10 Years Later

“So let’s meet up at our normal location and take one car in,” I suggested.

“You got it. I’m on my way.”

Pulling into the busy shopping center parking lot, I pulled my car to a stop and waited for Tucker to arrive. Glancing in my rearview, I saw him driving in. I hopped out as he rolled down his passenger window and I leaned against it.

“Ready?” he asked from the driver’s seat, making no move to get out.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, you want to drive today?”

“Get in, we’re wasting time,” he demanded.

After rolling my eyes at him, I reached inside my car, grabbed the camera from the backseat, and locked up the car behind me before hopping into the passenger seat of Tucker’s less conspicuous car. Both of our automobiles were station assigned, but mine was newer. Once buckled in, I turned on the radio channel and checked in with our boss.

We arrived at the LB docks in record time. The hair on the back of my neck lifted as we drove in, but I ignored it and encouraged Tucker to drive deeper into the shipyard. Ship workers milled about in the distance as we searched for any sign of our suspect. He pulled the car to a stop, and I wished we had a little more information to go on. This place was fucking huge, and I had no idea where to even start looking.

Glancing at Tucker, I asked, “See anything?”

He breathed out an aggravated huff. “Nothing. Where the hell is he? Did Eddie mention a particular ship, or a dock slip?”

“No. Fuck.” Frustrated, I slammed my hand against the dashboard. Missing the opportunity to gather more evidence on this piece of shit would not go over well with the Feds assigned to monitor the case. “Think we should get out? Move around on foot?”

“Something’s not right,” Tucker said, and I couldn’t disagree. Everything felt wrong. “I think we’re being set up.”

“I think you’re right.”

Tucker and I both glanced up through the windshield, seeing the same thing at the same time. Mickey stood about fifty feet in front of us, his middle finger in the air, while his other hand rested on his hip, where I assumed a gun lay strapped out of view.

“Shit!” Tucker and I both yelled at the same time.

The station radio crackled to life with a warning as gunshots filled the air.

“Dalton, Tucker, get the hell out of there. Do you copy? Get out of there, it’s a setup! Come in, over!”

Panic

Cammie

I arrived at Graziano’s ten minutes early and approached the hostess counter. “Hi. I have reservations at five.”

The hostess smiled as she glanced down at the chart in front of her. “Sure. What’s the name?”

Shifting my purse strap higher on my shoulder, I said, “It should be under Thomas.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Dalton Thomas, reservations for two. He’s not here yet, but your table is ready if you’d like to follow me.”

I smiled in return and followed as she led me to a table in the back of the room. Although I wanted to know when Dalton was headed my way, I took the seat that didn’t face the entrance of the restaurant, knowing where he would prefer to sit.

“Your waitress will be with you shortly. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you.”

She hurried off as a busboy appeared and poured two glasses of water, then delivered a basket of bread, a bottle of olive oil, and fresh basil. It looked and smelled incredible. I knew that I should have waited for Dalton, but I couldn’t help myself as the scent of freshly baked bread wafted toward me.

A young waiter appeared. “Good evening. My name is Richard and I’ll be your waiter this evening. I see that we’re still waiting for the rest of your party to arrive. So in the meantime, can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a glass of white.”

“We have a pinot grigio from Tuscany that’s crisp and fruity,” he suggested.