The Storm That Is Sterling (34 page)

“Because I haven’t.”

Sterling glanced at Becca. “Your move or mine?”

“I need a connection,” she said.

Sterling cut a look at Eddie. “If you want another paycheck from me, you’ll slide your hand across the table and let Becca touch you.”

Eddie’s jaw slacked. “What?”

Sterling grimaced and reached forward, pulling Eddie’s hand toward Becca. “It’s painless.” Becca slid her hand over Eddie’s and shut her eyes. Images rushed through her mind. His mother in bed, him by her side. Marcus. Money. Eddie’s sincere liking for Sterling. She let go of his hand.

“He’s telling the truth.” She smiled. “And he likes you too.”

“Sometimes, Sterling,” Eddie said, “I think you really have a loose screw between your ears.”

“Sometimes, Eddie, I do. So you better watch yourself before I let a little bit of my ‘crazy’ loose on your ass. Or stop paying you. Don’t cross me again.”

Eddie gave an uncomfortable nod.

Sterling inched back in the seat and draped his arm behind Becca. “What’s up in Eddie-town these days? Talk to me.” And instantly, the tension was gone.

For the next half hour, Eddie gave them the lowdown on anything buzzing on his police turf about ICE, including locations and addresses of the most recent victims.

“If you aren’t going to drink that tequila, I might have to call it my own,” Eddie said. “I don’t do much for entertainment these days. A drink in front of a football game would do a man right.” His phone buzzed, and he reached for it.

“Go for it,” Sterling said.

Frowning, Eddie read his text and eyed Sterling. “Those two MIA Clanners you’ve been hunting for since Nebula were spotted just headed into their apartment. You want to roll that direction with me?”

Sterling sat still, his expression unreadable. “You go,” he said, sliding out of the booth, tossing money on the table even as he pulled Becca to her feet. He glanced at Eddie. “I know the address. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

Sterling was already moving, tugging Becca after him. It was clear something was wrong.

The instant they were out the door, she asked, “What the heck is going on?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said, stopping by the car. “We meet Marcus, and he sees you, and then I have this bad vibe thing when I was with him that I blew off to my insanely uncontrollable need to protect you. Then suddenly, the two Clanners I’ve been trying to locate show up while you’re here with me. It smells like a trap. They’re after you, which means Dorian might show himself.”

Before she knew his intentions, he grabbed her. Suddenly, everything went dark, and then light pierced her eyes. They were outside the Neon. He’d wind-walked from a public parking lot.

Sterling hit the remote and opened the door. “Go inside, and get Caleb or Michael. Not Damion. Tell them I’m at Mohawk’s apartment. They’ll know the address. And tell him to bring backup. I can’t wait and risk Eddie’s safety.” He faded into the wind. Gone. She never got a word out.

Panic rushed over her. Sterling facing Dorian was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. “Caleb!” she yelled, taking off running. The elevator door opened, and she rushed forward, almost smacking into Damion.

“Easy now,” he said. “What’s the rush?”

“I need Caleb,” she said urgently. “I need him now.”

“He’s in Sunrise City,” he said. “Left an hour ago. What’s wrong? Talk to me, Becca.”

God. This couldn’t be happening. “What about Michael?”

“With Caleb,” he said. “I’m all you’ve got, Becca, so start talking. Where’s Sterling?”

She trusted Damion even if Sterling did not, and she didn’t hold back. Becca spilled the entire story in a rush of barely coherent words.

Before she’d finished talking, Damion had already punched a button on the garage wall and set off some silent, flashing alarm. Another punch of a button and a panel slid open on the wall, displaying weapons.

“Go inside and call Caleb,” he instructed, strapping a holster on his shoulder. “Tell him I took a team in to back up Sterling.”

“He still doesn’t trust you, Damion,” she said. “You need to know that.”

“Yeah well—” he said. “He’ll have to get over
that
stick in his ass considering I’m all he’s got.”

