By Dean Koontz
Released less than pseudonym Brian Coffey.
Four males waited at the slender mountain street for the Cadillac wearing 341,890, the biweekly taking of a Mafia phone. 4 males who had by no means failed in a heist earlier than, on their fourteenth operation in 3 years: Shirillo, gazing within the lengthy grass; Pete Harris with a submachine gun; Bachman within the getaway automobile; and Mike Tucker, artwork broker thief; the perfectionist. because the sizeable Cadillac slewed around the bend, none of them learned that this time Tucker had made a deadly miscalcuation that may plunge all of them right into a blood battle opposed to the Mafia.
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Additional info for Blood Risk (Tucker Series, Book 1)
Sample text
He would not provide anyone with a reference point for the beginning of his decline. Before he was finished he would have those damned suitcases, or three others exactly like them, filled with money. He looked at his watch as he walked along the rutted, unused track, was surprised to see that despite all that had happened this morning it was still only a few minutes past eleven o'clock. A great deal could be done yet today-if they were lucky enough to find their way off the mountain unobserved.
The racket was almost certain to be audible the length of the slopes and would draw reinforcements from the mansion. In five minutes the site would be swarming with Baglio's gunmen. Still, this was the quickest, simplest way to let those inside the limousine know that this was serious business, rough business, and that they were hopelessly outgunned. When the echo died, Tucker was at the driver's window, the stubby shotgun leveled at the old man's neck. A blast from the first barrel alone would shatter the window and fragment the chauffeur's skull before he could complete any dive for the floorboards.
While he held the shotgun on them, Harris went downslope to the place where he'd climbed the bank, gained the road again and walked back up toward them. "Nowhere," the driver said. " The smaller of Baglio's men, the one who hadn't had enough sense to keep quiet before, looked at the driver quizzically, then smiled and looked up at Tucker. His face might as well be a blackboard with a huge, chalked message on it. "You're never going to get out of here. Mr. " Tucker asked the driver. "No," the driver said.