Never Miss

by Melissa Koslin

  As he’d proven yesterday when she’d aimed a gun at him and he’d barely reacted. She took a deep breath and sighed. Her voice turned calm, not warm necessarily, but normal. “What’re you doing out in public? You need to be more careful.”

  He glanced behind him, surely to make sure no one could hear them. “I haven’t a clue why someone would want me dead. I—”

  “Wait, how did you find me?” There was no way he’d just happened across her.

  “You keep rifles on the floor of your back seat, and you carry a handgun in your waistband.”

  “That doesn’t explain how you tracked me to this particular place at this particular time.”

  “I saw the apartment guide in your car and noticed the studio apartments were circled, so I thought about searching all the nearby apartment complexes that offer studios and are pet friendly—assuming that ball of fur is actually a cat, as you claim—but there are quite a few of those. Then I thought, you were frustrated yesterday, so I assumed you’d want to blow off some steam, and given that you have what appears to be a rather specialized rifle, I thought a gun range might be where you would want to do that. There aren’t that many gun ranges in LA. I know most of them very well. I drove through a couple of parking lots until I saw your old Blazer and license plate.”

  She’d hoped—assumed—he’d been too distracted or upset to pay attention to much of anything. She kept the McMillan TAC-50 case covered in towels and such to camouflage it, and he’d maybe had a few seconds to see her license plate before she’d driven off. How, with all the insanity that happened to him in a matter of minutes, did he notice all these things?

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “What’s your name?” He held himself straight and squarely facing her, but it didn’t feel like some attempt to use his height to be dominant, no crossing his arms or blocking her path; it was more about focusing his full attention on the person in front of him, a study of the person. Being studied made her uncomfortable.

  “That’s what you want? My name?”

  “I came here to ask you how you knew the shooter was there and if you saw anything else out of the ordinary. Obviously, you’re extremely observant, and I need any information I can get.” He shrugged, but it didn’t feel casual, more like he was trying to look casual so he could make her feel at ease and better study her. “But then I spent all night trying to figure out who you are. It’s starting to drive me a bit nuts, to be quite honest.”

  “Not used to being stumped?”

  “No,” he said simply. His features were stronger than she’d noticed before, more angular, which the rectangular shape of his glasses seemed to emphasize.

  The corner of her mouth twitched, but she controlled it. “I saw him because I happened to catch a slight glint of the sun, and no, I didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary.” Then she added, “Who in the heck are you?”

  “Lyndon Vaile.”

  “Are you going to expand on that?”

  His voice was quiet, almost soft. “What’s your name?”

  “Kadance.” She said it without thinking. Her real name. She hadn’t said it aloud in years.

  Mac jumped up on the counter, sat down, and looked at her. I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. It just popped out.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.” He paused. “I like it.”

  She liked how he actually thought about it before saying he liked it, not some obligatory thing.

  He kept looking at her. “You’re nicer than you let people see.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You saved a perfect stranger’s life by walking into the line of fire.”

  “I told you he wouldn’t have taken a shot without a clear line of sight.”

  “You couldn’t have known that, not for certain. What if he’d simply taken the collateral damage and shot through you? Some rifles are high-powered enough for that.”

  She’d thought of that as well, even as she’d walked up to him at the storage place, knowing full well there was a sniper perched behind her.

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked.

  She picked up her rifle, ready to put it back in the case. “All that matters is it worked, and you need to figure out what’s going on and get someplace safe.”

  “It’s an important question,” he said. “I don’t think you did it solely out of goodness. Not that you’re not a good person, but you’re in the habit of protecting yourself, not taking risks like that.”

  “Why does any of that matter in relation to your current circumstances?”

  “I need to understand the entire situation before I can formulate a workable hypothesis.”

  She lifted her chin. “You’re a scientist.”

  “Yes.”

  “You definitely sound like one.” Then she muttered, “Slave to logic.” Maybe if she helped him form a hypothesis, he would go away. “Okay, we know you buy storage units and we know you’re a scientist. I’m going to guess your work in storage units isn’t terribly dangerous.”

  “Several of the regular bidders don’t harbor pleasant places in their hearts for me, but no, there is no danger in my work.”

  “What about your work as a scientist?”

  “It’s just research.”

  “What kind of research?”

  “Medical.”

  She waited for more of an answer, but he didn’t give it. He’s hiding something—or maybe not hiding but protecting information. “Look, here’s my advice, and it’s really good advice. Leave town, disappear. Find somewhere else to live, and just remove yourself from this situation.”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “That’s what you’re doing—you’re removing yourself from some situation. You’re running.”

  She motioned to Mac to tell him to get down so she could use the counter to slip her rifle into its case.

  “So, why did you do that yesterday?” he asked.

  Mac jumped down, and she set her case across the counter.

