Chapter 16 · Pier Crossfire

The first mortar round hit the water off Pier Three, and the whole dock jumped under my boots.

I could still taste him. That was the stupid part. Ninety seconds ago I was flat on a vault table with my mouth swollen and his fist in my hair. Now I was running across wet steel in a tactical jacket that smelled like him, and my heart was going twice as fast as my legs.

"Down!"

Lucian hauled me behind a stack of shipping containers by the back of my collar. A burst of rounds punched the metal above us. Sparks. Paint chips rained into my hair.

Diesel stink. Burning rubber. Somewhere out in the dark, a man screamed in Italian.

"You said this pier was locked down," I said.

"It was."

"Then somebody unlocked it."

His shirt was buttoned wrong. I noticed that and hated myself for noticing. He didn't answer. He bent, pulled a compact pistol from his ankle holster, and held it out to me, grip first.

I looked at it. Then at him.

"Careful," I said. "I might shoot the wrong person."

"You might." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Then I'd know.