the yellow tape. And the usual media crews were on duty, making the most of the show.
“Detective Garza, can we have a word?” a woman reporter called to him, holding out a microphone with camera rolling and bright lights.
“Yeah, have two. No comment.” Avoiding the bright lights, he never bothered to look to see who’d asked the question.
With his badge clipped to his belt, he didn’t need an introduction to the beat cops who’d secured the scene. Too many déjà vu scenes like this had played out before, giving them the inside track on depravity no one should have to witness firsthand.
He nodded a greeting and headed for the motel room, the one with all the traffic. As he got closer, a young cop in uniform heaved the contents of his stomach onto the asphalt sidewalk two doors down. Worse timing on his part, and he might have caught the splatter.
“Hey, watch the shoes,” he said as he walked by.
Rousted in the middle of the night, Ray wore a navy polo shirt and jeans with running shoes and a CPD windbreaker. When he walked over the threshold, a wave of stench hit him as he hit the door. Moldy stale air mixed with the metallic tang of blood, excrement, and other bodily fluids, the rank smell of violent death. He kept his expression blank as he looked onto the scene, but he never got used to it. Never.