Read The Cross: An Eddie Flynn Novella for Free Online

be perfect for a rifleman firing from a car window.
    I heard the caterwaul of tires and a big V12 engine. Glancing over the rail I saw a blue SUV taking a smoking start on the FDR Drive. This was the shooter. If someone on the Brooklyn side of the river saw me on the top deck, it would’ve been simple enough to prime a sniper to tag me as I cruised into Pier 11 on the ferry. The Morgue Squad. Whoever they were, they worked fast, they worked as a team, and they played for keeps.
    Whatever Frost knew, somebody didn’t want him talking to me. I could’ve easily been the one to take a round. But whoever was pulling the trigger thought Frost was more of a threat.
    I stood and saw the gates open on Pier 11. Passengers on the lower deck began disembarking. It was eight thirty and the ferry would make one more trip. I thought about making that return trip. My jacket was in my car in Brooklyn. And my car would be a likely spot for someone to wait for me to return so they could plant a bullet in my back as I slid the key into the door.
    At first I couldn’t find my cell phone; then I saw it on the floor. It must’ve fallen out of my pants pocket. I wiped the blood from my face with my tie, then redialed the number for McAllister. Somehow I found my voice, which cracked and broke as I pushed out the words in between guttering breaths.
    “It’s Eddie Flynn. Frost is dead. So is the cop in the ferry uniform. Rifle shot from a car window on FDR Drive. I couldn’t get a license plate, but it was a blue SUV. Maybe a Toyot—”
    “Hold on. Calm down. What did you just say?”
    “Your boss is dead.”
    “Is Jones alive?”
    “If he’s the guy pretending to work on the ferry, then no, Jones is . . .”
    My attention was elsewhere. Two men holding handguns were running toward the ferry, NYPD badges hanging around their necks, bouncing off their chests as they ran. Plainclothes cops in suits. Detectives.
    “Have you called this in?” I asked.
    “I’m about to.”
    “If you haven’t reported it, then why are there two cops running toward the ferry?”
    “Are they in uniform?”
    “No.”
    “It’s them. Get out of there, now.”
    My feet were already skidding down the steps. I vaulted the chain that roped off the top deck, checked that no one was around. The passengers waiting to board the ferry were still in the terminal. The two cops were also on the other side of the terminal. Probably getting the deckhands to let them through. They’d be here any moment. Nowhere to go. No choice. The ferry was turning, ready to land. I had maybe five seconds before everyone on the pier saw me standing on the deck. I took one stride, then flipped my legs over the rail and slipped into the East River.

 
    Chapter Eight
    The cold was a living, breathing beast that sucked at my very bones. It willed me to inhale, purely from the shock of all-enveloping pain. Cold so bad that it burned my skin like bleach. Lips bursting from the air in my lungs. I spun around in the water but could see nothing. Yet I was moving. The current was fast and dragging me deep. I was aware of a thicker darkness just beyond my line of vision. Even my eyes stung, but not from the freezing temperature of the water—more likely from the poisons floating within.
    The pier stanchion of the East River Bikeway came up fast, and I had to brace my arms over my head as I hit one of them. Panic now. I sank further, my arms and legs straining to keep me from falling to the bottom. I managed to grab a stanchion and pulled. Hand over hand, I climbed my way to the surface so fast I hit my head on a bar as I came up.
    Blessed, gasping, desperate air. Eyes wide, fresh blood from the wound on my scalp flowed into my mouth. I didn’t care. To my left I saw the bikeway dip down to the water. I used the wooden beams to pull myself toward it, and I gave a sigh of relief when my hand hit a wire mesh. It took everything I had to haul myself over that short fence. For a good minute or