Dammit. I needed time to figure out how to deal with this situation.
“Well?” Franky interrupted my thoughts. “I haven’t got all day.”
“Don’t call Joe. The contract’s mine. I’ll message when it’s done.” My jaw tightened, and the phone shook in my hand.
“Good. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.” Franky hung up.
I dropped the cell in the cup holder before I crushed it in my fist. “Fuck!” I growled, and thumped the steering wheel with my palm.
That night, with the lights off, I rolled the sedan down the dark alleyway and parked by the back gate of the McKenzie house. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I ran the plan through my mind another goddamn time. Why the fuck was I nervous? Jesus, she was half my size.
Get a grip on yourself. This is not the toughest thing you’ve done in your life.
I slipped on a pair of thin leather gloves, donned my ball cap, and checked I had the tools I needed in my jacket pocket. I rolled my shoulders before getting out of the car.
Cool night air washed over me as I passed through the gate and headed for the back deck while clinging to the shadows. A dog barked a block away, but the house in front of me showed no signs of life. After picking the lock on the door, I slipped inside and closed it behind me gently.
A slight trace of her last meal lingered in the air. The fridge hummed a steady rhythm. On my right, a kitchen; on my left, a dining area. Straight ahead lay a long hallway. A faint light shone through an open doorway at the end. Her bedroom? I crept toward it, cringing each time the floorboards creaked underfoot.
I’d just uncapped the syringe that had been burning a hole in my pocket when my ankle caught on a tripwire, throwing me forward. I crashed to the floor hard, landing on my hip and shoulder. A metallic jangling noise came from above.
What the hell? A booby trap?
I scrambled to stand and checked the syringe. Somehow, it had survived the fall.
Bare feet thudded on the timber floor. I had to get to her fast before she called the cops. Already on my way to her room, I capped the syringe and put it back in my pocket before reaching for my Glock.
Beyond the doorway, a weapon cocked.
“If you come in here, I swear to God I’ll blow your mother fucking head off!” she shouted, her voice wavering.
I pulled up short. Time to try another approach. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise, but we need to talk.”
“Ever heard of a phone, asshole? Get the fuck out of my house!”
“Not leaving until we talk. Hold your fire. I’m coming to you unarmed.”
This was a bold, risky move, but I needed to speed things along in case she’d already phoned for help. And if my judgment was decent, she wouldn’t shoot an unarmed person, at least not right away. That she was yelling at me instead of firing warning shots supported that. Perhaps her gun wasn’t even loaded.
I looped the trigger guard of the pistol over my thumb and held my hand high. Inch by inch, I moved my body into the doorway and hoped to hell she didn’t shoot my sorry ass.
Cameron stood on the other side of the room wearing only a white tank top and cotton underwear. She raised the ancient shotgun higher on her shoulder, holding it tight in her grip.
She’d known someone was coming for her, and her archaic tin can alarm had been embarrassingly effective.
Her chest heaved while she eyed me over the barrel. I held her fierce stare and lowered my Glock to the floor slowly, then stood, keeping my palms high.
“What are you doing in my house?” Her shaking hands adjusted their grip on the twelve gauge. She held the thing all wrong, like someone who’d never fired a shotgun in their life. The kickback would knock her on her ass, but still blow a hole in me at this range.
“Like I said, I only want to talk.”
“Wearing gloves and carrying a pistol?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Bullshit!” She shifted on her feet, but the aim of her weapon never left me. “Who sent you?”
I held still. “That’s not important.”