Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(81)

“What the fuck?” he said, pushing open the door.

“You need to watch your mirrors.”

Keith glared up at him. “Shit, Morgan. I could have shot you.”

“First you’d have to notice me. Which you didn’t.”

He shook his head. “What’s up, man? Everybody’s asleep, right?”

Erik nodded, scanning the street in both directions. “Anything since midnight?” By “anything,” he meant a black Honda or a white pickup truck.

“Caldwell made a pass around two, but other than that, nothing.”

“Caldwell himself?”

“Yeah.”

Erik was impressed. He would have expected the marshal to be tucked into bed next to his wife about now. Erik tapped on the top of the door.

“Stay awake,” he said, and walked away.

Erik circled the block and approached the Atrium from the north this time. Traffic was light, but he could hear the distance whir of cars on a nearby overpass. Erik reached the six-story parking garage behind Brynn’s building. He had been keeping an eye on it. The garage wasn’t associated with the Atrium, and his team had no control over who came and went, so it was another source of concern. He checked the new security cams and looked around before taking the stairs to level two. He emerged from the stairwell and halted. Something was off. He stood motionless until he identified the issue. The light fixture near the elevator was out.

Erik surveyed the parked cars as he moved toward the shadowy alcove. He passed a row of steel cages where renters stored bikes, camping equipment, and other crap they didn’t have room for in their apartments. When he reached the dim alcove, he took out his flashlight and crouched below the light fixture, noting the shards of glass on the concrete.

Thud.

Erik stood and turned, drawing his weapon. The noise had come from a nearby row of cars. Erik moved toward it, hyperalert for any sound or movement. No lights, no people. He reached the row and swept his flashlight beam between the cars. Beside the one on the end, he spied something small and white. A flattened cigarette butt. Erik knelt and touched the blackened end. Still warm.

An engine roared on the level below him. Tires shrieked. Erik ran to the wall and peered over as a black car sped down the side street and hooked a right onto Commerce. It was a Honda.

“Fuck!”

Erik made a call as he raced downstairs.

“Caldwell.”

“I’ve got a black Honda on Commerce. It just exited a garage near the Atrium, and it’s moving west. Where’s your nearest unit?”

“Morgan?”

“Yes! I need a unit.”

“Roger that. We’ve got someone on Pearl.” Commotion on the other end as Caldwell talked to someone on a radio. “You said westbound?”

“Affirmative. Call me back.”

Erik reached the sidewalk and ran for Keith’s car. He pounded on the trunk before jumping into the passenger seat.

“Drive!”

“What? Where—”

“Pull a U-turn here.”

Keith complied, pointing them westbound, and hit the gas. Erik quickly saw the problem. They were coming up on an interstate, which was near a major interchange. The only taillights in sight were a gray pickup and a white SUV. Had he turned off somewhere?

“Is it him? You saw him?” Keith was alert now, gripping the wheel.

“I saw a black Honda Civic.”

The traffic light ahead went yellow.

“You’re clear,” Erik said. “Punch it.”

Keith sailed through the intersection, glancing at Erik. They were almost to the interstate, which meant three choices.

“Hang a right,” Erik ordered as Caldwell called back. “You have him?”

“No. We’ve got two units in the area, but they don’t see him.”

Erik scanned the cars ahead as they entered the freeway. Traffic was light, but there was no black Honda in sight. Keith pressed the gas, but Erik could already tell he’d made the wrong call. A major interchange came into view, and the choices multiplied.

“That interchange is a spaghetti bowl,” Caldwell said. “He could be anywhere by now. Did you see the driver?”

“No, but there was someone staked out in the garage, having a smoke, with a clear view of the Atrium’s north exit, the one facing the parking garage.”

“You think it was Corby.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“That would be pretty ballsy, him getting so close after what went down Friday.”

Which was exactly how Erik knew it was Corby. Everything he’d done till now had been a big fuck-you to law enforcement.

He heard Caldwell’s muffled voice as he gave orders over the radio. After an endless wait, he came back on. “Morgan, I think we lost him. I’ve got two units there, and they’re both saying it’s a no-go. Wherever he was, he’s gone.”

“Head back,” Erik told Keith. “We’ll run the surveillance footage, see what we get.”

“Why would Corby be there now?” Caldwell asked. “At three in the goddamn morning?”

“Maybe he’s waiting.”

Setting up an ambush, in other words.

“Shit. Who’s taking Brynn Holloran to court tomorrow?”