As usual, though, his prayer was ignored. Another bullet passed by and Smith crouched lower as Randi ran full-speed into the side of the car, slamming an elbow into the driver’s-side window. It was old enough that safety glass hadn’t been an option and it shattered all over the man as he tried to jerk away.

Smith collided with the rear quarter panel as Randi threw open the door and dragged the man onto the pavement.

All three of their pursuers were almost on top of them and Smith tossed her the knife. She pulled the man to his feet and pressed the crimson blade up under his chin. Hopefully, they cared about him more than the friends they’d left bleeding on the pavement.

The three skidded to a stop a couple meters away. The one with the gun tried to get a bead on Randi, who was hidden behind the bulky older man.

“You have a knife,” one of them said. “We have a gun.”

By way of response, Randi pressed harder with the weapon they were so unimpressed with, breaking the skin under the chin of the man she was holding.

“Stop,” the man said, slurring a bit because he couldn’t move his jaw without being cut deeper. “If I’m dead, none of you gets paid.”

At this point, it seemed unlikely that any of them were going to get paid anyway, but none of the remaining three was smart enough to realize it.

“Get out of here,” Smith said.

None moved.

“Get the hell out of here!” he shouted. “Run!”

They finally did, heading back up the road, right past their fallen comrades, and into the gloom.

Randi shoved the man behind the wheel and slid into the backseat while Smith ran to the other side and dropped into the passenger seat.

“Drive,” Randi said and the man twisted the key. This time the engine caught.

He looked terrified as they pulled onto the empty street and accelerated into darkness deep enough to resist his dirty headlights.

“Where’d the money to pay those assholes come from?” Randi said.

“I don’t know.”

“Cut his finger off, Jon.”

“No! I swear to you. I got a text asking me to do this. The money was wired from an offshore account.”

“When did you get the text?”

“A few hours ago.”

“How many hours.”

“I don’t know. Four?”

“Shit,” Randi said, pulling out her phone and dialing. It rang a few times but, to her obvious relief, was eventually picked up. Johannes’s tinny voice was clearly audible in the confines of the car.

“Randi? Is everything all right?”

“Are you still at the warehouse?”

“Yes.”

“Someone knows we were there. They—”

“Yes, I was afraid of that.”

“What? Why?”