Page 83 of Cutter

She’s still here,pleadingwith her beautiful blue eyes.Indeed, reason had stepped in, and she hadn’t committed the one deed she could’ve never come back from. Emily had intended to trick him, but their relationship and what they had together had won the fight. This time. What would happen when a new investigation came around? Besides, he wasn’t convinced she was truly detective material. Her choices were too emotional and erratic.

Thoughts for another night.

“Okay. Put your jacket on.”

“Daddy?”

“No, Emily. Don’t Daddy me. I’ll take you, but you’ve made a mess of things. The guys outside know about our connection. I hope this bust works out without a hitch and the Chaos arearrested and neutralized. If not, you and I will have serious problems. You’ve put a target on both our backs. Let’s go.”

Cutter stomped to the garage with a silent Emily in tow.

He straddled his bike and spoke to her. “Hop on, and hold on tight,” he said, turning the key. The bike’s engine came to life with a loud roar. He opened the garage with the remote control he’d installed on his bike and slowly rolled down the driveway. As he entered the street, he closed the garage, twisted the throttle, and took off like the devil emblazoned on his cut. Squeezing his waist, Emily squealed.

Let Nails’s assholes catch them if they dared.

Didn’t take them long at all to reach Main Street. They’d left his house close to two in the morning, the appointed time for the Chaos delivery and the planned bust. The streets were deserted. Cutter slowed to a normal speed, approaching the Main Street Warehouse from the south. He glanced through the rearview mirror. Still no tails. He’d expected to see one rider, at least.

Maybe it was the state he was in, but everything about this night felt weird. Empty streets, no followers, Emily’s duplicity, silence, the promise of danger ahead, and above him, the sky, devoid of all stars, was absolutely dark. Even streetlights illuminated the road at intervals as if someone had used every other one as target practice.

Far ahead, however, the Main Street Warehouse’s entrance lights, directing drivers to and from the parking lot, were turned on. Speaking of drivers, he saw none. Either the authorities had arrived with plenty of time to get settled and wait, or this party had been canceled.

Cutter slowed almost to a crawl, maintaining enough impulse to keep the bike upright. Those frightening icy fingers from a few days ago scratched down his back with their terrible premonition.

Surrounded by silence and emptiness, he continued forward. As he reached Shaver Street, a bright flash illuminated the night, a thunderous boom came after, and the rapid rat-rat-rat of automatic weapons filled his soul with dread.

“It’s on,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Emily didn’t speak. She held him tighter.

Pulling the throttle, he took off until he came within feet of the entrance to the Warehouse and pandemonium.

“We’re here. Stay low and be careful. It’s going to get violent in a moment.”

“Yes.”

He stopped the bike behind a huge Dumpster. Bending low, he motioned at Emily. He took the lead, slinking the rest of the way, ignoring the cacophony of men screaming and cursing, the incessant barrage, and the sounds of bullets striking metal surfaces and snapping against concrete walls. Some containers had been situated before the delivery bay, and the rest had been spread throughout the parking lot.

He glanced at Emily. Eyes wide and face ghostly pale, fear had taken hold of her.

Shots came at them the closer they got to where the fiercest part of the encounter was taking place. Just ahead, a strange formation opened before them. One container with a huge orange O on the side facing him had been pulled out of the row, forming a triangle with the two containers left behind.

Pretty distinct. Hard to miss the Oquendo container and the goodies it carried. A Chaos man had just climbed to the top. Firing his Mac-11, empty shells arcing in the light, he sprayed a shower of bullets at the SWAT team below.

Gun in hand, she slipped next to Cutter’s side and nudged his arm.

“What is it?”

She pointed to the farthest container. A guy wearing a DEA vest was down.

“I thought I saw him move. He needs help,” she said.

Unconscious? Dead? The wounded man couldn’t afford to wait. Of course, Cutter thought with derision. This was par for the night. Why couldn’t that guy be any closer? That would force them to rush across the open space, exposed to gunfire and without body armor of their own.

He signaled at her to move forward. “When there’s a break in the action, we run over.”

As he prepared to give her the signal and dash out, a second DEA agent, unaware of the Chaos man atop the container, slid around the sides.

Eyes trained on the Chaos man, Cutter racked his SIG. The Chaos shooter aimed, and Cutter took him out. Unable to confirm the kill or where the sniper had fallen, he cursed quietly.

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