Lucky once more, the headlights had belonged to a car that had been parked in the driveway. It was the car that belonged to one of the Sokolovs—Damien Sokolov, another cop. The car carried two other passengers—Mercy’s friends from New Orleans. Ephraim had followed, keeping a decent distance the whole way to the exit for the airport.

Looked like the New Orleans folks had been going home. If Mercy had been with them, it would have been a perfect day, but he was still happy with his haul. The road from the interstate to the airport was lightly traveled that early in the morning. Not a single witness.

Truly my lucky day. The little car had been no match for Burkett’s Escalade, the SUV shoving the rental off the road and into a tree with no trouble at all.

The trouble had been getting the three passengers out of the wrecked car and into the back of the SUV. At least the huge SUV provided adequate cover for him to work, blocking him from view of anyone who passed by on their way to the airport. It had taken a bit of time to secure the passengers, all of whom had had been stunned by the impact—or worse in Sokolov’s case. He had been fully unconscious when Ephraim had approached the rental car, his gun out, ready to shoot the men at the very least.

Ephraim had been disappointed to see that Mercy wasn’t with them, but Dr. Romero would serve as an irresistible lure. The Sokolov brother would ensure compliance from the blond bastard who’d become Mercy’s damn shadow.

Holmes had been stunned enough by the airbag that Ephraim was able to stab the needle of one of Burkett’s prepared syringes directly into his arm, through the man’s shirt sleeve. Holmes had tried to fight Ephraim off, but the gun that Ephraim held in his other hand had kept the cop frozen in place. A minute later, the man’s head had lolled to one side, drawing a scream from the woman in the back seat, who’d apparently just woken up.

Farrah Romero had come at him like a drunken wildcat, all hiss and no coordination. A gash on her head was bleeding and her pupils were huge. But a well-placed slap had her bouncing back against the seat. He hadn’t wasted any of the sedative on Romero—he could handle her with no problem. He’d bound her hands and covered her mouth with the same roll of duct tape he’d used on Sean MacGuire. Once she’d been secured, he slapped Burkett’s handcuffs on Romero’s fiancé, then sedated the Sokolov cop and bound him like he had Romero.

Romero had walked to the SUV on her own power, his gun an effective motivation, but getting the two men into the SUV had not been fun. Sokolov was a big guy, but Holmes was even bigger. Both were heavy motherfuckers. Dragging them from the car to the SUV had caused Ephraim’s wound to reopen.