Billionaire Mafia Boss Offers $500,000 Reward for Retired Police Dog That Sends His Son to Prison

Chapter 4

The fire service station appeared through the trees just before noon.

It was a small cinder-block building, weathered and forgotten. Windows boarded up. Weeds growing through cracks in the parking lot. An old pickup truck sat near the building — its paint faded, but engine running.

A man leaned against it. Maybe sixty years old. Wearing flannel and jeans. A rifle slung over his shoulder.

He watched Mike and Shadow emerge from the forest with calculating eyes.

— You Cross? the man asked.

His voice was rough. A lifetime of smoking evident in the rasp.

Mike nodded.

— Sarah says you’re in deep. Says Castellano wants your head. That true?

— It’s true.

The man spat tobacco juice onto the gravel.

— Castellano’s bad news. Lost some good friends to his organization over the years. Name’s Davis. Tom Davis. Sarah says you’re one of the good ones. Says you deserve a chance.

Mike felt a surge of hope for the first time in two days.

Davis gestured to the truck.

— Get in. Border’s fifteen miles. I know a crossing. Unofficial. Used by smugglers. We can be across in thirty minutes.

Mike and Shadow moved toward the truck.

Then Shadow stopped.

His entire body went rigid. A warning growl building in his throat.

Mike spun around.

Four SUVs were racing up the access road, kicking up dust, moving fast.

They had been followed. Tracked.

Or maybe Davis had been compromised.

Mike drew his weapon, backing toward the building. Davis cursed and brought his rifle up.

The SUVs screeched to a stop. Doors flew open. Men poured out — at least twelve of them, all armed, all professional.

A voice called out, amplified by a megaphone:

— Thomas Davis. Step away from the fugitive. You are interfering with a lawful bounty collection.

Mike nearly laughed. *Lawful bounty.* As if murder contracts were legitimate.

Davis didn’t move.

— I don’t see any badges, he called back. — As far as I’m concerned, you’re trespassing.

The voice responded:

— Final warning. Step away or be considered hostile.

Davis looked at Mike. A slight smile on his weathered face.

— Well. I guess we’re doing this the hard way.

He opened fire.

The crack of his rifle was deafening. One of the contractors went down, clutching his leg.

Chaos erupted.

The contractors returned fire — bullets hammering the truck and building. Mike and Davis dove for cover, Shadow moving with them, pressing against the cinder-block wall.

They were pinned down. Outnumbered. Running out of time.