Chapter 5 - THE TRIGGER ON PIER 14
The room smelled of copper and rain.
Derek’s finger tightened on the revolver’s trigger.
His hand was trembling so violently the black barrel jerked in small circles.
Cassandra was frozen behind the desk, clutching the leather duffel bag to her chest like an infant.
"Derek, don't," Cassandra whispered.
"Please, not her."
"Shut up, Cassie!" Derek barked without looking at her.
"She ruined everything!"
"If she hadn't opened her mouth at the altar, we’d be on the four o'clock shuttle to Montreal!"
Ren stood straight.
She did not step behind Julian’s broad frame.
She lifted the small black compact pistol Julian had given her.
Both hands locked onto the grip.
Her posture was rigid, trained by four years of summer target shooting with her father at the South End range.
Her thumb clicked the safety off.
The tiny snick was clearly audible over the sound of rain pounding the tin roof.
Derek blinked, startled.
"Ren?"
"Put the gun down, Derek," she said.
Her voice had no anger in it.
It had no grief.
It was the voice of a judge reading a verdict.
"You won't shoot me," Derek laughed, though the laughter was thin, reedy, and choked with panic.
"You cried when we had to put down your golden retriever."
"You're a school librarian, Ren."
"You don't have the stomach for this."
Julian took one step sideways, clearing her field of fire.
"She doesn't need a stomach, Derek," Julian murmured.
"She only needs two pounds of trigger pressure."
Derek’s eyes darted between them.
The madness won.
His arm stiffened.
The hammer of his revolver began to pull back.
BANG.
Ren fired.
She did not hesitate.
The round blew through Derek’s right shoulder, spinning him around with a wet smack.
His revolver discharged harmlessly into the floorboards as it flew from his hand.
Derek collapsed against the iron safe, screaming, clutching his shoulder with both hands as blood soaked through his rented tuxedo jacket.
Cassandra shrieked, dropping the duffel bag and cowering under the wooden desk.
Ren lowered the weapon.
Her hands did not shake.
Her breathing remained slow, deliberate, measured.
Julian looked down at Derek, then turned his gaze back to Ren.
The corners of his eyes crinkled with quiet appreciation.
"Center mass," Julian remarked softly.
"A clean through-and-through."
"He won't use that arm for six months."
Julian’s two operatives moved into the room.
They disarmed Derek, kicking his weapon across the floor, and dragged him up by his collar.
They zipped heavy zip-ties around his uninjured wrist and ankles.
Julian walked over to the desk.
He looked down at Cassandra, who was trembling in the dirt, her pink silk dress soaked with puddle water from the threshold.
"Take the duffel," Julian instructed his lieutenant.
"Leave the girl."
Cassandra looked up, her mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks.
"Ren..." Cassandra sobbed, reaching out a hand toward Ren’s mud-stained hem.
"Ren, I'm sorry... he told me you were going to leave him anyway..."
Ren looked down at her childhood friend.
Twenty years of sleepovers.
College road trips.
The maid-of-honor speech folded inside the bridal clutch back at the church.
Ren stepped back, pulling her hem away from Cassandra’s touch.
"Don't ever speak my name again," Ren said.
She turned around and walked out of the office.
She walked down the wooden stairs and stepped back out onto the pier.
The storm had broken.
The rain was slowing to a thin mist over the dark river.
Julian followed her out, lighting a thin cigar with a brass lighter.
The flame illuminated the sharp angles of his jaw and the old scar that disappeared under his collar.
"You're an impressive woman, Miss Sterling," Julian said, blowing a stream of pale blue smoke into the damp air.
Ren leaned against the hood of the black SUV.
She looked down at her hands.
The gun was still in her right hand.
"What happens to the four hundred and eighty thousand dollars?" she asked.
Julian leaned against the fender beside her.
His shoulder brushed hers.
"Derek’s offshore accounts in the Bahamas will cover seventy percent once my lawyers finish with him," Julian said.
"And the rest?"
Julian looked at her profile.
Her jaw was firm.
Her dark eyes were sharp, reflecting the gray light of the water.
"The rest is a business investment," Julian said.
Ren turned her head.
"I don't accept charity from syndicate bosses."
Julian smiled.
It was the first real smile she had seen on his face.
It made him look younger.
Dangerous, but human.
"Who said anything about charity?"
Julian pulled a gold business card from his pocket and pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers over it.
"My logistics branch needs an internal auditor."
"Someone who knows how to spot a forged invoice."
"Someone who doesn't hesitate when things turn ugly."
Ren looked at the card.
Thorne Maritime Holdings — Executive Suite 100.
"I'm a librarian, Mr. Thorne."
"You were a librarian," Julian corrected.
"Starting Monday, you work for me."
"At three times your previous salary."
"Until the debt is cleared."
Ren looked out over the dark river.
The water was rushing toward the bay, wild and free.
"And if I say no?"
Julian looked at her with amusement.
"Then I'll buy your library, Miss Sterling."
"And promote you anyway."
Before Ren could answer, a loud explosion rattled the pier behind them.
May you like
The silver sedan parked fifty yards away vanished in a fireball of orange flame and black smoke.
Julian tackled her to the concrete dock as the shockwave tore the overhead tin roofing from the warehouse.
