The only place left to check was the narrow slide out drawer in the center of the desk. But she didn’t think it was large enough to hold a pistol or really anything more than pens and pads of sticky notes.

She placed her fingers beneath the lip of dark wood, but then she froze. The door to the vault room had just opened and someone had walked out. She could hear the man’s plodding footsteps against the tile floor of the lounge. She recognized the echo of hard-soled military boots, and she knew that those boots either belonged to the giant or to his young subordinate. She also knew that both men were extremely dangerous at this point — the young man because his fear would make him desperate, like a cornered animal, and the giant because he could kill them all without batting an eye.

And Gabi suspected that could be his plan.

She slowly leaned forward over the desk, trying not to cause a sound as her weight left the desk chair. Through the open office door, she saw the younger man. He paced back and forth, mumbling something under his breath. He looked even more agitated, obviously not very happy with whatever had happened in the vault room.

His eyes were wild, and his body language reminded her of a homeless man she had often witnessed talking to himself in the park near her apartment.

Whatever had taken place in the vault room may have just pushed the gunman over the edge, beyond rational thought. He kept pacing while holding a fist to his forehead and mumbling to himself. He seemed to be in his own little world.

The good thing about that was that he had yet to notice her absence.

The bad thing was that when he did, it could snap the last thread of his sanity. And if that happened, she knew the young gunman would be even more dangerous than his ruthless commander.

Chapter 52

Burke had chosen the right-hand brown leather chair, which sat in front of Romeo’s desk. Nic, still visibly upset, sat beside him, while LJ dropped onto one of the room’s couches, put up her feet, and started playing on her phone.

He took a last drag off his cigarette and said, “May I use your ashtray, Mr. Juliano?”

Romeo cocked an eyebrow and put on what Burke found to be a really good tough guy face. “Two things. Who in the name of Frank Sinatra said you could smoke in my office? Second, what makes you think I even own an ashtray?”

Burke shrugged. “I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t mind, since you obviously smoke in here. The smell is masked, but still readily detectable. It would then stand to reason that you would have an ashtray.” Burke pointed up at the built-in shelving at Romeo’s back. Pictures and small collectables likely of more sentimental than financial value lined the shelves.

“I can also see the reflection of the ashtray and a can of Febreze on your top shelf,” Burke continued. “You have them hidden behind one of the pictures, but the angle of the neighboring photo allows them to be seen in its reflection.”