  He touched her arm lightly with his hand. Instead of throwing him off like she’d normally do, she stopped and looked up at him. His touch seemed to jolt through her. But that was likely because she hadn’t been touched by anyone in so long.

  “Why?” he murmured.

  “Because there’s enough death in the world. I wanted to stop it just once if I could.”

  His gentle hand stayed on her arm. “Death you’ve caused?”

  She was quiet. It dragged on for several seconds. And she kept looking at him, at the calmness in his eyes—no judgment, no fear, no anger.

  Finally, she murmured, “Yes.”

  A few seconds passed, and he nodded. “I understand.”

  She hesitated, and then stepped back and looked away. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t possibly. He wouldn’t be standing here now, speaking so calmly, if he had any idea.

  Mac rubbed against her leg, bringing her back to herself. She faced Lyndon. “That’s my advice,” she said. “Disappear. Even if you don’t want to disappear forever, getting out of the line of fire will allow you to figure out what’s going on, and hopefully, put a stop to it.”

  He took a breath and dropped his hand away from her arm. “It’s a rational argument.”

  “So, you’ll leave?”

  “First, I have to go back to my apartment for my research.”

  “I really don’t think you should.”

  “I can’t leave it. It could potentially help save lives someday. I need to preserve it.”

  “This is your life we’re talking about.”

  “It’s the lives of a lot of people if . . .” He smiled a little, though it still didn’t reach his eyes—she wondered if it ever did. “I think you’re right that I should leave, and I should do it quickly.” He shifted back a step.

  “Did you really mean that?” she asked.

  He stopped. “Mean what?”

  “That you would put your life at risk t
o save others.”

  “Yes.” There was a heaviness to that word, more to this determination of his. Something in his past?

  Her eyebrows pulled together.

  He moved a step closer. “It’s no different from what you did yesterday.”

  She just looked at him. At the angles of his face, the dark stubble that he hadn’t bothered shaving today, the green and gray of his eyes. The lack of fear, of judgment. How he seemed to see some good in her.

  She sighed. “All right. I’m coming with you.”

  His brow furrowed, though she wasn’t sure if it was from confusion or concern.

  “I already saved you once—I won’t let you get killed now.”

  four

  SHE FOLLOWED HIM, her in her Blazer and him in his old truck.

  She started to turn the wheel to take the next side street and ditch him, but then she straightened it and kept following. She did that several times before finally parking next to him at a small apartment complex.

  “Stay here,” she said to Mac. “I’ll be right back.” She lowered his window several inches and turned off the ignition. He stood up on the passenger seat and meowed at her. She usually left the car running and locked it with her spare key, unless she wanted to make sure he had a way out if she didn’t come back—he’d apparently caught on.

  “I’m not the target this time.” She petted his head and rubbed a thumb down his nose like he liked.

  She looked out her windows and scanned the area. What she hated was that she didn’t know anything about whoever was targeting him. Would they try a sniper again? Would they pay some random gang members? Or something else entirely? She couldn’t even extrapolate possibilities based on what might work best on Lyndon—she didn’t know him either. Thankfully, she’d loaded the Glock in her waistband before leaving the gun range parking lot.

  They both exited their cars. “Get inside,” she ordered.

  He walked quickly for the door, and she followed him inside. The building was nothing special, a generic walk-up. No one is after him for money, that’s for sure. Up the stairs and down the hall, she saw nothing interesting. Then one of the doors opened. She rested her hand on her Glock in the back of her waistband.

  “Hello, Mr. Porchesky,” Lyndon said with a flat voice.

  Mr. Porchesky barely glanced at Lyndon and stared at Kadance.

  “Hello,” she said to him and followed Lyndon to the next door.

  Lyndon unlocked the door, and she followed him inside and locked the door.

  They both stared at the mess. The books from the multiple bookshelves were all over the floor. Wires were strewn across the desk, where they had apparently been connected to a computer. She could see the clean square where it had been in the thin layer of dust on the desk.

  “I was just here a little while ago,” he said.

  “Then it’s a good thing you left when you did.” She pointed at a spot next to the door, away from the window. “Stay there for a minute.” Thankfully, the blinds were already closed.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  “Checking the apartment.”

  He walked over to the desk along the wall. He was away from the door and the window, so she didn’t complain. She expected him to freak out—about the destruction of his home, the invasion of privacy, the loss of his work. Though he was certainly tense, he didn’t yell or curse. His hands didn’t even shake. She was impressed. But then, maybe it wasn’t bravery so much as lack of emotion.

  She took a quick look around the living room. She found nothing concerning there, other than a chaotic mess. Same for the kitchen and bathroom. She heard him in the living room, sounded like going through the books. Then she went into his bedroom. The bed was unmade, and his clothes were strewn all over the floor. She felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach going through his personal space like this. The room held that subtle scent unique to each person. She would’ve expected his to be different, maybe that harsh smell of a hospital or maybe nothing at all. But it was clean, like a breeze through clotheslines of freshly laundered linens, comfortable.

