She cut the engine, slipped the key into her jacket pocket, clicked off the headlights, and grabbed Witt’s gun. Once on her feet outside the SUV, she tucked the weapon inside her waistband. She had to suck in her breath against the tight fit, the barrel or muzzle, or whatever it was, digging into her flesh as a reminder.
The November night air was cold, but not as cold as Michigan. Nowhere near. Adrenaline and her blazer were enough to keep her warm. Her high heels tapped on the pavement as she skirted cars and kept an eye out in every direction. Trash rustled across the street, jumpstarting her heart. The wind kicked up beneath her skirt. Her nose filled with the scent of damp earth and concrete. Rain was on its way though the sky above was full of stars and the moon was bright.
A six-foot chain-link fence surrounded the yard. Max stepped up onto the curb, muffling her footsteps on the scrabble grass poking through hard-packed dirt. Gliding one hand along the links of the fence, she kept the other near the gun at her side. She stopped beyond the ring of light from a street lamp and gazed at the drive-through gate. Closed and padlocked. Stupid idea to wear the heels and the skirt. How was she going to climb? She should have changed when she picked up the Toyota. But she’d only heard the minutes ticking away, and the state of her clothing had been the furthest thing from her, a slip-up she now regretted.
The luminous dial of her watch said she’d used up ten minutes since exiting the freeway. An engine rumbled, the sound coming from within the locked yard. Her heart picked up the tempo once more while her feet skated past the gate, toward the sound and the point where the line of the fence made an abrupt left turn.
The growl of the engine called. She followed, easing deeper into the shadows along the fence, away from the street and decreasing her ability to run if she had to. Her heel caught a hole, but she righted herself before she fell.
And there the car was.
The Rolls was old and shabby, rust on its chrome, dents in its doors, and scratches in its paint. Tires flat, the rims now rested on the concrete. Weeds sprouted through cracks. The car hadn’t been moved in years. The engine she’d heard must have been a rumble from the past, or an echo of her dream. Leading her to this place. The license plate wasn’t the same either. In the dream, it had been 4WDY452, but now, only the 452 was in common.
It was enough. Coming to this place was her destiny, just as she’d thought. 452 was the cosmic link.
Right by the car was a walk-in gate. Unlocked. A simple clasp held it closed. With a deep breath, the gun dug into her waist, reminding her there was no round in the chamber. Removing it with a sigh of relief, she pumped in a round, and this time, put the weapon in her jacket pocket. Its weight dragged down the material. As long as the little trigger didn’t catch on anything, she’d be ready for Bud.
Max pulled the jacket close around her.
Nothing in life is coincidence. She couldn’t remember who told her that. Witt maybe. She knew that neither the unlocked gate, the placement of the car, nor the plate were coincidence. Her destiny waited inside.
She lifted the clasp and opened the gate with a creak. Still, in the quiet of the night, the sound seemed enough to wake the dead. She waited, holding her breath, but heard nothing beyond the normal.
The black mouth of the warehouse yawned. The door had been left open, but the interior remained dark and ominous. Max didn’t head straight in, but instead moved off to the right and glided along the metal wall of the building, stopping with her shoulder to the edge of the opening. She entered with a turn of her head, saw nothing, heard nothing, then eased her whole body inside to once again coast along the wall and away from the outside light.
Mechanical smells, machine oil and degreaser, would make her head ache before long. She slipped deeper inside, stopped, listened, picked up no sounds, and moved on.
Another quick glance at her watch showed five minutes to one. She’d beaten Bud here and could lie in wait for him. If only her eyes would adjust to the shadows so she could find a place to hide.
Bulky shapes rose around her, monstrous in the darkness, changing to outlines of behemoth machines as her pupils dilated. She stood with both hands against the metal wall, searching.
She smelled him before she heard or saw him. Cigars. And a ripe cologne that twisted her stomach.
She turned to the barrel of his gun—most likely Cameron’s gun—stuck in her face and the soft sound of his laughter.
“How did you find me, Max? Your abilities are uncanny.” Bud’s teeth gleamed, but his eyes, like black holes, swallowed what little light entered through the door. “I suppose you’ve come to try to save yourself.”
“I could have done that with a good alibi. Which I had, by the way.”
“Fucking the dear detective?” The tone was venomous.
“Don’t be jealous,” she purred. “I was with his mother.” Or would have been.
His voice relaxed, though the gun didn’t. “Then why fall in with me?”
“I wanted a chance to kill you before wriggled free of this one, too.”
He laughed before she’d finished the sentence. “I suppose, Max, you were going to surprise me by lying in wait.”