Chapter 18 - The Scent of Gunpowder
"I told you not to come out here in the storm, Sarah," Detective Ruiz’s voice echoed off the concrete walls, sounding hollow and devoid of warmth.
He reached the landing of the catwalk, dressed in a black rain slicker, a Glock 19 held firmly in his right hand, pointed directly at Derek’s chest. His badge hung loosely from a lanyard around his neck, gleaming faintly in the beam of his weapon light.
"You faked Shaw's escape," Sarah said, stepping in front of Mia, the heavy waterproof case held behind her back. "You tipped off the shooter on the ridge."
"Shaw got greedy," Ruiz said calmly, not lowering the gun. "He thought he could use the girl to blackmail Rostov's remaining associates in London. He didn't understand that when you deal with people at that level, you don't bargain. You deliver the product, collect the escrow fee, and disappear."
"She’s four years old!" Derek roared, taking a step forward. "She’s a human being!"
"She’s eighty million dollars in bearer bonds, Derek," Ruiz corrected cold-bloodedly. "And you were paid three hundred thousand dollars to simply look the other way for two minutes on that pontoon boat. You were supposed to play the grieving, negligent father. The diver was supposed to carry her down the intake pipeline into the cove where my boat was idling. But your wife had to play the hero."
Ruiz leveled the pistol directly between Sarah’s eyes.
"Hand over the Pelican case, Sarah. And step away from the girl. I have a transport waiting at the airstrip across the county line. In four hours, she’ll be on a private Gulfstream crossing the Atlantic. No one else has to die tonight."
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"You’ll kill us the second we hand it over," Sarah said, her voice dropping into a register of icy defiance. "You can’t leave witnesses who know her real identity."
"You're right," Ruiz sighed softly, his finger tightening on the trigger. "I can't."