The elevator opened, and three soldiers Becca had never met appeared, all in street clothes decorated with weapons, guns, and knives strapped to their bodies.

Fully armed, Damion motioned the men forward. Becca didn’t wait for their departure. She was in the elevator, punching the button and willing the damn door to shut faster. And willing Sterling to come back safely, telling herself this wasn’t a trap, knowing deep inside it was.

It was sundown. Equipped with weapons he’d retrieved from the trunk of the Mustang, Sterling materialized in the alley behind Mohawk’s apartment. Off Maryland Street, behind the Tropicana, it was the kind of place where grunge and window bars counted as decor. A nondescript black vehicle sat a few feet away—a police surveillance car, if Sterling ever saw one. Empty.

“Damn,” he mumbled. He didn’t want Eddie and his men inside until… he eyed the Dumpster, a few feet away, held his breath, and inched closer. Then cursed again. The only good thing about the man inside with a bullet between his eyes was that he wasn’t Eddie.

Sterling glanced down the alley, noting a few pedestrians wandering nearby, and reluctantly left his weapons harnessed beneath the fatigue jacket he’d grabbed for discretion. His gut clenched with the idea that Eddie might be in another dark corner with a matching bullet in his brain. He shouldn’t have let him come alone.

He faded into the wind and reappeared at the edge of the alley, scanning the front of the building, trying to find Eddie, flipping open his phone to dial even as he inspected the rows of cars lining a poorly lit street under a rapidly darkening sky. Eddie’s equally nondescript Buick sat near the corner. Empty. He dialed Eddie, walking toward the back of the building again, prepared to enter the building.

Eddie answered on the first ring. Relief washed over him in a gruff demand. “Where the hell are you?”

“It’s been a long time, Sterling.”

Sterling stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of Tad’s voice. “Where’s Eddie?”

“Eddie and I are waiting for you upstairs,” he said. “Me, him, the two Clanners you already met, and a very nice lady from down the hall who tells me she has twin baby girls at home. We’re sitting here waiting for you to bring Rebecca Burns to me. I know she’s in the city. You have fifteen minutes to get her here before the first of my guests dies.”

“What are you going to do when you get her, Tad?” he asked. “Besides hit the pavement like the dumb lump you are?”

“Kill her long before she gets close enough to affect me,” he said dryly. “Now who’s the dumb lump? Whatever the hell that is.
Go
get
her
.” His voice softened to a taunt. “I’ll be easy on you though. First I’ll kill the one Eddie tells me you call ‘Mohawk.’ You like him the least. But after that, I’ll have to kill the woman.” He hung up.

Sterling had an instant of contemplation, no more. Tad expected him to negotiate. If he were Caleb, he would, but he wasn’t Caleb. He was Sterling. And what he lacked in GTECH mojo, he made up for in actions. Discretion no longer on his mind, Sterling drew two Glocks and checked his ammo, counting fire escapes as he did, when suddenly Damion materialized in front of him.

“Becca told me what’s going down,” he said. “I’ve got men on all corners of the building.”

Sterling grimaced at Damion’s presence, though he wasn’t about to dismiss backup. “Tad and four hostages. A dead cop in the trash can.”

“Any idea what the end game is?”

“Tad intends to shoot a hostage in roughly eight minutes if I don’t hand over Becca.”

Damion cursed. “Any idea if Tad’s alone?”

“None,” Sterling said. “He’s a showboater, but he’s also quick to let someone else take a bullet in his place.”

Damion hit the mike in his ear. “Talk to me.” He listened and then looked at Sterling. “Nothing. No sign of trouble.”

“I’ll go in the back and take out Tad,” Sterling said. “You come in the front and grab the hostages. The woman first.”

Damion drew his weapons and smiled. “Always the women first.” A double meaning. “We good, man?”

“Surprisingly yes,” Sterling said. Working with Damion, well… worked. “This is where you normally tell me to wait and think things through.”

“And you tell me to kiss your ass, and we go for it anyway,” Damion said. “In light of the ticking clock… I’m trusting you on this one.”

