the market. There was a road only part of the time.” He patted the F150 before climbing in. “It’s a working man’s truck.”
His buddy snorted as he buckled up shotgun. Gilligan hopped in the back seat. Mikuni’s was a typical Friday-night stop and it was only a few blocks away.
Jared pulled out of the parking lot. “You want a Porsche, Paco, we’ll make it a Porsche.” He chose some tunes, cranked up his stereo and rolled down all the windows. The night was mild and the wind smelled fresh. Pounding bass throbbed.
Jared’s laughter died in his throat when he saw a police car trailing him, lights flashing. He lowered the volume. “What’s he want?”
Paco turned around as Jared pulled over. “What’s the crime? Blowing off steam? Two white guys and a Mexican listening to hip-hop?”
Jared shook his head and he pulled his license and registration from his wallet. “The boys had better be quick, because there’s a cold Asahi and a Sumo Roll with my name on them.”
The men who approached the car wore plain clothes. Watching them in the rearview mirror, Jared narrowed his eyes. They hadn’t come out of the police car, but out of a dark, unmarked car that had slid in behind them while he’d been digging out his license. “Feds.”
“What do you think they want?” Gilligan asked.
“No fucking clue.” Jared forced his annoyed frown into a smile as the first man stopped outside the open window. “What can I do for you, sir?”
The man wore a poker face and a black suit. His tie was the perennially unstylish kind favored by men who’d been in Washington too long. “Brad Sarto, DHS. How are you tonight, Mr. Jasper?” he asked, reading the license. Turning, he sent a brief nod to the other men, one of whom got back in the dark sedan.
Department of Homeland Security. “How am I? Funny you should ask. Maybe you can tell me why you pulled me over.”
“Step out of the car, Mr. Jasper.”
His pulse picked up a notch. “Show me some ID first.”
With the faintest hint of irritation, the iron-faced man handed over his identification. It looked legitimate. Jared killed the engine and handed Paco his keys. “Hold on to these, will ya?”
“Yeah, no problem.” His friend’s face showed a mix of confusion, outrage, and frustration. “You want me to call someone?”
“Nah. Let’s see what they want first.”
“Sir, please,” Sarto persisted. “I need you out of the car.”
With a major effort to keep his temper in check, Jared did as he asked. “What seems to be the problem—?”
Sarto linked his arm with his. “Come quietly. Don’t make a scene. We’re in a public place and we don’t want to draw attention.”
“Like hell we don’t. You have no reason to arrest me.”
“You are not being arrested.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Sir, please.”
Jared swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say. The relentless training he’d gotten from his parents during his upbringing to be polite to public officials and those in positions of authority was wearing thin, way thin. He thought of his phone, still connected to Bluetooth in the truck’s center console. He shouldn’t have left it. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what I’m under suspicion of doing? Isn’t that how it works?”
Sarto hustled Jared to the idling, waiting car. The man behind the wheel was a shadowy figure.
“Hey!” Jared dug in his heels. “This is America. You just don’t abduct people off the—”
Something jammed into his kidney. It felt like a gun. The next thing he knew he was sliding along a smooth pleather seat, face-first. He heard the sounds of a scuffle, shouts that told him Paco and Gilligan were fighting back. But the sedan skidded back onto the street and away from his friends’ agitated shouts.
Someone grabbed Jared’s collar and pulled him farther into the speeding car and he struggled to get up. The door behind him slammed shut now that his feet were no longer hanging out.
The car weaved, throwing him off balance every time he tried to get up. He did a pushup, and a hand pushed him back down. “Don’t get up!” Sarto ordered.
Something cold pressed lengthwise across the back of his neck. A pipe? Gasping for air, he tried to figure out what Sarto was using to keep his head down. It’s a gun.
Jared tried to get his wits about him. Carefully, he turned his head slightly to get more air. The sedan was speeding, and the wails of a police car told him whatever