“Oh, God.”
The door was busted open, whatever hit it powerful enough to crush the steel and nearly fold the door in on itself. “Sampson?” I yelled.
I choked on a sob. The chains I had used to bind Sampson were destroyed, broken as if the heavy chain was nothing but string. Blood and hunks of fur littered the floor, and a steady stream of rainwater trickled in from the broken window near the ceiling.
“Lawson, come on!” Alex called from upstairs. “They got into a car in front of me. Let’s go!”
I shoved Alex’s gun into my waistband and ran outside, throwing myself into the car. “We’re never going to find them,” I said miserably.
“Yeah we are,” Alex said, putting his hand on my knee. “If there’s one thing you can count on on a rainy day, it’s traffic. Sampson got in that car.” He gestured with his chin to a Suburban with blacked-out windows just a few car lengths ahead of us.
“Oh my God—someone answered my prayers.”
“Romero did. I called it in and he set up a roadblock.”
“Remind me to thank him when this is over.”
“Better not. He’s still pissed that you took off with his cuffs.”
I held up my arm, the open cuff flopping around. “I’m beginning to like the look. It’s dangerous.” I clawed the dashboard. “Look! They’re moving.”
The car that held Sampson edged its way through traffic, side-swiping cars until two wheels were on the sidewalk. Then the driver must have pushed the gas pedal to the floor, because the car took off like a shot, disappearing around another apartment building.
“We have to stop them!”
Alex shrugged, slammed the gas down, and took the same route the Suburban did.
“No wonder our cities are going bankrupt,” I said.
“Do you want to catch this guy or not?”
I grabbed the sides of my seat and held on for dear life. “Punch it, Chewy!”
Alex zipped around the city like a pro while I concentrated on keeping my lunch down and figuring out what to do next.
“Are you putting on makeup?” Alex asked incredulously when I began rifling through my purse.
“Do me a favor and hold the car steady for a half-sec, will ya?”
Alex groaned until I found what I was looking for: Feng’s silver bullet. I slipped it into the chamber and glanced at Alex in profile. His eyes flashed over me.
“You sure?” he asked.
“I have to be.”
“Lawson!” I heard Alex’s voice at the same time I heard the screech of tires. The seat belt tightened around me, and I gasped, the gun sliding from my hands and slamming into the dashboard. I threw my arms up as my body lurched forward, slowing the trajectory of my skull and stopping just short of going through the windshield. Smoke rose from the car’s crumbled hood and the back of the Suburban was wedged securely into the front of Alex’s SUV. Alex was pinned behind his air bag, dust swirling in the air.
“Alex!” I tried to paw away the air bag. “Are you okay?”
Alex’s head lolled toward me, his eyes still a brilliant blue even as a rivulet of blood worked its way down his eyebrow. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Go get Sampson.”
I opened my mouth, torn, but Alex pushed me with a shaking hand. “Go,” he said.
I grabbed the gun and ran toward the Suburban.
It was empty.
I stumbled backward, dumbfounded. Our chase had taken us through the city; our crash had left us in an industrial area at the edge of town. The battered ground was littered with shipping containers and rusted-out warehouses. “Sampson?” I yelled.
The buildings tossed my call back to me in an endless echo. I took a careful step, trying to make out any sound over the rush of rain.
Then I saw the flash.
The pop came next.
I took off running, my thighs pumping, vaulting me forward as the rain soaked my T-shirt, weighed down my jeans.
“Dixon!”
He spun, then grabbed my arm. “He’s in here.”
I followed Dixon into one of the buildings. He went to loosen his grip on me, but something happened, and my back was pressed up against his front, one arm clamped around my waist, the other around my throat.
“Dixon?”
“You’re such a good friend, Sophie. But not a very good employee.”
“What?”
I had barely blinked by the time Dixon wound my legs with duct tape and did the same with my arms. “You shouldn’t go through company files, Ms. Lawson.”
He gave me a hard shove and I flopped into a folding chair, struggling against the tape. My eyes swept the empty warehouse for a weapon. There was heap of broken pallets, a length of twine, and then I felt like I had been punched in the chest. “Mr. Sampson?”
He was chained to the wall across from me, face forward on the cement, blood pooling at the edge of his mouth. There was a bullet hole just above his waist. It was fresh, but the blood was already starting to congeal.
“Is he dead?”
“No! Not yet.”
“Wh—where’s Nicco?”