Standing there with the gun aimed at her chest he gave her a new set of orders. “Before we go you need to remember a few things. If we drive into a bunch of police at the bank, Lover Boy’s going to buy it within a half hour. You’ll never pin anything on me because I didn’t get involved until today.”
She could tell he was lying, but it didn’t matter. She had no idea who he was and no way to connect him to Brad or BFS. An investigation might turn up a link, but that wasn’t a chance she could take. She couldn’t risk Gregg’s life, not even for her own. This man would lead her to him. Her chances would be slim, but it was the only hope for both of them to survive.
“We have people in the bank,” he continued. “Don’t talk to the guards. Don’t use the phone. Don’t pass any notes. Collect a cashier’s check for the total amount. Make it payable to cash and get out of there.
“If you keep me waiting too long, I’ll drive away and it’s over. You’ll never see him again. Not alive anyway.”
The steering wheel brought a feeling of control in spite of her predicament. The four-block drive offered little hope of surprising him by either crashing or flipping the car. He wasn’t buckled, but she couldn’t manage more than fifteen miles per hour in the heavy traffic around
Copley Square
. The man rode behind her in the center of the back seat, the gun balanced low on his knee, aimed at her ribcage. Any shot would rip through her torso. There was no way to escape the line of fire on the way out the door. Years of karate had honed her reflexes, but she couldn’t see him behind her. Snatching the gun without being shot smacked of impossibility.
They approached the bank on
Dartmouth Street
. Once inside she could find safety with a guard or call the police for help, but he knew she wouldn’t abandon Gregg. That’s why he was going to send her in alone.
“A simple withdrawal. Nothing more,” he said as she exited the car.
She crossed the wide sidewalk through a stream of harried commuters.
Most faces in the bank seemed oblivious to her presence. A decent-looking guy in a golf shirt watched her fill out her withdrawal form. She lined up several positions behind him and waited. Half the people in line talked into cell phones or listened to an iPod. The other half gazed absently around the marble room. The scrawny guard in the corner wouldn’t last fifteen seconds with the guy out in the car.
People filtered up to the tellers, completed their business and headed home. The man in the golf shirt gave a long glance in her direction before pushing through the revolving doors and out into the street.
No one else paid her much attention. There probably wasn’t an accomplice in the bank, but she couldn’t be sure. With the man in the car outside there was nothing she could do anyway. If she waited for help to arrive, he’d know something was wrong. If someone followed her out, it would be obvious with the car parked so close to the door. There was no way to help Gregg without getting back in that car and letting the thug lead her to him.
The teller called ‘next’ three times before
Eric
a made her way down the row. After reading the withdrawal slip the young woman shot a look at Erica and left her station. She offered no explanation, but returned quickly with a somewhat older man in a dark blue suit. He scrutinized the forms, tapped on the computer screen and spent a good while comparing
Eric
a’s face to the photo on her driver’s license.
Finally convinced, he asked how she’d like the money. He grimaced at her instructions, but stood back as the teller tapped a few commands on the computer and printed the check. After nodding through several warnings about the nature of her check, Erica declined their offer of an escort, thanked them and pushed through the revolving doors.
Unsympathetic faces rushed past, blocking her progress at every step across the wide courtyard. Halfway through the crowd, she spotted the car, but sunlight gleamed off the windows and hid the man she’d driven here. When she approached, the rear door opened. A different man sat in back, thinner and angrier than the man from her apartment. He had a quickness in the way he motioned her into the seat next to him.
She slid in.
The heavier, wispy-haired man started the car and pulled away. The door locks clicked. She tugged the handle instinctively, but the child locks kept her trapped in for the ride facing the muzzle of another silenced handgun. Strange they hadn’t asked for the check.
The guy watching her wasn’t as careful as the driver. He held the gun within reach and he twitched so nervously he was sure to be easily distracted. The driver flowed along with traffic, obeying the lights and being sure not to draw any attention. Erica eyed the driver next to them at a red light. She thought about mouthing a message through the window, but changed her mind when she felt the muzzle press into her knee cap. She kept her eyes forward for the rest of the ride across town.
Jan was miles away in
Brookline
; the guard at the bank a faint memory.
Eric
a was on her own, scanning the men for hints of where they’d come from and what connected them together. The guy in back had a military style buzz cut. Brad would never have survived the army, though someone else in the group might have.
The car turned off
Kneeland Street
into the leather district and pulled up to a heavy garage door set into a windowless brick wall. The driver got out, opened the door and drove into a loading dock sized for a single vehicle. The man in the back seat held her there until the car was turned off and the garage door was lowered and securely locked behind them. The wispy haired man opened Erica’s door and ushered her out and up the stairs.
He locked the car and pocketed Erica’s keys.
Gregg would be somewhere inside.
She had visions of them both lying together heavily bound with the building ablaze around them. No one would be in the old warehouse to hear their screams. They’d die together in agony.
The man from her apartment trotted ahead, off the loading platform and through a door at the back. The twitchy guy led her in the same direction, one hand gripping firmly above her elbow, the other leveling the gun on her midsection.
