Page 66 of Intent to Kill
“He has a clear shot. I don’t have a shot on him,” Paul shouted.
Adam, approaching Diego at a run, noted the general location of the parking lot.
His friends must’ve been watching because Paul said, “Shot likely incoming northeast at 34 degrees.”
Adam made an incredulous face that he was sure they couldn’t see. Fucking northeast? Degrees? What?!
“Left leaning shot to the heart, center of mass, angling downward,” Mercedes said, somehow knowing that she had to translate without Adam needing to ask.
Adam rushed past Diego’s security, who were far too easily distracted by Carlos, and fisted Diego’s shirt, tugging him down and to the right just as a bullet punctured the golf cart where Diego had been standing upright not five seconds earlier. Not letting go, Adam pulled Diego around the side of the cart and sheltered them low. Two more missed gunshots punctured where they’d stood.
Security swarmed around Diego, leaving Carlos to make a run for it.
“Do you have the sniper?” Adam said into the radio.
“No, he’s on the move,” Paul said.
Leaving Diego with his security team, who were calling in police and ambulances, Adam made a break for the front entrance where Dan was waiting for him. They each pulled out a pistol and headed for the parking garage.
They arrived at the ground level, guns at the ready and moving through the concrete structure dodging cars. But the hitman was nowhere to be found.
“Empty,” Dan said as he surveyed the area.
They passed shadowed areas and jumped over railings, but still nothing. At the other end of the building they exited the parking lot into an empty open plaza.
“We can’t let him get away, who knows what he saw,” Adam said.
Dan’s mouth tightened and he nodded in sharp agreement.
They split up to search for any sign of their opponent. Each of them knew that they couldn’t take any risks in the hitman identifying them or breathing a word of their intervention.
Adam jumped back in a huff after checking another hiding spot to no avail. That was until he felt the cool tip of a gun pressing against the back of his head and froze. His mind betrayed him, his heart hammering as it recalled the horrific memory of standing on a cliff face watching a train grow smaller in the distance. Only then it was a different gun at the back of his head all those years ago.
Adam raised his hands and dropped his pistol, purposefully making a loud clank. Dan spun to face them, eyes widening even as he kept his weapon drawn.
“You have caused a big problem for me,” the hitman’s deep voice bounded.
“Take the shot,” Adam said.
“You are not fast enough. Either way, today you die.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Adam said. “I’m actually quite hard to kill.”
“You have much confidence,” the hitman said. “It is unfounded. If Dorian Blake wants someone dead. They are already dead.”
The hitman’s barrel clicked.
With a crash, blood sprayed like a party popper, and a deafening ringing echoed across the open plaza. The hitman’s body hit the floor.
Adam, his back covered in spray from the hitman’s blood, turned to face the dead body. Bending over to catch his breath and slow his racing heart, he released a deep exhale before speaking into his radio. “Nice shot, Paul.”
* * *
“Cheers!” They raised their glasses in salute, none more excited than Adam to have foiled Blake’s plans. He’d celebrate the wins where he could. One very alive mayor. One very dead hitman. Timeline crisis averted, for now.
Their new bar crowded as night drew near, filling up with other unsuspecting revelers as they relaxed, playing pool and shooting back drinks. The news played on a loop in the background, reporters swarming for every gory detail of a near-miss murder plot against the Mayor of Ridge City. A lucky escape for the incumbent, they were calling it.
Adam smiled. Yeah, luck. If luck’s name was Adam Vandemilio.
