The back window exploded, sending shards of busted glass into the Suburban. I punched the gas, throwing the SUV into reverse toward the gate. A dull thud slammed into the rear hatch, followed by a faint scream.
My foot mashed the pedal to the floor as we plowed through the partially open gate. The SUV shuddered as it knocked the gate off the railing.
A barrage of gunfire pelted the hood, trailing toward the windshield. Bullets punched through glass, zipping past us.
Jackal lowered the passenger side window, leaned out, and returned fire. The rifle barked as we flew down to the street.
I cut the wheel clockwise, skimming past the back bumper of the sedan. “Hold on.” I spun the wheel, then slammed the brakes.
Jackal held firm, rocking back and forth. He leaned on the window and continued to fire at the men charging down the winding driveway.
“I’m out.” He slipped back into the passenger seat.
I hit the gas, spinning the rear tires. The SUV tore down the road.
I checked the side-view mirror, watching what men remained rush out into the road. A few rounds popped off before they ceased fire.
Jackal ejected the spent mag and fished another one from his coat. He slapped it in and cycled a round. “Are we heading to the airport now?”
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s time to get back on the hunt.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SCARFACE
The Suburban tore down the highway at full tilt. Wind blew through the gaping hole in the back window, funneling the cool air inside the SUV and chilling me to the marrow.
“Christ. Is it getting colder?” Jackal shivered, then cupped his hands. He blew onto them, then rubbed them together. “I didn’t think it ever got cold in California—one of the many reasons I enjoy coming here. Well, use to enjoy coming here.”
The digital read out on the SUV’s instrument panel read forty-five.
“I don’t know. Maybe a little.” I pointed at the large dial on the dash. “Kick the heater on if you want.”
“Aren’t you cold?” Jackal asked, reaching for the dial on the dash. He twisted it to the red, then turned it on. Cool air blew from the vents, then changed to a warm, steady heat wave that lessened the bite of the chilled air.
“It’s not that bad, but I manage it much better than you,” I answered. “You always complain when we do jobs in cooler climates.”
The rifle fixed between his legs fell against the dash. He grabbed the muzzle, then leaned it against the center console.
“I like my warmer weather, all right,” he shot back. “Me and the cold don’t mix well. Never have. I operate better when the sun’s shinning and the heat is on. My fingers don’t ache as much and are steadier on the trigger.”
“Adapt or die, my friend. You don’t always get what you want.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
I checked the side-view mirror for any vehicles in tow. We’d given Gao’s men the slip when leaving the city. It seemed like they hadn’t picked up our trail.
“So, what’s our plan here?” Jackal asked. “Hop into Mr. Coleman’s plane and fly around looking for the wreckage in the dark? That’s going to be hard to do and a time suck.”
“We’ve got the last coordinates of the plane. We get in the air and we’ll figure the rest out later. I want to wrap up this job fast. It’s taking too long and costing us money on other jobs we have pending,” I answered.
Jackal nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You hate when your schedule gets messed with.”
“Time is money. That hasn’t changed. You know this.” I hooked around the sharp curve from the highway without slowing. The tires squealed, fighting to keep the bulky SUV on the pavement and out of the dirt. “Every second we waste on this job is money lost on another. We’re already behind schedule.”
Jackal grabbed the bar in the corner mounted to the frame of the Suburban. “Perhaps we didn’t receive all of the intel on Lawson. He’s proving to be a harder mark than Mr. Coleman told us he would be.”
We drove the narrow two-lane highway for about a mile, then turned off onto a rocky road toward the small airstrip where Rhys’s plane waited for us.
“I don’t think he withheld any intel, not that it really matters,” I replied, pushing the SUV past one hundred miles per hour. “We’re given whatever the client offers and work off that. This isn’t any different. Lawson is just like any other mark we’ve gone after except for the whole earthquake and tsunami hitting. He’s gotten lucky. That will run out soon. Trust me.”
Jackal shrugged. “If you say so. I’ll believe it once we have him, or his head, in our possession.”
“Soon enough.”
The headlights of the SUV sliced through the dull, hazy murk of the night sky as we crested the hill and down the other side. We slipped through the open gate that had barbwire coiled around its top.
A large, rusted, red-and-white sign hung cockeyed from the diamond steel fence with Private Property–No Trespassing etched on the front.
“You know, for as much money as Mr. Coleman has, you’d think he’d have a nicer place to keep his plane than this.” Jackal sounded unimpressed by the meager landing strip and two steel buildings that resided on the property.
“As long as we can take off and land without dying, then, I’m good with whatever,” I quipped.
“Agreed on both accounts,” Jackal replied, nodding.
We drove past the hangar and out onto the airstrip. Rhys’s private jet waited for us in the dark—void of any lights.
Jackal leaned forward in his seat, staring out of the window. “Damn pilot is probably sleeping. Last thing we need is him flying while being half asleep.”
“Well,
