Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(3)
Three weeks, actually, to be exact. But who’s counting?
“I’m healed.” The wound in his thigh was sore but he could function. “Like you said, none that you’ve seen me with.” Jeremy glanced over at the CeCe statue, no idea what possessed him to want a woman who said she’d just moved away from home for the first time. She had a quick wit and wasn’t the least bit meek. Too sweet to be worldly or a quick fling…
“Come on, J. Get out of that damn funk you’ve been in. You don’t come charm these women I’m gonna revoke your badass license.” Blade grinned, which meant his devious mind was up to no good. “In fact, I’ll tell everyone in the hood you done turned pansy-assed on us and can’t get it up around a knockout woman no more.”
“You bite, you know that? Let’s go.” Jeremy resigned himself to making small talk until he could find a way to get out of Blade’s deal without insulting Shelilah and before CeCe left the festival, or saw him first.
Then what? Stroll back over to the statues when she came out of her trance and pretend he happened to be at the festival and, oh, what a surprise to run into each other?
Pansy ass.
SAM THE MAN clawed his way over a chain-link fence, dropped, and hit the ground running. Georgia humidity soaked his black open-collar shirt, his new one, damn it. He gasped for air, dodging between older clapboard houses just off the square in Marietta.
Quick glance back. They weren’t close. Keep moving.
The neighborhood canine chorus grew with every yard he disturbed. Sam toed a foothold on a rear gate of one yard and plunged into an unfenced one, finally.
A rottweiler lunged, teeth bared, but the six feet of sturdy chain attached to one honkin’-big doghouse held while Sam sprinted past.
He burst from the narrow alley between well-tended aging homes and slowed to a quick walk. Cars were tucked bumper to bumper along both sides of the quiet side street. Shouts and barking from behind meant his tail was gaining on him. Time to make some serious mileage. He broke from the manicured yards thick with landscape and raced down the sidewalk. Clutching the photo card he had to deliver, he cursed the friend he’d trusted.
The friend who’d set him up.
But since no one could be completely trusted, Sam had taken the precaution of a backup plan. Never knew when a deal would suck toilet water.
Starface’s two armed thugs hard on his ass pretty much flushed his day down the sewer.
Trusting the feds to come through in time had been a gamble to begin with, but maybe he should have set up the meet spot in advance. Now he was looking at bad odds, because the feds probably couldn’t get to him in time. He’d sent a text message on the run for them to meet him in Marietta Square. The crowds milling around some damn festival there today would cover him long enough for the feds to snatch him out of sight.
But when Sam reached the square in sixty seconds he doubted even Superman could make it here in time.
He sliced across Church Street to where the crazy-looking event was winding down, the crowd thinning. He slowed to a fast walk as he entered the historic square, searching for a spot to hide his prize. All the tents would be picked up tonight.
Damn, no help there.
The smell of fresh popcorn fattened the air. He had to be careful not to draw the attention of off-duty cops working the event. They’d get him killed and probably a few of them, too. Sam zigzagged against a sea of teens bundled in groups and couples strolling, oblivious of any danger. Some of the patrons wore shorts but others were in togas. Huh?
A dumpy Caesar wannabe glared when Sam bumped the short bastard’s bone-thin Cleopatra.
Sam clutched the tiny photo card, thinking. The feds would stick out like the Blues Brothers in this crowd if they were here, which they weren’t. He needed a plan C at this point and slowed, searching for a safe spot to hide the memory card that was no bigger than a quarter. He passed an eight-foot-tall train engine replica packed with kids using it like a jungle gym.
Couldn’t hide the card there. Rushing ahead between tents protecting displays of pottery and paintings, he passed vendors packing their wares.
Nowhere showed promise. Damn it all to hell.
He had to dump this card fast.
At the far end of the park he burst into an opening, almost taking a header into one of four life-size sculptures. The area had been arranged as a garden with white concrete-looking statues of Roman-like figures.
This statue garden offered him a slim salvation. For now.
Sam quickly sized up each sculpture. Which one was the best hiding place? He shoved his shoulder against the closest concrete emperor. That heavy sucker didn’t budge, which meant whoever owned these would probably send a crew out tomorrow to pick up the statues with a crane when the crowd wouldn’t be a problem. But this emperor didn’t have a cut deep enough in the folds of his robe or in the rocky-looking base for Sam to drop the small digital photo card into.
Get caught with the goods and he’d die for sure.
Best plan he had was to dump the package then come back later to retrieve his property. Or hope the feds miraculously showed up to save him if he got nailed by Starface’s men.
Worst case, Sam would buy some time if Starface did catch him—a real possibility. He’d only give up the card if all other options disappeared. Letting the photos and video stored on this memory device fall into the wrong hands would unleash a mob war like none before.