Page 7 of Disavowed

“Go,” he said quietly. “Turn right out the door and haul ass down the alley.”

Schneider shoved open the door and took off running. Dom bolted after him, yelling to the uniformed officer standing guard ten feet away. “I got him! Stay here.”

Schneider pounded down the alley and crossed the street, his booted footfalls echoing in the confines of the alley walls. Dom’s heart pounded, but he wasn’t winded. Hardly. In fact, if he didn’t slow his pace, he’d be on top of Schneider in two seconds. Clearly, the former sniper had quit following the Delta Force workout Dom still maintained on a daily basis.

Just before Schneider got to the end of the alley, Dom heard the revving of the Honda Civic’s motor. He caught the flash of white as the vehicle barreled down on him. He gauged the speed of the vehicle, tensed for a moment at how ridiculously wrong this plan could go, then executed a flawless stuntman dive onto the hood of the car.

Tires screeched. He grimaced as his elbow banged against the windshield. From the corner of his eye he caught Schneider looking back over his shoulder. And keep going.

Asshole.

Not that he expected Schneider to stop and give him a lift to the hospital. Au contraire. He’d been counting on the guy to disappear without a second thought to his injuries. He wasn’t disappointed.

With a groan, he rolled off the hood of the Honda and hit the pavement. He grabbed his right knee and gritted his teeth, though it was really his elbow that was giving him grief. But he had to make this look good because the cop who’d been guarding the door was now charging toward them down the alley.

A moment later, his former partner, Cassie, who was now a chef in upstate New York, bounded out of the Honda. He wanted to laugh at how much she looked like a streetwalker with the platinum blond wig, heavy makeup, and skintight clothes.

“I’m so sorry, Officer.” Cassie kneeled and put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t see you, I swear. Are you all right?” She gave him a meaningful look that said she truly was asking if she’d hurt him.

“Lady,” he said in a pissed-off tone as he winked at her, one of the few people entrusted with this ruse, “do I look all right? I think I busted my goddamned knee.”

The cop ran into the street, pushing away a few bystanders who’d come to gawk. “Give us some room, folks.” He knelt on Dom’s other side and clicked the mic on his uniform, preparing to call for an ambulance.

Dom grabbed his arm. “No bus.”

The officer frowned. “But—”

“No. Bus,” he repeated.

The uniform took a few quick sniffs of air, no doubt smelling the whiskey on Dom’s breath. He gave Dom a disgusted look. “Yeah. I smell what you mean.”

“Smart-ass,” he shot back. “The lady can go. It wasn’t her fault.”

“No kidding,” the cop mumbled.

“Oh, thank you, Officer.” Cassie shot Dom a look of relief. “If you don’t need me, guess I’ll be going.”

Good thing. While Cassie was now retired, in her former life she’d been the best female undercover the department ever had. But with all the publicity after a Pyramid assassin tried to kill her a year ago, even this cop might recognize her if he looked closely enough.

The Honda’s car door shut, and Cassie slowly maneuvered around him.

“Help me up.” Dom outstretched his hand to the uniform.

He was yanked to his feet just as Gray and several other detectives came charging down the alley. “What the hell happened?” Gray looped an arm around his waist. “I’ve got him,” he said to the uniform, then guided Dom away from the others.

As he limped down the alley, he heard the snide comments behind his back, and it sickened him.

“Musta hit the bottle this morning instead of coffee.”

“IA’s investigating him for some stuff that went missing from evidence last month. Heard he’s about to get kicked off the force.”

“Carew’s the last guy I would have figured to go bad.”

“What the hell happened to him? He was the NYPD’s golden boy.”

Though he hadn’t hurt his knee at all, he faked a limp all the way to Gray’s car. His elbow was starting to pound from where he’d whacked it on the windshield. Physical pain he could take. It was hearing his colleagues talking smack about him behind his back that hurt more than anything. It was worse than a knife through his heart. Not that he could blame them, as that, too, was part of the plan. If his downward spiral wasn’t believable and common knowledge to the department, it sure as hell wouldn’t be to the Pyramid.

“Fuck,” he muttered when they were out of earshot.