Butch disappeared, and everything in my body seemed to liquefy. I had to hold myself up on the pass-through. I slowly brought my gaze back to Danny. His smile had vanished, those dark eyes filled with a bit of shame.
“Oh, no, Danny...” I gripped his hand. “Don’t do this.”
“I’ll be okay.” He squeezed my fingers. “You just pick out a pretty dress and think about sunshine and soft breezes and tropical drinks. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He leaned over the pass-through, grabbed my shoulders, and practically yanked me off my feet. His mouth covered mine in a hard, brutal kiss that caused images of soldiers going off to war to flicker through my head. When I dropped back to the floor, my head reeling, he gave me a smile, and then he, too, disappeared through the hallway.
I grabbed a bottle of vodka, splashed several inches into a glass, and downed it in one swallow.
“Hey, Hannah,” Charity called from a table. “I need another bucket of Bud.”
I got back to work.
Chapter Eleven: Danny
When the vehicle pulled in the alleyway behind the club, I managed to school my features, but the impact of this hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Jesus, boss, how’d you pull this off?” Butch asked.
Richie walked around the armored car, checking out the reinforced cab and shell and the bulletproof windows. The logo of Armor Security blazed in red across the back panel of the white truck.
“Friends in high places, Butch,” Richie said.
The four professionals stood silently, but I could see they were impressed. Hell, I was impressed, but this was not going to go down the way I’d anticipated. I hoped the commander would think fast on his feet.
“I thought we were hitting an armored car, not riding in one,” I said.
Richie tapped his forehead like he’d figured out the secrets to the universe. “What better way to get the upper hand?”
The driver of the vehicle, dressed in a pair of dark pants and a jacket, got out. He stripped off the jacket, threw his cap into the truck cab, and tossed the keys to Richie. He pulled out a hoodie and shrugged into it. “Uniforms in back. I’m out of here.” He strode down the alley.
Richie turned to the group.
“The pickup is happening right now. I’ve been in contact with my partner, and they’re scheduled to leave the Field Museum within the hour. The armored car is making a drop-off on the Gold Coast then heading to Burling Street and Orchard Street, both in Lincoln Park.”
“Where’s the hit?” I asked.
“Sure as shit not the Gold Coast,” Butch muttered.
“No,” Richie said, “not the Gold Coast. We’re willing to forego that small parcel for a bit more...privacy. This works best without a lot of witnesses, and this time of day a lot of houses in Lincoln Park will be empty while all those yuppies are downtown in their offices. But since the dipshits are so eco-friendly”—said with the biggest sneer I’d seen on his face— “the street could still be packed with cars.”
“Could be a problem,” one of the other men said.
“You just make sure it isn’t,” Richie said with a glare. “You’ll hit them on Burling Street.”
“Which fuckin’ part?” another man asked. “That street is more chopped up than ground beef.”
“Jesus Christ,” Richie muttered and rattled off the address. “It’s in the section between Armitage and Willow.”
“Got it,” the guy said and then tilted his big head. “That’s one-way.”
Richie sighed. “Yes, it’s one-way, but you’ll only be going one way.”
“Only one way out,” Butch said.
“Do it right, and it won’t be a problem,” Richie snarled. “The house is on the right—if you’re going the right way.” He gave the man with the questions a pointed look. “They have a gated drive. You’ll wait in the parking lot on Armitage until you see the armored car turn onto Burling. Then you’ll go down Burling and do the job. Butch knows the plan, and you’ll follow his lead. Just make sure you get off that fu
cking street fast. Turn on Willow and get the fuck out.”