The door opened into a metal framed stairwell with poured concrete steps.
Eric
a descended as carefully in her sneakers as she would in three inch heels, slowing the skinny guy behind her. By the time she stepped through the door into the room below, the bigger guy was nearly across the room and about to turn the corner out of sight. The musty basement was one huge storage room divided by thirty rows of shelves that ran toward the far wall. The lighting was dim enough so she could hide if she could break free.
The skinny guy knew what she was thinking. He kept his distance, the gun trained on her from behind. He prodded her straight ahead into an aisle where the packed shelves hemmed her in. If she ran, she could only go straight ahead and he was ready to put a bullet in her back if she did.
She negotiated the clutter under the single row of lights, watching the stacks for a break big enough to dive through. Unfortunately, every available space was filled with white boxes labeled with names and dates, possibly case files from a law firm. Filled with paper, the thick file boxes would stop a bullet. If she could get a shelf between them, she’d be safe long enough to figure out what to do next. Getting free was the problem. There was nowhere to turn and the shelves were too high to climb over.
A dim light glowed at the far end of the room where the wispy haired guy had gone. The guy behind her stepped up close as they reached the corner and grabbed her arm as they turned. The gun jabbed into her ribs as a reminder not to run, then floated behind her spine out of sight. They passed a dozen long narrow aisles off to the right. Every six feet a new chance to bolt, but every shelf was packed and every aisle too long for her to sprint through before being shot.
Feet shuffled ahead. Muffled voices. She was running out of time.
He marched her down the length of the room by the arm. They turned past the last long shelf and she stood stunned by the three men that faced her. Gregg sat rigid in a chair, the near side of his face battered and swollen. His eyes pleaded with her to get away. The wispy haired guy stood behind him. Herman Richards stood on the other side with a nasty snarl that brought the desperate scenario into focus. Herman had masterminded the scam and kept it from being discovered until she stumbled into it. She knew Brad wasn’t smart enough to do this alone. Herman had quashed the complaints Brad couldn’t handle and together they’d kept their work from Marty. When they realized
Eric
a knew what was happening, Brad was sent to kill her. Where he’d failed Herman was determined to succeed.
She’d have been better off if she’d taken Brad’s advice and quit BFS.
Herman couldn’t let her out alive now that she’d seen him. The check in the pocket of her jeans had given her hope. She’d told herself they wanted the ten million, but her subconscious had known better all along. The check was meaningless compared to what they’d stolen. It had served its purpose now.
Eric
a had come quietly to meet her demise. Now they were both trapped.
The man behind her sensed her urge to dash and raised his gun for her head. The men around Gregg took a step back from the line of fire.
Like a trigger, the sight of the muzzle sprung her into action, her training taking over like a reflex. Without a thought, she had his wrist in her outstretched arm then jerked and twisted it before her. Before he could tug free, she thrust her palm into the back of his elbow with everything she had. The joint, forced to bend the wrong way, gave with a horrid crack, its owner howling in pain. The gun fired past her, the bullet striking the far wall and ricocheting somewhere into the storage area.
She wrenched his wrist. As he clutched his elbow in agony, she yanked the gun away. The compact Smith and Wesson fit her hand well. She torqued her captive’s elbow, thinking she could trade him for Gregg, but Herman and his partner grabbed for their guns. They were too close to Gregg. She couldn’t risk hitting him with a wild shot, but they had no such reservations about their comrade. They raised their guns to fire even though he and
Eric
a were only a foot apart.
She spun him around as a shield, raised the gun over his heart and fired twice from inches away. The silenced shots failed to drown out the cracking, tearing sound of the bullets ripping through his chest. Slug and bone alike tore out the other side and slammed into the concrete wall.
Herman dodged away from the gore spurting toward him.
Either shot alone would have been fatal, but oddly her former captor stood upright after she let him go, his body blocking Herman’s angle for an instant before it crumpled to the floor.
The wispy haired guy aimed and fired. Paper exploded near her head. She raised her gun, but he ducked behind Gregg and she couldn’t shoot. He saw it in her face and his fear vanished. He lined up a careful shot and
Eric
a ducked behind the shelf and ran along the outer wall the way she’d come in.
Slugs smacked the shelves, the concrete wall, and the floor.
Herman jumped clear of the shelves and fired down the aisle. She fired wildly over her shoulder, hitting the ceiling. Slugs chased her. A clip dropped to the floor. Another slammed into place.
She darted into an aisle and stopped to listen.
Voices echoed at the back of the room.
There were dozens of aisles that ran the width of the room, but only two than ran the length, one against each wall. She couldn’t stay among the boxes. They’d have both main aisles covered and she’d be trapped until they closed in. She had to find another way to move around.
She wanted to go back to Gregg, but they’d shoot her before she got close. She needed help. She needed to tell someone that Herman was behind this. That’s what Herman was afraid of. That’s why he hadn’t shot Gregg already. She couldn’t prove he’d taken the money from BFS, but she’d seen him here with Gregg. If Gregg disappeared and
Eric
a got away, Herman would be on the hook for murder. She hoped Gregg would be safe as long as she was free.