Option to Kill (Nathan McBride 3) (34 page)

He winked at her. “Can I get one of your boxes to put it in?”

She disappeared into the back and returned with a box.

Nathan fished his wallet out and put a twenty in the tip jar.

“Thanks! But you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s my pleasure. You’re a lifesaver.”

He diverted to the alley along the rear of the building and spotted what he needed. In a quick move that took no more than ten seconds, he threw the sedan in park, climbed out, and removed the magnetic sign from the top of a delivery car. He didn’t feel right about stealing the sign, but he justified the theft as an emergency. Compared with his actions over the last fourteen hours, this qualified as a mere hiccup in the larger scheme of things.

Nathan returned to the furniture store and pulled up to the curb. He put on his ballistic vest and covered it with the black sweatshirt he’d used at the Tecate motel. It wouldn’t look terribly out of place, since the temperature hadn’t climbed yet. He got out, placed the Domino’s sign atop the sedan, and donned his twenty-buck hat.

He cruised into the furniture store’s driveway and parked directly in front of the double glass doors, where his sedan couldn’t be missed. He placed his suppressed SIG in the box and took a deep breath to ease the tension.

Holding the pizza box with both hands, he approached the entrance.

He knocked on the door and waited.

After half a minute, he banged on it forcefully.

A tall man with dark hair appeared, and he didn’t look real happy. This guy stood several inches north of six feet and fit Samantha’s description. Nathan saw the black gloves right away, and his radar went up several notches. The gloves had a sheen, as though wet.

The man’s voice sounded muffled behind the glass. “We’re closed.”

“I can’t find an address. Can you help me?”

“Are you deaf? I said we’re closed.” He spoke in a Spanish accent, perfectly audible through the door.

Nathan waved toward the sedan. “Come on, man. I need a good Samaritan. I’m looking for a place called Startronics. I’ve got an extra combination pizza from a botched order. My manager said to just give it away. It’s yours.”

Nathan slipped his left thumb under the box’s lid and eased it up half an inch.

Responding to a query, the man looked toward the interior and yelled in Spanish, “Some pizza asshole wants directions.” The man listened for a few seconds and turned back to Nathan. Switching back to English, the guy said, “Take a hike.”

“I’m truly disappointed,” Nathan answered in Spanish.

The man’s face slackened in surprise.

In one fluid move, Nathan flipped the box open and pulled out the SIG.

The man yelled something unintelligible and turned to run.

Nathan shot him in the back of the thigh.

The suppressed shot shattered the tempered glass. Thousands of tiny pieces fell in a sparkling shower.

The wounded man dropped to the floor and yelled, “It’s him!”

Nathan kicked the door’s aluminum handle like he’d done at Marchand’s warehouse. It broke free and clattered on the floor.

In Spanish, someone from the back of the showroom floor yelled, “Franco, what’s happening!” It wasn’t Voda’s voice.

Before the downed man could answer, Nathan stepped inside and kicked him in the face. Hard. The guy’s nose exploded.

He saw it then: the unmistakable smear of blood on the floor from the man’s gloves.

Semiconscious, the man moaned and rolled into the fetal position. Not caring if his kick was fatal, Nathan patted the guy down for weapons, removed a knife from the guy’s ankle sheath, and hurled it across the room. He also found a box of wooden matches. Not surprisingly, it had some kind of cigar maker’s logo. He squinted at the words: MADE IN NICARAGUA. A grisly flashback threatened to invade his thoughts, but he slammed the door on it. He was about to toss the matches aside, but decided to keep them. Inside, above the door, a security camera eyed the entrance foyer. Using the SIG to screen his face, Nathan shot the camera. Chunks rained onto the floor.

Were these guys expecting him? It seemed likely. The man he’d kicked in the face had yelled, “It’s him.” If this was a trap, he’d just sprung it. Fighting a strong desire to leave, Nathan advanced deeper into the store and ducked behind a leather sofa combo. He peered above its form and saw a man running toward the entrance.

“Franco!”

Halfway down the showroom floor, the man stopped when he spotted his downed comrade. Nathan didn’t see a gun in the guy’s hands, but that would change soon enough.

He took aim to shoot the guy, when the sound of a roaring engine forced his attention outside.

A pickup screeched to a stop ten feet from the front door.

Three men armed with AKs ran toward the entrance.

This was
definitely
a trap.

And these clowns were packing some serious firepower.

They didn’t look like clean-cut Spaniards — they looked more like hardened mercenaries or coyotes — and they were probably looking to get some payback for their dead friends at the Tecate Palms Motel. Nathan didn’t relish being captured by these guys.

It was time to kick some ass without taking any numbers.

He subconsciously patted for the SIG’s spare magazines in his thigh pockets, confirming their presence.

What happened next was driven by pure skill and experience.

Peering just over the top of the sofa, Nathan let the first gunman enter the building, which allowed his two comrades to follow suit. The lead gunman focused on the unconscious man, before whipping his head around, looking for a threat. Nathan burst up from the cover of the couch and activated the SIG’s laser.

He lined up on the second gunman’s chest and fired twice. Before that man hit the floor, he sent two more bullets into the third man, center mass. Both of their expressions registered shock and disbelief, likely from being dispatched so easily. The first man he had shot dropped his AK and clutched his chest, blood oozing between his fingers.

