“How the hell does he have his own alarms?” Dan blurted aloud, anger flaring through him. The man had been causing problems from the start, but Brennerman had delved far deeper into illicit activities than he could’ve anticipated. This went beyond skimming from company funds. If he’d hired these janitors as his own personal attack staff, the man must have connections to someone far bigger.
“More bad news, kids,” Alanna came in loud over the comms, her voice bleeding irritation. “Brennerman’s working with Nevarra.”
“Blood and bones, we’d be better off red lighting this plan,” Tuck swore.
Dan’s skin prickled. “Who’s Nevarra?”
The seriousness in Tuck’s eyes conveyed the impact before the words slammed into him. “The head of the Chicago mob.”
Dan ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, fuck.” No wonder Brennerman operated with such vicious tactics. The squad of “janitors” closed in on the entrance to the Aon Center. If they had proper access and badges, they could get in at any time of the night, since security was used to different cleaning rotations. Any moment, they’d be inside the building and traveling up, up, up.
If Brennerman had been working alongside the Chicago mob, no wonder former employees had wound up dead. Had they been people who uncovered Brennerman’s secrets before or just those unlucky enough to witness the wrong thing at the wrong time?
Dan pressed on his comm. “They’re heading in. You guys need to get out.”
“Negative,” Grif responded over the comm. “Scarlet’s still got to make the extraction. How many guys?” Despite the situation, his voice never wavered, the same slick as if he sat at Polished Knives nursing a whisky.
“Five of them,” Dan responded, his palms pricking with sweat. He hated this helplessness, watching the men pop the door open and enter. Whatever they’d be attempting, he could guarantee it wouldn’t be good news for him or the Outlaws.
“What are they packing?” Grif asked. Dan squinted, trying to gauge through the binoculars. Not like he’d be able to tell unless they waved their pistols or knives.
“Pistols at the minimum,” Tuck responded. He tilted his head in the direction of the janitors fast disappearing and mouthed “outline of the holsters” to Dan.
“Fun,” Grif responded, the smile in his voice. “Lucky for them, I was just getting bored.”
“All aces from ground patrol,” John reported in. “Curb stomp some lackeys for me.”
Dan shook his head and stared at Tuck. “You’re all insane.”
Even as he said it, the adrenaline bubbled up inside him, and a laugh escaped. His nerves buzzed like a live wire, and his calves twitched to run, to move, to do something besides standing frozen here watching their enemies enter the Aon Center.
“Yeah, but you knew that when you signed on to this,” Tuck said, flashing him a roguish grin. “Now, come on, we’ve got to keep on patrol.”
The moment the janitors disappeared inside and the door clicked shut after them, Tuck pushed up from where he leaned against the shrubs. He began striding along the pathway again, heading toward the side of the building.
“Shouldn’t we be keeping tabs on the group who just entered?” Dan asked, moving a little faster to keep up with Tuck. For someone who’d just gotten shot in the leg, the man strolled with natural ease, like a cheetah in the grasslands.
Tuck shook his head. “We gave Grif and the others the alert. They’ll have the advantage. We’re necessary on the ground to make sure if reinforcements arrive or Doncaster and his goons show up that Grif and the others get the alert to scram.”
“How the hell do you guys stay sane during these jobs?” Dan said, shaking his head.
“I grew up walking the tightrope,” Tuck said as they cased the side of the building. His eyes grew distant as he soaked in the surrounding city. “Chaos is going on all around you, but that’s life. You keep your gaze on the next step, and all the troubles melt away.”
Dan had felt like that once. The building could be burning, and if Dan was neck deep in trying to repair the thermal sensors on a machine, he would barely notice. He missed the focus that neared obsession like a limb.
Apart from the cars rushing along the roadside, Dan didn’t pick up any movement closer to the building, nor did he spot any repeat vehicles. He kept his eyes on the road, just in case.
He took Tuck’s advice and focused on each breath, cycling it in and out as he scanned their surroundings. Dan focused on the quick and quiet pace they maintained as they wove around to the back of the building, a hypnotic flow to the regular, careful movement. His gaze flicked to the upper levels, but they remained dark. Not like he’d hear or see anything from here, unless the sound came through the comms. The night settled over his skin, and he breathed in the shadows.
