Last Call Read Free

a
near-futile attempt to reacquaint himself with a section of town
he'd wisely avoided when he lived in the vicinity. It wasn't the
kind of place an undercover cop would risk exposure. The irony was,
as a result, it was exactly the kind of place one would go to
disappear… and — if outed as law enforcement — where one just
might.
    After a thirty minute cross-town trip, the bus
finally pulled up to Nick's stop. He stepped down, pausing on the
damp, wind-whipped corner to search the skyline for his bearings in
the dark, unfamiliar territory. Few streetlights dotted the
industrial scene. Long metal buildings made up the bulk of the
landscape, each one separated from the next by an expanse of pitted
concrete. In the distance, water sloshed against pilings, meshing
with the sound of rain. The desolation was chilling, but it was the
caller's words that really got under his skin.
    I've got information about your
girlfriend .
    Cutter had warned Nick about the south end, so
he headed that way first. The burned-out buildings weren't hard to
find with their busted glass and the lingering scent of soot. The
fire must have been recent.
    To his left, a massive loading door hung so
far off its tracks just ducking under it gave Nick a good shot of
adrenaline with the fear the door would fall on him. He cleared the
threat, real or imagined, without incident then stopped and waited
for his eyes to adjust. Without blips in the long shadows, the
warehouse appeared empty, so he took his chances in the pitch black
along the walls and hoped he wouldn't trip.
    A few steps in, a shuffle echoed from across
the vast space.
    Nick froze. Rain drummed distantly against
metal — the only intrusion in the thick silence. He fervently
wished for night vision, surveillance, or any of the other gadgetry
upon which he'd so often relied. For all he knew, he was flipping
out over a rat. But the area was also on the outskirts of gang
territory. Nick might well be walking to his death.
    The thought joined a number of others nagging
at him, not one of which sat well.
    Tension prickled his skin as he closed in on
the warehouse's far corner without incident — the quiet scuffle
against the concrete floor led the way, luring him in. Through the
darkness, a form began taking shape.
    A body.
    No . Nick
shook it off. His imagination was working overtime.
    Only it wasn't.
    The details came to him slowly. A halo of
blonde hair, somehow luminous in the absence of light. Slender
curves. Mile-long legs.
    Rhys .
    Nick's gut twisted. Mere hours earlier, her
case had been open and shut. When closed up in a neat little
package, people didn't get dumped in a warehouse — at least not
after the fact. He knelt by the body and felt for a pulse. Her skin
was terrifyingly cold, but her heartbeat was strong. Trembling with
disbelief, Nick stood and fumbled for his phone.
    The distinct click of a gun cocking stopped
him. The barrel bore into the back of his skull, prompting him to
hold his hands out to the sides. If Rhys had a chance, he wouldn't
be the one to get in the way of it. Not this time.
    "You listen good," said a now-familiar voice.
It was the man Nick was there to meet, but the realization offered
no solace. "Here's the official story, Detective Massey. She's
dead. Just like the TV said. You follow me?"
    Nick nodded, his attention riveted on the
nearly imperceptible rise and fall of Rhys's chest as he fought for
something — anything — that might identify the man. Then it hit
him.
    Detective .
    Someone knew more than Nick wanted to let
on.
    The gun's pressure increased. "You're about to
enter a little impromptu witness protection program. Keep her
hidden and you might live."
    "Is she hurt?"
    "No, she's dead . And if anyone thinks otherwise,
I'll kill you." He punctuated the threat by with a solid stab of
the gun against the base of Nick's skull. "Are we in agreement,
Detective?"
    "Yes. How—"
    "No questions. The boss will be in touch." The
gun's pressure faded.