Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
But the guys behind this, whoever they were, would not leave a note that wasn’t in Mueller’s hand.
Unless they knew a fantastic forger.
“We need to track down all known forgers,” Boone muttered.
“Yep,” Hawk agreed.
Boone straightened, turned and swept his light over the bodies.
They’d staged a kill-or-be-killed scenario.
Covering their bases.
But also making Bogart, who was known to be the bigger asshole of the two, out to be the ultimate bad guy.
No hero in the end for Kevin Bogart.
Bogart had a gun lying close to his hand. The look of the scene, he’d died holding it.
Chest shot.
Straight to the heart.
He was flat on his back.
Boone turned his attention.
Mueller was a mess.
He approached the body and squatted to its side.
Headshot, right side, gun was a .45, which was why Bogart was on his back. The force of that caliber of a bullet in this small of a space knocked him right there, obliterated his heart, he was dead before he hit floor.
Mueller had done himself sitting on the floor directly opposite his partner, leaning against the front of an armchair, legs out in front of him, not crossed. His gun hand had dropped with the gun still in his grip. It was loose, but it was there, to his side.
Boone did another sweep with his light.
Wall behind Mueller, bullet hole. Just in case anyone missed the message that Bogart was an asshole, he’d fired on his buddy not to dispense justice for the brother they’d taken out. Instead in an attempt to save his own ass.
Boone did another sweep, to the side. Blood spatter and brain matter went six feet across the room, all over the floor, low on the wall.
Killed sitting on his ass.
Died keeping his seat. What was left of his head was lolling to the side, his body was slumped, but upright.
Not cross-legged. Legs straight.
Crossing his legs would not keep him upright after taking that shot, but his legs weren’t even crossed.
There was no support to hold him upright.
“How’d he not fall sideways, taking a forty-five?” Boone asked.
Eddie got closer and squatted.
Hawk got closer and did the same.
To avoid the spatter, they were all in a tight huddle at one side of the body.
Mag approached but loomed over them with his cell phone held up but pointed down on the body.
“There. Shirt,” Mag grunted.
They all focused on his shirt.
Button down. Cotton.
Little wrinkles at the chest. Barely perceptible.
Like someone had the material in their grip.
“Could have been a struggle between him and Bogart,” Eddie noted.
“Could have been someone holding him steady to take a bullet,” Hawk noted. “Hunker down the right side of him, spatter would not be affected.”
Mag moved his light. “No scuffs on the carpet.”
“Unconscious?” Boone asked.
“I wouldn’t sit still for someone to plug my temple with a forty-five,” Eddie said.
“Why would they hold him up?” Mag asked.
“Maybe not unconscious. Maybe incapacitated,” Hawk remarked, straightening to stand and asking Eddie, “You gonna call this in?”
“Hank is waiting five minutes away for my call to come in hot. And that should have happened about ten minutes ago,” Eddie answered.
Hawk nodded and did a hand gesture that meant Mag and Boone moved.
“We’ll talk,” Boone heard Hawk say low to Eddie.
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed.
At the back gate, Hawk ordered, “Rendezvous, office,” before, in different directions, they all melted into the night.
* * *
“The widow and the rat.”
They didn’t bother with the conference room.
Mo and Axl had been called in and they were all standing at the front of the workstations when Hawk started it after Axl, the last, showed.
Boone didn’t verbally question Axl being there.
But it made him antsy.
“The rat got word out about our meeting with Mamá Nana. Crowley’s widow shared about Eddie and Hank and Ally,” Hawk went on.
It made sense, because not only would no one know Hawk’s team was making moves, not even if they were watching and doing that closely, there had been no heat applied.
The bad guys probably knew three things.
The first, after Bogart and Mueller visited Ryn, the players met at Hawk’s offices.
The second, Mamá Nana arranged a sit-down.
And last, Lynn Crowley got some visits.
There might be murmurings about Slim and Mitch asking questions as well.
But it was Hawk’s reputation, Lee’s, maybe even Chaos helping at Ryn’s house, that got panties in a twist.
Enough they killed two of their own.
They’d drawn attention.
They were now deflecting it.
“The good news is, Ryn’s off the hook,” Hawk said.
There it was.
The reason Axl was there.
“You sure of that?” Axl asked.
“Maybe they didn’t know the extent of Cisco’s desire to keep her safe, which got their puppet dead, and that exposed them,” Hawk said by way of answer. “Boone and Ryn were new at the time, so maybe they underestimated Boone’s commitment to his woman, which got our protection, and they’re not stupid, they know it got our attention. Either way, or both, they’re not gonna be that stupid again.”