Exchange of Fire

by P. A. DePaul

  Another bullet whizzed past his head. Motherfucker. Someone was actually shooting at them. She had warned him this could happen, but he’d thought she was being melodramatic. I wish. What the hell had she gotten herself involved in?

  He jumped over a plastic Playskool car.

  Dogs howled and barked, filling the air with their displeasure. Even they knew this was completely foul.

  They dove through a line of shrubs and continued running. She laid a convoluted path between parked cars, random side streets, and people’s lawns. All the while, he could feel the gunman still behind them. They needed a plan. The only person who was going to win this fight was the madman if they kept this random shit up much longer.

  “Don’t slow down,” she called back, as if reading his mind. “Trust me.”

  Thank God he ran ten miles at least three times a week or all this running would have sucked. He fumbled with his shirt in the back and grabbed the Beretta out of its holster.

  “You shouldn’t have that out.”

  What the hell? She have eyes in the back of her head?

  “It’ll just draw attention to us. We need to be invisible.”

  “News flash,” he said between breaths. “He’s right behind us. I think he can see us just fine.”

  “Not to him,” she replied as they burst through the alley. “To them.”

  Holy shit. Her convoluted path wasn’t random after all. She had led them to the Ridge Creek police station. He quickly jammed his gun back in the holster and resituated his shirt. Two police officers leaned against a car chatting, but stopped when they spotted them.

  “Hey, Grady! You out for a late run?” Officer Brett O’Malley called.

  “What’s with the jeans?” Officer Pamela Mead chimed in. “It’s like eighty degrees and humid tonight.”

  Sandra curved in, and he took that as a green light that they were stopping. He slowed to a walk and amicably strolled up to the pair as if he didn’t have a psycho aiming for the back of his head. The hairs at the nape of his neck twinged and his skin crawled. The motherfucker had to be staring at them. He flicked a quick glance at Sandra and caught the tightening around her eyes as she gave him a small shake of her head. Shit. He didn’t know what to do: lie to his friends and cover for her until she told him what the hell was going on or narc on her.

  As always, he used his gut to make the decision.

  “You caught me, Pam.” He grinned at the overweight woman with the huge heart. “I’m afraid I let my male pride get the better of me and accepted Ms. Walsh’s challenge.”

  Brett leaned forward, curiosity and blatant interest broadcasting from his handsome face.

  Grady ground his teeth.

  “Oh yeah?” Brett asked, running his gaze up and down Sandra’s body. “What’s the challenge?”

  “Who could run the farthest, fastest.” Grady blurted the first thing that jumped into his head. Lame.

  Sandra’s mouth quirked, and she flicked him an amused glance before continuing her surveillance.

  Pam laughed. “Only you. I take it no winner has been declared yet?”

  “Nah. You saw us. Neck and neck.”

  “Hmmm,” Pam said. “I believe Ms. Walsh was in front, if I remember correctly.”

  “Ladies first and all,” he retorted, garnering a laugh from everyone.

  Sandra straightened. “Can I use the restroom? I don’t want anything slowing me down from my big victory.” She fist-pumped the air.

  “Officer Brett O’Malley at your service, ma’am,” Brett replied, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “I’ll be happy to show you where it’s at. Think of it as an armed escort to ensure your safety for the glorious triumph over this lug.”

  Sandra smiled wide, giving the officer cow eyes as she accepted his arm. “That’d be wonderful, Officer O’Malley.”

  Slimy bastard.

  Pam slid her arm around his. “Come on, Romeo, I’ll be your armed escort.”

  Sandra’s head whipped around, a haunted expression filling her eyes as she searched his face. For a moment, he could have sworn she hadn’t seen him. Did she actually know a guy named Romeo? He tucked it away for further analysis and allowed Pam to lead him inside.

  Why had he never noticed how pompous Brett actually was? The guy didn’t act this way when they got together with the others to play poker. Grady tuned in to Brett’s conversation and groaned. Not the armed robbery story again.

