“What?” Charlie’s voice was sharp. “Is everything okay?”
“Don’t know. They’re still up there, and Damon said the Russians would take their phones, so I called you. There’s a bogey on the roof of the next building in a ski mask. I’m heading up there.”
“Without backup?”
“Should I have invited Boris’s thugs?” God, this is the slowest elevator in creation. “Could be nothing.”
“Watch your ass, Nicko. Keep me updated.”
“Will do.” He tapped out and deleted the call log, just in case. The elevator doors finally slid apart. The stairs were at each end of the hallway. The first fucking staircase said “No Roof Access,” but the second one wound upward. He reached the door at the top and pulled, expecting it to be locked, but the door opened. A piece of duct tape held the latch back. Fuck!
Staying low, Nick eased out around the door onto the roof. A quick glance oriented him, and he put his back to the bricks and slid around to the side facing Brian’s high-rise. At the low parapet, a man in dark clothes and gloves knelt on the bitumen, a grenade launcher raised and sighted toward the upper windows.
Fuck! Nick sprinted and leaped, landing on the man as he began to turn. Nick got an arm around the man’s neck, slamming him against the concrete edge, a choke hold almost in place. He struggled for control of the man’s trigger arm, jamming gloved fingers along the parapet. The launcher hit the rim and fell, crashing to the street below. Nick winced, expecting an explosion. None came.
The man wrenched Nick’s wrist backward painfully, dragging in harsh breaths as the pressure came off his neck. Nick turned so a groin strike hit his thigh, and stomped the bastard’s ankle, drawing a pained grunt. He drove them to the ground, landing on top, struggling to contain his prisoner.
The sonofabitch was wiry but strong. He threw his head back and Nick avoided a broken nose but took a glancing blow to the jaw that mashed his cheek against his teeth. Shit! Ouch! He hung on, tasting blood, trying to get his chokehold back as the man dropped his chin tight. Gloved fingers dug into Nick’s wrist. Fuck that. Nick used every ounce of strength he’d built up, forcing his forearm deeper, tighter.
He’d just managed to get the guy controlled when the door to the roof banged and a voice barked, “Freeze, motherfuckers!”
Nick twisted to look over his shoulder. Boris’s front-door guard had a nine mil with a suppressor aimed at them, his hands rock steady despite a heaving chest.
“He had the launcher,” Nick said. “I haven’t searched him. You got him if I let go?”
“I’ll blow you both away. Back the fuck off.”
Nick braced one foot, let go, and launched himself sideways rolling out of reach and up to his knees. He froze there, raising his hands. The man on the ground stayed put, one arm tucked under him, head down.
The guard spoke into his phone, gun pointed at the stranger but a hard glare aimed at Nick that made moving a bad idea. “Two guys on the roof. Unknown weapons. Yeah.” He tucked the phone away. “Don’t twitch a finger.”
They stayed like that for a minute, the rough surface digging into Nick’s knees in a way that suggested he’d bruised up in the fight. His jaw hurt, and his cheek stung where he’d bitten it. He thought about explaining further, but the glint of the guard’s eyes kept him silent. He shifted his attention to the man on the ground. Who-what-why? The guy was still, but his rigidity was like the pause before the explosion. Nick shifted a foot to get some toe bracing, in case he had to tackle the guy again.
A muffled sound marked the roof access door opening. “What the fuck!” The guard from the back door came running up.
“Search that one.”
The new guard bent over launcher-guy and did a rough and thorough search, coming up with a handgun and a knife, which both went into his parka pocket. Then he rolled the guy over and pulled off the ski mask. The guy underneath was young, perhaps twenty, dark haired and nondescript. The guard shook his head. “Who’re you with?”
The young guy looked up over his head and didn’t answer. Nick flinched, expecting a beatdown, but the guard just grunted and turned his way.
“Glock in a shoulder holster left,” Nick said without moving. The guard eased the weapon out, removed the magazine, racked the slide