Page 6 of The Pawn
“What?” I’m sure I heard wrong.
“I’m looking at his body. Exit 42. We’re on the surface road.”
“I’m on my way.”
I disconnect. Michael Moretti is dead?
It takes me almost twenty more minutes to exit the highway and get to where I see the flashing lights of emergency workers. I slow as I make out the burnt-out carcasses of what must be four SUVs that collided head on.
They were ambushed.
My heart is in my fucking stomach. Are they mine? Was one carrying Allegra?
No. It couldn’t be. Enzo would be in there with her. He’d be dead with her.
Fuck.
Jesus.
Fuck!
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white.A policeman stands at the barricade holding out a hand to signal me to stop. I do and get out of the car.
“The road is closed. You’ll have to turn around.”
I look beyond him to see Enzo walking toward me, hand on his side, blood on his face. Nearby I hear the sirens of an approaching ambulance.
“Cassian,” Enzo starts and just as he does, Jet comes up beside me. He glances at Enzo, takes in his injuries, looks at the wreck of cars beyond the barricade, his forehead creased.
“Officer,” he starts, drawing the policeman’s attention so I’m able to slip under the police tape.
“You’re shot?” I look at the blood on his hand.
“No. I’m fine. Just knocked out.”
From the look of his injuries, he’ll still need stitching.
“Allegra?” I ask.
“They must have taken her. I looked for her when I came to.”
“She’s not here?”
He shakes his head, and I’m relieved. If she’s not here, it means she’s alive. She’s alive.
“What happened?”
“The men you’d sent with us, one pulled a gun on me. Then the SUVs.” He gestures around. “They were ready for us.” We walk toward the vehicle that was carrying Allegra. More flashing lights and sirens as more law enforcement show up at the scene where the smell of burnt flesh is pungent.
“Who?” I ask. We reach the SUV with the soldiers on the ground. One is lying face down. He’s in a suit, a bullet hole in his temple. I crouch down, turn him over.
“Sir step away. You can’t touch anything.”
Before anyone reaches me, I get a look at the dead man’s face, confirming what Enzo already told me.
Michael Moretti is dead.
I look at the other soldiers, recognizing one. I reach into Michael’s pocket and find his phone. Taking it, I stand just as the officer gets to us.