  “So there I was,” Brett expounded, “standing in line to pay for my lunch, when this ass—excuse my language—when this bad guy runs in with a revolver and starts demanding all the money from the cashier.” He hustled forward a step. “Let me get the door for you.”

  Sandra dipped her chin and smiled as she glided past, then waited in the lobby area. Grady grabbed the door from the obnoxious man and gestured for Pam to precede him.

  “Where was I?” Brett asked, then continued speaking before anyone could answer. “I dump my food on the closest shelf, pull my gun out, and tell him to drop it.” To make the story worse, Brett actually simulated each action with his fingers. The guy now stood with his hands clasped together in a gun pose.

  Ridiculous.

  “Then what happened?” Sandra asked.

  Grady blinked. She wasn’t seriously interested in this, was she? After he’d witnessed her not bat an eye at her apartment being trashed and a madman shooting at them?

  “He shoots me!” Brett crowed.

  “If I remember correctly,” Grady couldn’t stop himself from butting in, “that bullet strayed so far left, it wasn’t even close to you. It took out a rack of Doritos.”

  Brett’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Yeah, but he was aiming to shoot again. I tackled him before he got the chance.”

  “Tripped and fell on him, more like it,” Grady muttered.

  Sandra’s shoulders shook, but she didn’t say a word.

  “Here you go, madam,” Brett said loudly, holding open the ladies’ room door.

  Sandra disentangled her arm and replied with so much sweetness, Grady’s teeth hurt. “Thank you, Officer O’Malley. I’ve got it from here.”

  “Of course. Of course.” Brett stepped back, sucked in his stomach, and waved until the door closed.

  “Pathetic,” Pam said, patting Brett on the shoulder.

  ***

  Gotchu bastard. The SBG operative slowed his steps and ducked behind a Dumpster in the side alley. By the time he’d disentangled himself from the senile biddy, everyone was already running. What the hell kind of convoluted path Wraith had them on eluded him, but at least he didn’t lose her.

  He should have carte blanche authorization to take out old bats like that when they interfered with his plans. They already had their time on Earth to be useful.

  He crept closer. A police cruiser rolled to a stop on the main street ahead of him and parked in a diagonal slot. The operative craned his neck forward and spotted the giant letters affixed to the front of the brick building: RIDGE CREEK POLICE STATION.

  Great. But now Wraith’s path made more sense.

  The top of a red head peered around a doorjamb from a business’s side entrance. The guy’s focus was completely set on the station.

  Rookie.

  A great operative always knew exactly what was going on in the area around him. Time to teach the punk his last lesson.

  He palmed a knife and silently stalked forward.

  The first inkling the kid had of his presence was when he clamped a hand over the guy’s mouth and held the blade to his throat. “Hello, Granger,” the operative whispered into the other SBG assassin’s ear.

  Granger froze a half a beat before he reared back, slamming the operative into the other side of the door frame. The operative didn’t let go. He wrenched Granger’s head to the side and murmured, “Wraith is mine,” just as he swiped his blade over the guy’s vocal cords.

  ***

  Grady gripped the sides of the bathroom sink and stared in the mirror. �
�What the hell are you doing? Walk away now before you get in any deeper.” The memory of what happened to Ashlyn tripped through his mind as his heart lurched at the thought of walking away from Sandra. “Stupid organs.”

  He washed his hands and resituated his clothing better to hide the Beretta. Even though he had a permit to carry the weapon, the last thing he needed was to recount how a slip of a girl managed to knock him out and how he’d been stupid enough to chase after her with a loaded gun. Brett would eat that up as he threw him in the holding tank just to impress Sandra some more.

  Supercilious blowfish.

  Grady emerged and followed the sound of Sandra’s voice. She sat in an ugly chair beside an equally beat-up desk and told Brett about a time she fell off her bike and a nice police officer was there to pick her up. To help dry her tears, the officer had driven her back to her house in the police car with the lights flashing the whole way.

  Nice memory. Wonder if it’s true.

