I slipped inside, keeping my back to the wall, gun drawn as I took out my penlight. It barely cut a pinprick through the dark. I waited for my eyes to adjust, then stepped forward and banged my shin on something solid, but pliant. I shone the light down to see two stacked tires, invisible in the dark. To my left and right were virtual walls of tires, six feet high, transforming the entrance into a small black foyer.
Someone was using the warehouse to fence tires? It seemed a tough item to steal and awkward to resell, but as my light crossed the ones nearest me, I saw the tre
ads were cracked and bald. Not reselling tires - illegally dumping them.
I picked my way across the tire-strewn entranceway and around the end of the "wall" twenty feet down. There, the unrelenting darkness lifted, as some light managed to sneak through the filthy windows. There were more tires in here, plus a stack of cans - paint, oil, and other toxins you couldn't toss in the trash. I shuddered to think what would happen if kids snuck in here, smoking cigarettes or playing with matches.
Headlights cut an arc across the dirt on the nearest window. I moved to it, but couldn't bring myself to wipe the glass, even wearing gloves. The lights swung my way as the car backed between warehouses one and two. Not an ideal parking spot. Better than pulling up to the front door, though.
I moved back to that tire-enclosed foyer and holstered my gun, but kept my jacket open for easy access. Jack always said a nervous client was more dangerous than a ruthless one. Lurking in the dark, even with a penlight on, probably wasn't the safest way to greet MacIver.
I opened the door as he hurried over. His eyes rounded and he frantically motioned me back inside as he scanned the yard. Sure, now he worries about looking suspicious.
I retreated into the building. A moment later, he slid in, shutting the door behind him.
"Do you have the ring?" he whispered.
"Yes." I resisted the urge to respond with, "Do you have the money?" He wouldn't get the joke and would probably think I'd seriously expected him to bring a briefcase of cash.
I handed him the ring. As he studied it with a flashlight, I studied him. Knowing now what he was, and how he was involved, put him in a whole new light, one that made my hands itch to fly to his throat, throttling him as I shouted, "How could you?"
Maybe knowing he wasn't in it for the money should have made it better, but it didn't. All I could do was remind myself he'd see justice soon enough. Calmly, I asked about the wire transfer, which was going into Evelyn's offshore account. I didn't care about the money - she could keep it as debt repayment. But MacIver would expect that to be foremost in my mind, so I had to ask.
"I'll transfer it in the morning," he said as he lowered the flashlight.
"Why not tonight?" I asked.
"It's late. My wife is waiting."
With your new baby, I thought. But I couldn't say that, so I settled for, "Just have it in the account by nine. Now, you're right, it is late, so if that's everything..."
He rubbed the ring, as if calling forth a genie to help him think. "You shredded all the papers, right?"
"Yes, and I removed the hard drive from his desktop computer and took the laptop."
"Did you bring them?"
"Was I supposed to?"
He rubbed the ring harder. I aimed my foot and shoulder toward the door, hinting I wanted to be going, but the second I moved, he jumped back, as if I'd pulled a gun.
As I sucked in my annoyance and lifted my hands to say, "Look buddy, I just moved, okay?" I sensed someone behind me. Maybe it was a faint change in the light. Maybe it was a click so soft only my subconscious recognized it. Maybe it was just a sixth sense. But my body reacted, sending me diving for the floor, brain screaming "what the hell -?"
The pfft of a silenced shot cut the thought short.
Chapter Forty-seven
The bullet sliced through my jacket as I hit the floor in a roll. A second shot bounced off the concrete beside me. I came out of the tumble and shot forward, hunched over, head down, hand going for my gun. A third shot, this one so far from hitting me I didn't even see where it went.
I caught a glimpse of MacIver, still standing where I left him, his hands at his sides, eyes wide - not in shock that I'd nearly been shot, but that I'd avoided it.
I swung around as a shadowy figure spun, lifting his gun to take aim.
"Stop," I said.
He hesitated, gun still aimed down, lowered as he'd moved. He started to lift it.
"That goes for the gun, too," I said. "Move it and I'll shoot."