Because they were always anywhere he wasn’t. Almost as if they knew he was dangerous—or just plain didn’t like him.
Cyndra, Beast, T-Man, and LaShonda sat in the downstairs bar, scattered around the room-long sofas, waiting. Energy and nerves for the night yet to come were charging the air and making everyone laugh a little too loud.
Mike-Lite and Ray-Ray weren’t there. And unless she was in the bathroom, Monique was missing, too. I cocked an eyebrow at Michael. “Three more down?” Couldn’t help the taunting note that edged into my voice.
He shrugged and brushed his palms together twice—like he was knocking dirt off. “We won’t even notice they’re gone.”
Ray-Ray and Mike-Lite had each other; exile wouldn’t hurt them. And as for Monique, always so eager to please, needing to be a part of things—that was about fear. The same fear that kept her away tonight.
Just as well.
Finally, Michael’s phone went off. He glanced at it and nodded.
“Yeah,” T-Man said, drawing it out. “Let’s have some fun.” LaShonda kissed him like he’d invented adrenaline.
The web of tension around Michael’s eyes eased. He held out a hand. T-Man slapped it.
We climbed the stairs and walked out to the four-car garage. Michael pressed a paddle, turning on a light and opening one of the bays. A battered black cargo van was incongruously parked next to a Lexus. The sliding door squealed as it opened.
Beast climbed in and settled on the floor. T-Man and LaShonda scooted to the back. Cyndra got in last. Michael gestured to the front seat, so I climbed in.
“Where’d you get the car?” LaShonda asked.
Michael started the engine and slowly pulled forward. “Bought it in cash. No registry. Got it off an illegal at the farmer’s market. It’s completely untraceable.”
I wondered how many people had seen him drive it up here—or if the security guard would remember it.
The black van eased down the driveway. Michael stopped at the Mustang to reach in and press the garage remote clipped to his visor.
At the road, the engine squealed when he turned. Michael’s hands drummed the wheel, eyes manic, mouth a hard line.
We drove down into the city.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We approached a medical conclave—sort of like a suburb of doctors’ and dentists’ offices, surrounded by dried, clear-cut scrubland. Each office had its own lot and driveway. They almost looked like houses in a subdivision, developed and built by the same soulless company.
Michael piloted us down the winding street. I knew we were at the right one when he tracked it with his eyes, head swiveling as we slowly drove past.
“No one’s around. No night cleaning crews. No security guards, no one,” Michael said. He pulled into the driveway, and then drove around back and parked by a short delivery ramp.
“Here.” He handed out black hoods. I pulled the stretchy fabric over my head. There were only eyeholes. I glanced behind me. LaShonda was making a face, like she didn’t want to muss her hair or makeup. She pulled the hood on, though.
Even though he was already wearing his hood, you could tell T-Man was smiling under the tight fabric. Beast looked like a hulking executioner in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Except his eyes were scared, not mean.
I couldn’t stop the laugh that choked out.
Michael’s eyes shot to me. Misinterpreted my laugh as excitement. He reached out and cuffed my arm. “Atta boy.” The mask muffled his voice a little. “Get in the spirit of the thing.”
“Don’t touch me.”
Beast glanced between us. His scared eyes crinkled in confusion.
T-Man scooted up, elbows on the backs of our seats. “Easy, Ice,” he said. “Easy.” Like he thought it was nerves.
“Let’s get it over with,” I said, feeling the skin of my neck drawing tight, even as adrenaline jangled in my veins.
Cyndra locked eyes with me.
“Fine,” Michael said. “We’ll go in there.” He nodded at the delivery door. “LaShonda, you’re the lookout on the front door. Cyndra, you’re back door. T-Man, Beast, you’re wrecking. Rip it up.”
Michael gestured to the back of the van, where a canvas tarp was folded. “Get whatever you need.”
Beast flipped the tarp off a few hatchets, picks, a crowbar, even a chain saw. There were cans of spray paint and a couple buckets of red paint.
Michael turned to me. “Ice, you find the surgical suite and dispensary. Grab all the drugs you can find.” He rummaged in the duffel and brought out a black backpack. Handed it to me.
“Ready?” his eyes swept the group huddled in the van. “All in. Trash the bastard.”
The back doors of the van opened with a shriek like a woman being stabbed. Michael and I piled out, slamming the doors behind us.
We hustled up to the back door. It was unlocked. I guessed we had Trent to thank for that. T-Man tore through first, smashing tinted camera bubbles as he ran down the hall. LaShonda followed, disappearing through a swinging door into the front waiting room. I shouldered the backpack and started opening doors.
All the doors on the right were little examining rooms like the one where Beast was already working. I hurried to each in turn, double-checking that they were empty.
I found some cabinets and drawers in the hallway. Pried them open with the crowbar and found some samples in little blister packs. Shoved all of it into the bag.
There was another private office complete with a massive desk. I didn’t even go in. After a janitor’s closet and another, lesser office, I found it.
The surgical suite.
Large silver lights hung in the middle of the space. There was a table for a patient to lie on and gleaming stainless steel trays on wheels. Suspended from the ceiling was a flat-screen monitor. A microscope under a cover stood to one side. There was a double sink with foot pedals, rolling cabinets. IV carts, tubes, sterile drapes. A portable X-ray machine. A defibrillator cart.