  Stop that, he ordered his mind. He had no clue what was going on, and heading down that path was only going to drive him crazy.

  She captured his eyes and stood. “I think we’ve taken up enough of their time. Shall we decide the winner once and for all?”

  He bowed. “By all means.”

  She flashed Brett a giant smile. “Thank you so much for your Southern hospitality. You’ve made your mama proud.” She turned to Pam. “It was nice meeting you, Officer Mead.”

  Pam’s eyes crinkled. “Call me Pam. And believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

  Sandra laced her arm through Grady’s and addressed the officers. “Is there a back door, by any chance? I want to kick this race up a notch and change the location.”

  “Sure thing.” Brett hopped off the edge of his desk. “Follow me.” He led them through a maze of mostly empty desks to a narrow hallway. Only a few rooms branched off before they found themselves at the exit. Brett held it open. “Good luck, Ms. Walsh. I’m rooting for you.” He followed them outside.

  “Ready?” she asked as she hunkered into an exaggerated stance.

  “Yep.”

  “Then go!”

  They took off, leaving the sanctuary of the station behind.

  Chapter 10

  Victor flipped the page of Wraith’s legal-size file and stared at the eight-by-ten glossy photo. The woman really was striking. He’d give his predecessors some credit for cultivating the beauty into the deadly marksman she became.

  Until she royally fucked up and cost him a shitload of money and resources trying to rein in Delta Squad from tearing half of Mexico apart in their quest to “avenge her death.” Had he just been a sucker to fall for their grieving, or were they all fooled? Not to mention the medical bills he footed for Magician’s recovery after that op. He could’ve bought a third-world country with that money.

  He glanced at the clock. Granger should have checked in at least once by now. Inducting the young assassin into his own personal assassin squad may have been premature. The kid showed promise, but he was brash and hadn’t learned the art of finesse yet.

  A Navy clock in the next room chimed loudly. Damn safe house. He needed to get out of this self-imposed prison, but couldn’t leave until the rogue operative had been neutralized.

  What was the point of having his own personal squad to protect him if those sons of bitches couldn’t find a lone female when he supplied the leads? If he had to, he’d command the actual squads to help in the search, but would rather leave them out of it until the last possible minute. No one in that part of the agency knew who was in his personal team, and he’d prefer to leave it that way.

  He leafed through the rest of the papers, not sure what he was searching for but hoping an inconsistency would pop out at him. His nephew did his usual thorough job in compiling all this information, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore that small kernel of doubt. He hadn’t missed the way Ted winced when he’d ordered Wraith’s status changed to Rogue, nor had he missed the way Ted’s face reddened, then drained at the plan of giving the MIT roommate all the information to pass on. His nephew had always been a little soft when it came to the messier side of being an operative and doing whatever it took to get the job done, but he remained loyal. Was he still loyal?

  Being the CEO of a Black Ops agency when the rest of the world believed it was just a bunch of environmental, tree-hugging activists was not easy. With only him, the Board of Directors, and a few select employees knowing its true formation, every decision he made was to uphold the value and meaning of the word classified. Yes, he handed unfortunate verdicts down, but the second an operative showed disloyalty they could no longer be trusted. Like when an operative wanted to quit. He had to ensure that operative’s retirement was short-lived so the stupid son of a bitch didn’t have the opportunity to run his mouth during a drunken episode and expose them all.

  Was he going to have to handle Ted now too?

  The phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Mars. Wraith is not in Sonora, California.”

  Damn. “Fine. Head to the airport; I’ve got another job for you.”

  ***

  Sandra scoped the area again but saw nothing. Her intuition told her the gunman was gone, but where would he have disappeared to? Their little jaunt into the police station shouldn’t have been enough to chase the operative away. Especially one of SBG’s ilk. She hated to admit it, but his sudden departure made her more nervous than his firing at them. At least then she knew what he was up to.

  She slowed the pace to an easy, steady jog. Grady fell in step beside her and stayed silent as they moved through the side streets. She took as many alleys as she could and even doubled back twice, but still felt nothing.