This was Grif’s world, his territory. The man had done jobs like this for years, and disruptions had to be the norm.
At least, that’s the comfort Dan clung to.
They continued their rotations around the building, but no new vans emerged onto the scene. There weren’t hordes of janitors encroaching, or even mob enforcers, whatever they might look like. Dan’s heart thumped hard in his chest. Maybe the janitors hadn’t been sent to attack Grif and the others.
Maybe they headed in for a late shift packing heat. Because that made sense.
A white van slowed to a crawl along the street. Dan’s senses wailed warnings like a speeding ambulance at this point, and Tuck slipped to the nearest retaining wall around the landscaping and crouched behind the brick. Dan followed him, trying to maintain the same quiet.
“Either it’s backup or Doncaster’s making his move,” Tuck murmured.
Dan’s throat squeezed tight, and he didn’t respond. Grif and Alanna might be able to handle five guys, but more than that? They’d be fucked six ways from Sunday. “So, what do we do?”
Tuck lapsed into quiet again, staring at the van like he might burn holes into it with his laser gaze. A woman hopped out from the front, one Dan recognized from his brief stint interviewing. Grif had clued him in that Betty Lancaster was none other than Betty Kirklees, a part of Doncaster’s gang and mortal enemies to the Outlaws. The underworld was almost as cutthroat as corporate politics.
Betty and three other guys exited the van, probably planning on diving in to complete the job on their own.
“We need to do something,” Dan hissed. His muscles screamed “run,” and his brain begged him to race away. “If another gang corners them, they’ll be screwed.”
Tuck nodded and pressed the comm at his ear. “Doncaster’s crew has arrived on the scene. We’re going to run interference.”
“Roger that,” Grif responded, a bit breathless. A gunshot echoed in the background of the communication, electrifying Dan to full alert. Helplessness surged through him like a shaken Coke can. At least in pulling the new crew’s attention away, he could run off some of this.
Tuck glanced his way. “I’m going to fire a warning shot at them. The moment I do, we’ve got to be running. You’ll need to follow my lead without question. I know these streets better than most.”
Dan nodded. “Trust me, I’ll barely be able to do much else.”
Tuck pulled out his pistol to take aim. Sweat pricked Dan’s palms as Tuck honed in on the crew who exited the van. The slam of car doors echoed through the air. Betty faced the direction of the Aon Center and pointed ahead, making their trajectory clear. Dan held his breath, watching as Tuck’s finger found the trigger. His muscles tensed, and he prepared to bolt.
The doors to the van closed, and the crew assembled. When they descended on the Aon Center, Grif and his crew would be fucked.
Tuck squeezed the trigger.
The bullet sailed in the direction of the van. The bark exploded in the air, and Tuck already blurred in motion. The Outlaw surged past him, heading to the pathways that wrapped around the building. Dan launched forward after him.
The breeze whistled past his ears, iced hi
s cheeks, and stung his eyes, but Dan focused on following Tuck. They’d be leading the Doncaster crew on a merry chase, and the run for his life had begun.
Twenty-Five
In any job, no matter how big or small, there was one guarantee.
The plan you spent hours outlining and setting into place would get set on fire and kicked off a hill. So, the remaining choices were either adapt or get caught. Since Grif and his Outlaws had never been caught, they’d gotten A-plus at adapting.
The little blinking light in the back of the filing cabinet was the first deviation. Nevarra’s involvement with Brennerman was the second. And the crew of janitors who he could guarantee were members of the mob were the third.
Black days and bleaker times. The moment Dan and Tuck’s warning came over the comm, he turned to Scarlet.
“How much longer?” he asked, the adrenaline surging like he’d never suppressed it.
She cast him a sharp glance, looking up from the computer for a flash. “I need ten more minutes if you want this done right.”
The janitor crew would reach the top floor within five. Which meant he and Alanna would get to blow off some steam.
“Do I get to kick some mafia ass?” Alanna asked as she shifted from foot to foot. “Pretty please, with sugar on top?”
