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FRIDAY, OCTOBER 28, 4:50 P.M.
“Fuck,” Corey snarled. Drysdale had lied. This was a trap.
The boat racing toward him held Cardozo, the bodyguard who’d protected him at the flower shop, and a third man whom Corey had never seen before.
They’d known where he was. Cardozo had already been on his way when Corey had called him an hour ago. The lying bastard.
Corey turned his boat in a tight circle and headed back. He still had the advantage.
He had Val Sorensen and Noni Feldman as leverage.
He also had Bobby to cover him while they loaded their leverage into the boats. Because there were other ways out of the bayou. Other ways he could escape. Tributaries where they wouldn’t be looking for him.
He was driving too fast. He was going to hit a sandbar and rip the bottom out of his boat. But the clock was ticking.
I’m running out of time.
He wouldn’t get to Bella Butler, not anytime soon. He wouldn’t finish this job. He wouldn’t get paid or make that name for himself. Doyle would smear his reputation. He might even hire killers to end Corey and Bobby.
I’ll have to start all over. At least he had the money. He and Bobby would split everything that would have been Ed’s. Everything they’d stolen from Aaron and Dewey. He’d live on it until he could resurface with a new name. A new reputation. He’d be okay. Not today, but soon. He’d be okay.
But today he could kill Cardozo, and he would. The man had ruined him.
He skipped across the water, narrowly missing submerged roots. But Cardozo was gaining. Corey could see the man’s face, grim and angry.
A bullet whizzed past Corey’s ear.
Fuck. Too close. Another glance over his shoulder revealed the big bodyguard from the flower shop, pointing a rifle right at him.
Corey made it across a shallow spot, then drew an easier breath when the bigger boat behind him had to slow to go around or risk grounding itself. He’d just bought himself a minute, but no more. He sped up, slowing only when he saw his dock.
With no boats tied to the piling. Where the fuck is Bobby’s boat?
Adrenaline spooled into fury. If Bobby’s left, I will murder his fucking ass.
Corey brought his boat to a stop, jumped out to tie it, then ran down the dock, drawing his weapon. “Bobby!” he screamed. “Bob—”
His feet stopped moving.
Val Sorensen sat on the grass, a look of exhausted determination on her face. And Bobby’s Raging Judge in her hand.
They were at a standoff, it seemed. He aimed at her head, she aimed at his.
But then Sorensen stood and the gun in her hands shook. She was tired. She had to hurt. Her strength was ebbing fast. She wouldn’t be able to hold that gun for long. She might not even be able to fire it.
“Where’s Bobby?” he demanded. “Bobby!” he yelled.
Sorensen didn’t blink. “He’s under you,” she said, her voice like gravel.
Corey stared at her. “Under me? What the hell?”
Her expression remained stony, her eyes cold. “Put your gun down. You’re done.”
He laughed. “You won’t shoot me.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. I shot Bobby. Now he’s dead.” She smiled and the sight sent a shiver down his spine.
Corey nearly looked down, but that was what she wanted him to do. All it would take would be a momentary lapse of attention and she’d shoot him dead. “You’re lying.”