  “I need to pack a bag.” He was standing in the doorway holding a book.

  She tossed a backpack that was on the floor in the corner at him. “Make it quick.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No.”

  “What were you expecting to find?” He stuffed some undergarments into the bag.

  “I’m not expecting anything. I’m just paying attention.”

  Though his expression was still almost emotionless, the corner of his mouth twitched as he stuffed jeans and a few T-shirts in the bag.

  “What’s that smirk for?”

  “You accuse me of being a slave to logic, but you have a scientific mind as well.”

  “My mind keeps me from getting killed. That’s about it.” She walked back out to the living room.

  He followed a few seconds later.

  “Did they take all your research?” she asked.

  He grabbed his desk chair and pulled it over to the other side of the room. He climbed up on the chair and used a tiny screwdriver on his keychain to unscrew the air vent cover. Then he reached his arm into the hole. She heard as he shifted wiring and soft ductwork out of the way. He drew out a small black thumb drive, got down off the chair, and stuffed the drive into his pocket.

  “That’s all your research?” she asked.

  “I back it up every day.”

  “If you didn’t know you were in danger, why do you keep a hidden drive?”

  “Backup in case of computer failure.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you hid it.”

  “We should leave.” He turned for the door.

  She filed her questions away for later and focused on watching him even more closely. Maybe it was time to leave him to his own devices. She’d helped him get his research and convinced him to leave town—that was enough, wasn’t it? None of this was her concern. She didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t even know him and had no reason to trust him.

  They walked out of the building toward their cars, and she scanned the area. The road was only two narrow lanes but busy and loud.

  Across the street, there was a parked truck with a man inside just sitting there.

  She glanced around and then looked back to the man. He was watching them, both hands in his lap, out of sight. She saw a break in traffic coming.

  She shoved Lyndon between their two cars.

  The taillight of his truck blew out.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Black truck across the street, gun with a silencer.”

  Lyndon looked up at Mac watching him from the passenger window of her car. He reached up through the window, unlocked the car door, opened it, and dove inside. Mac jumped to the back seat.

  “Get in,” Lyndon said to Kadance. He climbed over the gear shift into the driver’s seat.

  She got in and closed the passenger door. He held out his hand for the key. She saw no other options and handed him her key. He started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

  “Keep your head down,” she said.

  He slouched down in the seat the best he could.

  The tires peeled as he pulled out of the lot.

  She turned and looked out the back window, while peripherally making sure Mac was down on the seat out of the line of fire. “Black F150. He’s following us.” I need to be driving. I should’ve insisted.

  He made several quick turns down various side streets.

  Okay, maybe he can handle this. He certainly knew the area extremely well. He took several obscure streets and even alleys, all while avoiding congestion and driving very fast. But the truck managed to stay right behind him.

  They drove past the garage entrance for a group of high-rise buildings, someplace called Barrington Plaza. Then he flew into traffic on a main road. She glimpsed a street sign at an intersection—Wilshire Boulevard.

  He cut off a Toyota a
nd turned right onto Federal Avenue, but then he immediately U-turned around the median.

  She looked behind them. The truck’s tires started to lose grip of the road, but then it recovered. “He’s still with us.”

  Mac was clutching the seat with his claws.

  She turned back around. She watched Lyndon for any indication of losing focus or flipping out. His gaze stayed focused on the road.

  He turned down another side street, and then another.

  Eventually, he turned onto a freeway.

  “Are you crazy?” she asked.

  “Just wait.”

  “Traffic is slowing down ahead. You need to exit.”

  “Not yet.”

  “What’re you doing?”

  He ignored her and blew by an exit.

  Kadance started formulating ways to take control of the car. If she punched him hard enough to knock him out, could she get control before they crashed? Hold her gun on him again? But that hadn’t worked the first time.

  Traffic in the right lane slowed to a crawl. He blew by—even though traffic ahead in their lane was all red brake lights.

  Then he cut the wheel at a solid white line just before the median started and squeezed between cars on an exit.

  The F150 flew by and barely missed slamming into a Porsche.

  The car behind them blared their horn for a good twenty seconds.

  Kadance took a breath.

  “You all right?” Lyndon asked.

  “I’m not scared. I’m angry!”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t get her words to form coherently.

  “Because you had to let someone else be in control?” he asked. He didn’t smirk or sound arrogant, just curious.

  For some reason, his tone calmed her down. She looked out the passenger window.

  He turned at the next road. “Any idea where we should go next?”

  She hesitated.

  Then she looked over at him, at his anodyne expression. She started giving him directions. She didn’t know LA very well yet, but she always made sure she could at least find her way on the major roads and freeways.

  After ten minutes or so, he asked, “Where are we going?”

  “My apartment.”