His tone scared her a little, but she forced herself to cock her head, said, “Excuse me?”

“Dressed pretty nice to be hanging out by the Dumpster.”

The humidity in the air seemed to be clinging to her. Something about the guy reminded her of biting into metal.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” she said.

“Your boyfriend.” The man shuffled forward, glanced in the rental car. “He work here?”

“Yes.” She stepped back, nothing too obvious, but not wanting him closer. Who was this guy? Not a cop. He could honestly be looking for a place to park. But he’d left the Cadillac running. Besides, wouldn’t a normal person just have apologized, moved his car?

Unless he was hitting on her. A ridiculous possibility in a dark alley, but you never knew with guys.

“What’s his name?”

“Whose?”

“Your boyfriend.”

She thought about saying Alex, or Johnny, or making one up. But then she remembered what she would do under normal circumstances. “None of your business.” She put a hand on one hip. “Look, how about you move you car so I can get out?”

“I thought you were waiting for your boyfriend.”

“I mean, maybe you could park somewhere else?”

“I got a better idea,” he said, and stepped forward.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE,” Mitch said, and leveled the gun right at Johnny’s head. His heart was slamming against his ribs. Alex was on the ground, moaning, blood between his fingers. How hard had Ian clocked him?

There wasn’t time to worry about it. “Put your hands on the desk. Do it now.”

Johnny stared at him. “Do you know what you’re doing, kid?”

Very consciously, Mitch slid a thumb up and cocked the hammer back. Johnny’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, Mitch had a terrible urge to pull the trigger, to feel the thing kick against his hand. “Now.”

Slowly, Johnny raised his hands and put them on the pressed-wood desk. “All we have is the money from today. Take it and get out of here.”

“Tape him.”

Ian didn’t move, just stood over Alex, staring down.

“Hey! Tape him.”

“What? Right.” Ian slid the gun into his waistband, pulled a flattened half roll of duct tape from his back pocket.

“You move, you make any trouble for my friend, and I’ll shoot you right now. You get me?”

“You’re making a mistake, kid. You know who I am?”

“Yeah. You’re the guy getting fucked.” He was every bad guy in every movie ever made, and it felt great. He stepped sideways to keep a clear shot as Ian moved around the desk.

“Put your hands together.” Ian pulled an edge of tape up, then began wrapping it around Johnny’s wrists.

“Make it tight.” Mitch waited till Ian had four or five loops around Johnny’s hands, then let his eyes dart around the office. A small space, maybe eight by ten, with a cheap desk, a couple of chairs, some filing cabinets. A swimsuit calendar on the wall, a Budweiser mirror. There was a big black duffel bag beside the desk.

“Kid, you’re about to be in shit you have no idea how deep. Walk out of here now and we’ll just forget this happened.”

“When you’re done with his hands, get his mouth.”

Ian nodded, wrapped the tape another half dozen times, then ripped it. “Sit back and shut up.”

Think, think, think. You cannot afford to miss anything. The safe was on the wall, closed. The money had better be in that bag, or else it was going to get complicated. He’d check in a minute. Alex moaned, said, “My eye, you fuck!” Mitch ignored him, stepped forward, yanked the phone cord out of the wall. Johnny was glaring as Ian wrapped loops of tape around his head. He wasn’t a threat anymore. Mitch uncocked the gun, carefully, then slid it behind his back. He took the tape from his own pocket, kneeled by Alex.

“Put your hands out.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Put your hands out.” He tugged at them, wishing he could ask Alex if he was OK, whisper some comfort, knowing he couldn’t do any such thing. Alex resisted at first, then gave in. His face was a mess, a gash pouring blood into his eye. Mitch winced, then forced himself to tape Alex up, hands and feet, then tore a six-inch strip and covered his mouth, hating himself for it, not seeing any choice.

When he rose, he saw that Ian had Johnny secured. So far so good. He strode over to the side of the desk, picked up the bag. It was heavy. He unzipped it, stared inside.

So this was what winning looked like.

Johnny started bucking, making noise against the tape. Mitch grabbed him by the shoulders, shoved him out of the chair. He landed heavy, the chair skittering away to hit the back wall.

“First, we’re not here for today’s take. Second, don’t disrespect the Cubs.” Mitch leaned over him. The guy glared at him from the ground.

Remember last week, asshole? When you told me how much your shirt cost? He smiled, then pulled his leg back and kicked Johnny in the gut, hard. Air blew out his nostrils, and his face went red.

It felt great.

“I GOT A BETTER IDEA,” the man in the leather jacket said as he stepped forward. “How about you tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Jenn’s pulse ran frantic. This wasn’t just some random creep. Not under these circumstances, not with that hair, that car. And especially not the way he was acting. There was only one explanation that made sense. This was the drug dealer Johnny was buying from.

Which changed everything. Their plan had been based on the idea that Mitch and Ian would be able to get in and out quickly enough that the dealer wouldn’t have arrived. That’s why she’d sat inside to let them know the exact moment Johnny went to the office. Add to that the fact that they hadn’t guessed he would come to the back, and it had seemed an acceptable risk.

Less acceptable now, though. “What do you mean?”

“Are you with Johnny?” He took a step forward, and she retreated. She bumped the edge of the Dumpster, the metal cool and greasy against her bare arm. Shit.

She could dash for the mouth of the alley. But heels were hardly running shoes. Besides, she’d be abandoning the guys. Getting away wasn’t enough. Somehow she had to get him out of here.

How, though? She had the gun in her purse, but he was so close…

“Come on. What’s going on?” His breath was faintly sour.

And then it came to her. A way to make any man move, random creep or hardened drug dealer.

“If you don’t leave right now,” she said, “I’ll scream rape.”

He stiffened. “Why would you do that?”

She took a deep inhale, opened her mouth. Stared him straight in the eye, watched him calculate how long and loud she could scream, how many people might be around to hear it. It was dark but not late, and Lincoln had plenty of traffic, plus the apartments nearby…

“OK.” He put his hands up. “OK.” He took a step backward. “Easy.”

“Keep going.” She moved away from the Dumpster, the purse in her hands.

“There’s no need to get crazy.”

“Just move your car and leave me alone.”

He grimaced, and glanced over his shoulder. Checked his watch. “Let me make a phone call.”

“Now.”

The man sighed. “You win.” He took another step back.

He had just pulled out his keys when the back door to the restaurant swung open.

IAN WAS FIGHTING THE URGE to bounce on his toes, to howl at the moon. They’d done it, they’d really done it. Johnny Love was on the floor, taped and gasping from Mitch’s kick. The duffel bag was on the desk, more than enough in it, even split four ways, to cover what he owed Katz. He was back on top. “We good?”

“Yeah.” Mitch stepped back from Johnny, looked around the office. Took keys from the desk, then hoisted the duffel bag to his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Ian led the way back out of the office, the gun still in his hand. He liked it. Maybe when this was all over, he’d get one of his own. It felt good.