Velocity

payoff. And everyone would’ve won. DEA, me, you, all of us would’ve gotten what we wanted.”

“Is that right?” Robby asked weakly.

Sebastian’s men struggled to force Robby erect. One of them yanked up on his injured arm, eliciting a cringe. But Robby was still dazed and had difficulty keeping himself steady.

Sebastian sighed and stepped closer. “DEA would get Guevara, and if we were lucky, maybe even Cortez. You get your special agent creds. And me—I get my cut. A million big ones and a shot at a comfortable retirement when the time comes.”

“I always thought you were a smart guy, Sebastian. Until this. Then you got really stupid. And greedy. But greed can be so intoxicating it can blind you to what’s going on.” Robby tried to bring his shoulders back, to give him some sense of authority. “You never saw it coming.”

Sebastian’s face stiffened. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Yardley. He suspected something wasn’t right. That’s really why he agreed to bring me on. When your partner got into that accident, it turned out to be a dream come true for you. Too good a dream.”

“You’re the one who’s dreaming, buddy.”

Robby shifted his weight to lessen the strain on his shoulder. “You figured you could convince Yardley to bring me onboard because of my street cred. And you knew I’d drool over the chance—and that Gifford would do what he could to help get me signed on.”

“Nice story, but—”

“Best part is you thought you’d be able to control me better than a veteran agent who’d adhere to procedure and would be all over anything that smelled like shit. And to a seasoned nose, you were reeking. That’s what got your partner killed, isn’t it?”

“I don’t need to listen to this crap.”

“Worst part is that I was your friend, so you knew I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Sebastian laughed weakly. “You think you’ve got it all figured out.” “You’d work the op and help bring down the cartel, but at the same time you were angling to score a last big payoff. Skimmed off that huge black tar heroin shipment coming in. You’d then collar Guevara, maybe Cortez, too, and no one would know about the missing money.” Robby cricked his head to the side. “Does that sound about right?”

Sebastian reached back into the darkness and thrust a fist into Robby’s abdomen. He doubled over and dropped to his knees.

Robby sucked in his breath, then tried to sooth the abdominal spasm that prevented him from speaking. He lifted his head, anger spilling forth like the saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth. “You’re a fucking disgrace to the badge, Sebastian. You’ve shit on all the honest DEA agents who put their lives on the line every fucking day.”

“Like I did for nine years. Years of deep cover.” He spit in Robby’s face. “No fucking way to live.”

“That’s the life you chose. And now . . . you’re living on the wrong side of the law. You’re a huge disappointment. As a federal agent. And as a friend.”

Sebastian looked at him—and for a second, Robby thought he saw sorrow. An apology? For all the fun times they’d had. For a friendship that was now forever tainted. Dead with no hope of resuscitation.

But maybe Robby was projecting what he’d like to see . . . an admission that what Sebastian had done was wrong.

“We don’t have a lotta time,” Sebastian said to his two lieutenants. “Take care of him, then meet me where we discussed.” Sebastian slipped past them out of the light’s reach, his footfalls going suddenly silent as he disappeared.

Robby heard the slide of a semiautomatic pistol, dangerously close to his left ear.

“I’ll make this quick,” the man said.

Robby threw up a hand. “No. Wait—”

The gunshot echoed loudly.

83

When Pryor radioed his supervisor for the exact location of the maintenance shop, he was told they had another hundred feet to go, around the bend—but he was informed that SWAT and Vegas Metro PD were on their way. They were to stop and await their arrival.

“Bullshit,” Vail said to Pryor as he reholstered his two-way. “I’m not waiting.”

Pryor pulled a ring from a clip on his uniform and sifted through the various keys before making his choice. “The engineers are all gone for the night.”

Vail took the key and said, “Stay here. No one goes past unless they’re law enforcement. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Vail jogged down the curving corridor until she reached a gray metal door that bore a red and black sign:FOUNTAIN MAINTENANCE SHOP

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Vail slid the key into the lock and entered the room. She quietly shut the heavy door and proceeded forward. A network of pipes extended the length of the ceiling—as best she could see in the room’s low light. Machinery lined both walls: what looked like a welding apparatus, a band saw, a large pipe cutter, a circular saw.

Because it was dimly lit, she had to move slowly to make sure she didn’t trip on a spike or fastener bolted into the ground.

Vail pointed her BlackBerry’s lit display at the floor and used it as a flashlight. She followed the machinery until she heard voices nearby. Workers? Pryor said they’d all gone home for the night. She stopped and listened. I know that voice. Where’ve I heard it before?

“ . . . skimmed off that huge black tar heroin shipment coming in. You’d then collar Guevara, maybe Cortez, too, and no one would know about the missing money. Does that sound about right?”

That voice she knew. Robby. Who’s he talking to? Vail edged forward another few steps.

“You’re a fucking disgrace to the badge, Sebastian . . . ”

Sebastian? What the hell’s going on?

She turned her head left, then right, trying to triangulate on the echoing voices.

“We don’t have a lotta time. Take care of him, then meet me where we discussed.”

Vail advanced forward, Glock out in front of her. To her left, the room opened up into a larger space. Two men were standing by Robby.

And one of them had a pistol pointed at his head.

84

Robby, no!

The gunshot was deafening. And it was followed by a second, equally as loud—but Vail’s hearing was blown from the close-quarters echo of the first, so she more or less felt, rather than heard, the latter round.

The dead man to Robby’s left hung in the air, but the one to his right was heavier—and he hit the ground with a thud, that sickening hollow thrump when a skull strikes cement with significant force. His colleague followed a split second later, dropping to his knees before falling forward onto his face.

Robby’s eyes caught Vail’s and she merely stood there, emotion welling in her chest, threatening to erupt. She found herself unable to move, her feet still planted in a Weaver stance, both hands squeezing the Glock. The smell of cordite stinging her nose.

Robby, on his knees, was crying—she could see that much in the dim light from the overhead bulb. Tears streaked his cheeks.

She dropped her arms to her sides, took a tentative step forward, then ran. Ran into his arms, and joined him on the floor. Hugged him tight.

Neither said a word.