“Only if I don’t get to them first,” Grif responded, grinning as he cracked his knuckles. “The janitor squad’s packing heat, which means they’re showing up ready to samba.”
“Leo, I’m going to start transferring over the files,” Scarlet’s voice broke out through the room and the comms. “Remember the dummy protocol we discussed as backup? We’re going to need to bust that out.”
“Running into problems?” Grif asked, walking the serrated knife’s edge with the amount of bad luck that had descended on them this past month.
Scarlet offered a shrug in response. “It’s only a problem if I don’t have enough time to complete the set-up. Which is why you guys better keep those assholes off my back.” Even as she said the words, her fingers hit the keys a little more forcefully, betraying her nerves.
“So, we’re running the Ezekiel Protocol then,” Grif confirmed. They’d discussed the “oh shit” maneuver just in case, but he’d hoped beyond hope they wouldn’t have to try this one. However, their streak of bad luck was as vicious as a downpour midwinter. “Aces, doll. While you’re at work, we’ll go offer our janitor hit squad some compelling arguments on why they should head on home.”
Either Scarlet got the files sent over, or she didn’t, and they were fucked. At this point, they could only buy her more time. He had a lot of restless energy and rage to channel. Busting in some skulls would be the perfect outlet.
He tapped the doorframe and glanced to Scarlet one last time before he strode down the corridor. Alanna followed suit, her knives gliding out.
“I’ve got the protocol running, Scarlet,” Leo came in over the comms. “It’ll just take a minute to set up, then hack away.”
Grif headed down the corridor, his nerves jangling with the whoop-whoop-whoop of a car alarm. The cool metal of his Beretta pressed against his palm, the trigger begging to be fired. He slipped the night vision goggles back over his eyes—precision was key here, and he couldn’t be wasting shots in the dark.
Alanna kept pace with him, her ponytail whipping back and forth behind her. She flipped her knives as they walked toward the entrance of Torres Industries. By day, this place looked bland as paste, vacant faces behind far too many cubicles and the same stale air circulating throughout. However, at night all the mediocrity took on an insidious bent. The shadows stretched sharper, and the empty cubicles made for a minefield of blind spots.
Perfect for them.
Grif swept over to the cubicles near the door, ducking behind to gauge the best vantage point. He tested one spot, then another, while Alanna swerved to the opposite side to do the same. He crouched behind a cubicle far enough away to line up a good shot, but close enough to switch to hand-to-hand or knife if needed. Grif glanced to his watch, checking the neon numbers. They’d arrive any minute now.
Grif sank into his stance behind the cubicle, and he listened.
The quiet stretched through this place, gliding over the stacks of papers on the desks, creeping into the cracks in the ceiling panels, and settling inside him. As Grif descended into the silence, his senses opened. He heard the gentle hitch of Alanna’s breaths from the other side of the room, the slight rattle of the wind outside, and the distant ding of the elevator.
The ding grew louder, and the click of those elevator doors opening echoed from beyond Torres Industries.
Grif lifted his pistol, watched, and waited.
The thump of steps echoed through the hallway, not heavy enough to be careless, but they couldn’t compare with his Shadows, Tuck and Alanna. Nevarra’s men approached. Go figure the asshole would find some way to make their lives difficult even when he wasn’t trying. The glass doors of Torres Industries placed the hallway on clear display. Any moment, the mob cronies would step into view.
Grif’s breath snagged in his throat, which had grown dry in the waiting. Scarlet needed the time, otherwise this entire enterprise would wash up like their dead bodies when Nevarra didn’t get his payday. If they didn’t have the funds, the Outlaws would have to go deep underground and leave the city in the hopes they could evade Nevarra.
The footsteps grew louder, and the shadowy figures stepped into view. Five men approached, all wearing the same janitor jumpsuit. Brennerman had gotten Nevarra’s men into Torres Industries under this guise far before Dan Torres had ever started to work there.
The door creaked open, all five guys striding in with their pistols aimed. They flicked the lights on, and Grif and Alanna slipped their night vision goggles off.