  “My turn to lead,” he said as he increased his speed.

  “What?” She quickened her steps to catch up.

  He didn’t answer, damn him. Instead, he continued running in the direction of the park.

  “It could be a trap,” she tried again, hoping to get through his thick head.

  Nothing. Just more speed. Shit.

  They used the side roads to avoid her house and blocked around to the park’s parking lot. He slowed his pace and paused behind an evergreen tree. She stopped with him and curled her hands into fists to prevent them from wrapping around his neck.

  She moved into his space and stood on her toes, clamping a hand over his sweaty shoulder and placing her mouth to his ear. He stiffened and grabbed her waist. “That was reckless. This could be a trap, and we just ran right into it.”

  His hand tightened and he placed his lips on her lobe. A shiver coursed down her spine, and she liked the feeling a lot more than was prudent for the situation. “No. It was smart,” he whispered. “The more we run in circles, the higher chance we have of being spotted and picked off. We need to put distance between us. Besides, how would he know what I drive?”

  Loaded question, but luckily she could sidestep that land mine for now. He was right about one thing, damn it; they couldn’t run the streets all night. “Fine, but we do this my way.”

  She scanned the area and spotted another SUV. “Stay here.” She didn’t wait for a response, instead jogging over to the truck and crouching at the back. She fumbled in her purse and finally found her emergency tool kit. Without a second thought, she unscrewed the license plate and headed back.

  “What the hell is that?” he demanded. “What are you doing?”

  “Protecting you,” she retorted, bypassing him and beelining for the Range Rover. She made quick work of switching the plates while ignoring his squawking about legalities. She ran back with Grady on her heels and screwed his tag onto the other SUV.

  “Trust me, he won’t notice.”

  “I noticed.” He stood with his hands on his hips, his brow creased from his fierce frown.

  “Better this than them finding you,” she stated as she finished the last bolt.

  “Them? Now there’s more than one?”

&n
bsp; Shit. She needed to be more careful about what she revealed. She marched back to his truck. “We can’t talk here, and I’ve said too much already. Get in and drive.”

  “You haven’t said anything.” For a fearful minute, she thought he was going to refuse. He finally unarmed the truck and yanked the door open. After they settled inside, he put it in gear and drove out of the lot. “Where to?”

  If he thought that was bad, he was going to love this. “Your home. You need to pack a bag.”

  The SUV jerked. “Why?”

  “You own a laptop?”

  “Yeah.” He dragged the word out.

  “It have Wi-Fi or satellite or some way to get to the Internet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Pack that too.” She fiddled with the spiral dragon pendant, hoping to channel the strength, courage, and wisdom it stood for.

  “Sandra.” His voice gave a clear warning he was reaching his limit. “Stop ignoring me. Why am I packing a bag and laptop? Where are we going?”

  Trees whizzed by along the empty stretch of highway. She had never been to his house, but knew he lived beyond the entertainment center, farther into the mountains. Both were in the opposite direction of town, and she could already feel some of the tension leaving her. It was a false feeling of security, but she clung to it.

  “I’m going to ask you to trust me,” she finally answered.

  “Seeing as how you won’t trust me enough to tell me what the hell is going on, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  She had to throw him a bone. “If they’ve found me, I’m afraid you may be in danger. Especially if the gunman talks. He knows your name now. I said it in the kitchen right before I heard the floorboard creak.”

  “There’s that ‘they’ again.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “He heard my last name. Not the whole thing.”

  “I can’t be sure what he knows, but if he’s done his homework, he’ll know exactly who you are just from that.” She chewed on her lip and debated whether to confide her fear or keep silent.

  The intensity behind his divided stare as he drove weighed on her. Fuck it. It may convince him not to go off half-cocked. “I’ll be honest; I don’t like how he just disappeared. Until I know where he went, you’re in too deep to walk away.” She scowled at her clenched fists and finished softly, “You can’t go back to the life you had if you want to keep those you love safe. Not yet, anyway.”