Page 57 of Saving Bonnie

“Sunday night.”

He turns to Sergio.

Sergio nods. “That’s when he was going in.”

“Damn it.” Rick leans his head back. “Argh. The fucking cops probably have it.” The veins in his temple are throbbing. “Unless the punk double-crossed you.”

Sergio’s jaw drops. “No.” But the doubt in his voice says he may not have considered the thief would steal from him, too.

A shot rings out. I gasp, the echo jolting through me. Sergio doubles over. He’s grasping at his waist, his eyes huge. Rick pulls the trigger a second time.

“Duuude,” Conrado yells.

My hand’s at my mouth. I retreat a step, trying to get as far from what’s happening as possible.

Another shot. This time Sergio goes limp, his hand hitting the floor as the gun clatters next to him.

“Oh my God.” The ringing in my ears drowns out my ragged whisper. How did I get caught up in a shootout?

Rick swings back to Conrado. “Your turn.”

Conrado looks down at Rick’s weapon. Is he next? But no. Conrado turns his gaze my way.

So he’ll be the one to kill me. The blood rushes from my head.

“I’m not killing her,” Conrado asserts.

“Yeah, you are,” Rick states with finality. “She’s seen too much. And unless you want her turning both of us in, you’ll take care of this.”

Conrado chews on his lip.

I manage to pull my shaking hands from covering my mouth. “I won’t say anything.” My voice trembles on the last two words.

“Iz,” Conrado says in an ominous tone.

Izzy’s cowering against the side of the building, watching in wide-eyed horror.

“Grab the gun,” Conrado instructs, nodding toward Sergio. “Then, drop her in the pit with Tony.”

Tony Gloria? So this is what happened to Iris’s father.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tino

The tracker takes me to a warehouse at the edge of the old business district. It’s one of the smaller locations in the area.

I’ve been watching from across the street for five minutes. The lights in the front office are off, and the desk in front of the glass door is empty. So far, no security guard has come around the parking lot.

My cell vibrates.Montoya. Let yourself fall.What the hell does that mean?

I cross the street and slip along the side of the building, past two trailers at the dock. And there’s Rick’s delivery truck.

The truck’s empty, but a check at the wheel well confirms the engine’s still warm. He hasn’t been here long. I take the stairs with silent footsteps.

Pulling a handkerchief from my pocket, I use it to test the doorknob. Locked. No issue. I’m prepared with a pick. Within seconds, I line up the pins on the lock, and it spins. Opening the door a few inches, I scan the wall and ceiling. No mirrors, no cameras. One last glance in either direction, and I go in.

A pool of blood cakes the middle of the concrete next to a spool of shrink wrap. Careless footprints lead away, crossing fading drag marks as they go around the first row of pallets.

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