Five to two weren’t odds he’d bet on, but he had the advantage of location and surprise.
One way to flip those odds.
The moment the janitor squad made their way three steps forward, Grif squeezed the trigger.
The bark of gunfire lit the air, and a mere second later, another echoed from the opposite side. Alanna.
Feet away, Grif didn’t miss. The pistol fired, and the bullet buried into the nearest guy’s neck, crimson spraying out. Alanna’s shot tunneled into the skull of the man closest to her side, and in the span of seconds, both men dropped. The thumps sounded, but these guys were professionals. They didn’t blink.
Before the bodies ever hit the floor, the remainder had their pistols raised, circling from side to side to try and spot them while ducking and weaving between the cubicles. They took one step closer. Another.
He just needed them incapacitated while Scarlet finished the job. Grif waited until they took one more step forward, mere feet away from the cubicle he crouched behind. He needed to burn some energy. Time to get close and personal.
His calves tensed, and he slipped the pistol in the holster. The movement was liquid and hidden behind the cubicle, but the slight rustle caused the guy nearest him to tense and whip the muzzle his way.
That’s when Shadow chose to move. Alanna leapt to another cubicle, further away, drawing their attention.
Grif seized the second.
He leapt from the cubicle, descending upon the three remaining guys faster than a hawk to its prey.
Grif hooked his arm around the closest guy’s neck before the muzzle could whip around. Using the leverage point, he wrenched back, slamming his forearm against his neck. Without letting go, Grif swung out with a side kick. His boot thudded against the middle lackey’s wrist, causing the pistol to drop from his hands. Grif whipped around, and with the force of the pivot, he hurled the guy off his feet.
The man flipped, thudding onto the ground. Grif already moved to the next target. The furthest guy kept his finger on the trigger and tried to take aim. He squeezed tight right as Grif dropped to the ground and slid the rest of the way over. The bullet soared overhead, cracking into the back wall. Grif reac
hed for the man’s leg, grabbed hold, and yanked him down.
The middle guy stretched for his pistol, feet away.
Alanna dropped into the fray.
Shadow moved like liquid, wrenching the man’s hand back before he could reach the pistol. She kicked it further away.
Tuck crackled in over the comms. “Doncaster’s crew has arrived on the scene. We’re going to run interference.”
Well, fuck. Because they didn’t have enough uninvited guests at the party, Doncaster and his cretins had to come crashing in. They’d be sans lookouts.
“Roger that,” Grif responded, whipping around to face the man he’d flipped moments before.
He caught the glint of the muzzle and dropped, right before the man squeezed the trigger. The pistol barked, and a gunshot flew inches above him. It zipped past to thud into one of the nearby cubicles, sailing right through the flimsy material.
Grif didn’t wait around to gawk.
He grabbed the man by the wrist to yank him forward, and then he drove his elbow in. His forearm thudded against the guy’s throat, hard enough a strangled whump came from him. The man staggered back, hands to his throat and gasping for air. Grif pivoted around. The janitor he’d dropped rose to his feet and charged.
Grif crouched, waiting, waiting, waiting. He rocked on the balls of his feet.
Feet away. Inches. A knife glinted in the fucker’s hand.
The knife came whipping around to promise pain upon delivery, but Grif ducked. The poor bastard let him get in close—his mistake.
Grif circled his hands around him and released his tensed legs. In one quick motion, he hefted the man into a throw. The guy soared a couple feet to smack against the ground, a whoosh of air leaving his lungs. Alanna had leapt onto the other janitor’s back like a spider monkey, her arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold. He kept scratching at the offending forearm to try and escape, but that just made Alanna cling tighter. The man had no idea how stubborn his Shadow was.
The man with the raw, red neck came rushing in, knives brandished. Too bad Grif had lost what little patience remained. The man led with the knife in his right hand, thrusting forward to try and catch him between the ribs. Grif slid to the side and grabbed him by the forearm. He thrust up with the flat of his palm to catch the guy under the chin. A mix between a gag and a gurgle came from the man’s throat, and he swayed once, twice, then dropped.
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 20