Sterling didn’t miss the meaning, nor did his confidence waver. This was his zone, the place where far more times than not, his instincts were right. This was what he did—he acted. Never questioned.

Sterling checked his watch. Damion did the same. “Three minutes to go.” They exchanged a nod, and both faded into the wind.

Sterling reappeared in a damn precarious position on the concrete ledge next to the metal stairwell. But soundlessness came with a price.

He eased around and glanced in through the curtain. Mohawk and his pal cowered against the wall, hands tied in front of them. Check. Woman crying, also with hands tied, pressing herself into a corner as if she wanted to melt into the wall. Check.

Where the hell was Eddie? Damn it. For all he knew he was in a Dumpster, and Tad had his phone. He should have demanded to talk to him.

Sterling eased back against the wall and checked his watch. Thirty seconds, and he didn’t have a visual on Tad.

That was when Green Hornets started flying, one splintering painfully into his arm, another too damn close to his head.

“So much for backup, covering my ass,” he mumbled, jumping onto the fire escape and none too silently. If the shooter hadn’t already told Tad he was there, he’d just done it himself. Bullets splattered the steel stairwell.

There were shouts from inside the complex then, immediately after, the yell of a man falling off a nearby building. Backup. Late, but check.

Inside the apartment, the door burst opened. Sterling rotated around to find Eddie, not Damion, in the doorway. Sterling pounded on the window, and Eddie rushed over, gun in hand, and let him in.

“Where’s Tad?” he asked, as Eddie rushed to the woman to untie her and then yelled for her to leave. “Go!”

“You mean the brawny asshole who held us at gunpoint?” he said. “He’s fighting with some guy on the stairwell.” He eyed the woman. “Go to your apartment, and lock the door.”

That was all Sterling had to hear. He was through the door in a run, taking the narrow hallway to bring the stairs into focus. Damion was almost at the top, dragging himself up the railing, bleeding like a stuck pig from his side and right leg, still hanging onto his own weapons.

“Where’s Tad?” Sterling asked, as Casar ran up the stairs to help Damion.

“Your way,” he groaned. “He headed me off at the stairs and took off toward the apartment.”

Sterling turned away, guns ready to fire as he rounded the apartment door. The window stood open. Eddie was nowhere to be found. The two Clanners were still tied up, bullets through their heads. The woman was gone.

Weapons ready, Sterling rushed to the window and saw nothing then turned back to the room and narrowed his gaze on the closet. He yanked it open. Stunned, he found Eddie crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood, hands tied in front of him, which meant that the Eddie who’d let him in that window…

“Sonofabitch.”

Sterling kneeled beside Eddie and checked for a pulse. It was faint, but he found one. There was no way Eddie could be in this closet, hands tied, with that amount of blood loss when he’d been standing in the middle of that room only minutes before. The time equation didn’t work. What the hell was going on?

***

While Eddie was in surgery, Sterling sat in the hospital in the middle of the stench of blood and death, hating every minute. If this was what had surrounded Becca every second of every day in that German treatment center, he wondered how she’d survived as long as she had. He wondered how he was going to deal with the doctor coming out of those steel, double doors at the end of the hall, telling him Eddie was dead, knowing it was because he’d fucked up and let him go into that apartment alone. Or how he was going to deal with it when Becca crashed, and ICE would no longer bring her back.

For three hours he tormented himself, until Caleb arrived and claimed the chair next to him.

“Any news?”

“None,” Sterling said, running his hand over what would soon be a full day’s beard growth. “Damion?”

“Sleeping it off,” Caleb said. “His wounds weren’t serious. He’ll be fine in a few hours. Becca’s worried. She says she’s been calling your cell, and you won’t answer.”

“I can’t talk to her right now,” he said, pushing to his feet and walking to the wall across from the seats to lean against it. “I knew it was a setup tonight, and I let Eddie go in there.”

“He’s a cop, Sterling,” Caleb said. “He’s trained to do a job and do it well. He made his own choices.”