The lead gunman attempted to duck for cover, but not in time. Nathan double-tapped him in the rib cage.

At close range — in just under four seconds — Nathan had fired six shots and recorded six hits. All three men were dead or dying, and they hadn’t returned single shot. He ejected the SIG’s magazine and inserted a fully loaded one.

He needed to deal with the retreating man in the back of the store before more reinforcements arrived, but this showroom held numerous hiding places. An ambush could come from anywhere. On the flip side, all the furniture could be used as visual cover for his advance. The safest way to advance would be along the perimeter. If he stayed close to the wall, he’d reduce his threat area by half.

Nathan looked toward the rear of the store for any sign of movement but detected none. In a crouch, he sidestepped along the length of the sofa and checked the men he’d just neutralized. Obviously, they hadn’t been well trained. After entering, they should’ve immediately fanned out in different directions, but they’d been momentarily distracted by the unconscious man lying on the floor. Nathan didn’t relish killing these men, as he had in Tecate, but he didn’t feel guilty either. It was just business, and these poor saps were on the wrong end of it.

Two of the mercenaries weren’t breathing, and the third would be joining his friends soon.

A radio crackled to life. “
Franco, can you hear me? Franco!
”

To avoid exposing himself on the main aisle of the showroom floor, Nathan reached out and grabbed the man he’d kicked by the ankle. He yanked the guy over to the corner of the sofa and removed the radio from his hip.

In Spanish, Nathan said, “Franco’s not feeling well right now.”

“
Who is this?
”

“I’ll be asking the questions from now on.”

“
Whoever you are, you should leave while you still can.
”

“But I have unfinished business.”

Radio Man didn’t respond.

“I’m afraid your mercenary friends aren’t feeling well either.” Nathan waited a few seconds. “I’m really looking forward to meeting you.”

Watching for motion at the rear of the store, he turned the radio off and hurled it across the showroom floor. It thumped twice before going silent. He tested the man he’d kicked in the nose by dislocating the guy’s trigger finger. It gave with a sickening
crunch
sound, similar to that of a knuckle being cracked. When Nathan got no reaction, he felt confident the man was down for the count.

Keeping his head up as much as possible, Nathan ran in a crouch through the maze of furniture to the wall on his right. From there, he kept his attention focused on the rear wall and worked his way deeper into the store. Twenty-five yards distant, he spotted a security camera mounted on the rear wall near the roll-up door. It looked to be covering a zone adjacent to the receiving area. Nathan toggled the SIG’s laser and bench-rested the handgun on a dining room table. Adjusting for the increased distance, he aimed slightly above the camera and gently squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed home, and once again, pieces of plastic, metal, and glass rained down. The camera’s destruction echoed through the interior, louder than his suppressed shot. If Radio Man had been using the camera to track his movements, that gig was over. At least they were even now.

Watching the last known location of Radio Man, he wove his way through the displays of furniture and stopped behind an artificial ficus tree anchored in a huge ceramic pot. It was a good place to assess his next move. Underneath the second camera he’d destroyed, he saw the entrance to a receiving area. A wide roll-up door was currently open. Since no one else had challenged him up to this point, he felt reasonably confident Radio Man was alone, but he wouldn’t assume that. Until he determined otherwise, he’d proceed as though this place were filled with armed men.

Before continuing, he took a few seconds to scan the upper reaches of the surrounding walls for additional security cameras but didn’t see any. Holding his SIG with both hands, he kept it tight against his chest and eased toward the roll-up door. To get there, he had to work his way through a mock, two-walled bedroom set adorned with pastel-colored furniture. Because his clothes contrasted so starkly with his surroundings, he made a dash for the corner of the roll-up door and stopped next to its jamb. Camera fragments were strewn across the concrete. He peered around the corner at knee level and studied the receiving area. All quiet.

He spotted another camera, on the perimeter wall above the receiving-bay doors, and switched the SIG to his left hand. Steadying his aim against the jamb, he sent a bullet through its lens. He looked around the corner to his right, keeping his body low. Several dozen large cardboard boxes were stacked in the middle of the floor, along with a forklift. The sight of the vehicle made him think of Lauren. On the far side of the room, three add-on rooms had been built against the west wall. Nathan figured one of them was an office. The other two would probably be a janitor’s closet and a break room. All the doors were closed.

He pivoted around the corner and sprinted for the cover of the oversize boxes.

So far, so good. No one had shot at him.

The area directly behind him didn’t offer an effective place to hide. Excluding the forklift, it was unused open space. If Radio Man had come in here, he’d probably bolted for the far side of the receiving bay, toward the add-on rooms. Nathan supposed his mark could’ve run straight through and left through the fire-exit door, but he hadn’t heard anything to support that.

He sensed the man’s presence lurking.

It was too bright in here.

Knowing it created a double-edged sword, Nathan began systematically shooting the overhead fluorescent tubes. With each discharge of his handgun, the tubes made a popping sound and flashed like fireworks. Cylindrical pieces of glass crashed to the floor as the bulbs broke in half and fell from their fixtures. He destroyed all but a single pair behind him, creating the condition of having the sun at his back. He gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the lower light level while he loaded a fresh magazine into the SIG.