Wild Justice

CHAPTER 36

Our attacker may have been quiet when he ambushed us, but he wasn’t nearly as silent as he made his escape. Like the pro Roland sent to kill me at the lodge, clearly this guy had expected an easy mark. It probably even seemed as if he had one, when we strolled off from a romantic dinner to take an equally romantic walk through an empty park followed by a much more strenuous—and distracting—form of romantic activity.

Even when we hit the ground, he probably only thought we’d moved into a more gravity-friendly position. God only knows what he figured Jack was doing, fumbling around on the ground.

And when that bullet hit him? Well, I wouldn’t blame the guy if his shorts weren’t entirely dry after that shock. He’d recovered nicely, his hitman instincts kicking in. But now another instinct had taken over—the one that told him to get the hell out of that park before we put more bullets in his ass.

Jack was right to stop me from tearing after our attacker. When we didn’t follow, he slowed down. I could imagine what he was thinking. Despite what he’d been told, the woman obviously realized she was a target and had armed herself. He wasn’t unprepared for this, having worn the vest. Yet right now we’d be doing what any normal couple would do after a gunfight in the park—get to safety.

So as we tracked him, his pounding footsteps turned to walking ones and then to slow, measured steps as he likely considered whether the hit was still salvageable. When the guy neared the edge of the park, he stopped to consider some more.

“Time to split up and circle around,” I whispered.

Jack kept his gaze forward. “I can do this. Just stay—”

“No.” I got in front of him and forced his gaze to mine. “I don’t stay on the sidelines, and if you think that has changed—”

“Circumstances. You’re the target.”

“You’re the one he actually shot at. He’ll take you out to get at me. If you keep arguing, we’ll lose him.”

I tugged off my heels. I was going to leave them behind, but Jack shoved one in each jacket pocket. Then he pointed at my bare feet. “Be careful.”

I figured stepping in dog shit—or even on broken glass—was the least of my worries, but I nodded, and we split up. I went south, into the trees, picking my way past windblown piles of dead leaves as I hurried to flank our target. He was on the move again, slow now, as if still undecided about searching for us on the streets. I hoped he wouldn’t. The park was far more conducive to a takedown and interrogation.

I was less than thirty feet away when he moved under a path light. Just a guy dressed in black—black jeans, black sneakers, black hoodie pulled up. From what I could make out of his face, he was a little old for the hoodie look, maybe forty. Otherwise, average height, average size, average looking. I studied his face, trying to impress it on my memory in case we lost him. He tucked his gun into the pocket of his hoodie. Getting ready to head out. Shit.

I glanced around for Jack. Maybe we could still do this. Get me to lure—

A crash sounded in the woods on Jack’s side. I heard a muffled oath, followed by an angry whisper. Jack’s voice.

Our target bought the fake out. He gave a low chuckle as he pulled out his gun and went after the stupid marks hiding in the woods.

As he slipped along the path, I followed from the woods. Jack had gone quiet now—he wouldn’t overdo it. But the guy had already pinpointed the location of the sounds and when he drew close, he stopped and listened again, wondering if we could see him on the lit path. If we did, we’d make some noise, a small exclamation of fear or the rustle of a retreat. The woods stayed quiet.

The man eased toward the trees, rolling his footsteps, moving slowly as he watched and listened. When he passed the tree line, I started toward the path. Now came the tricky part. I had to cross that path, and the smallest noise would cause him to turn and see me, a lit target. I paused at the edge, calculating the best route and waiting until he was a little deeper in—

A rustle deep in the patch of woods. The man stiffened as he pinpointed the sound, intent on that. A second rustle. His strides lengthened as he hurried toward his target, off to his left now. I smiled and mentally thanked Jack for the diversion as I dashed across the path.

I darted into the forest on the other side. I could see the man ahead. He’d stopped now and was looking around. He was in deep enough that it must have been pitch-dark, and he was trying to pick up another sound. One came, conveniently enough, the soft snap of a twig. He started in that direction. I slid into his wake.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent plenty of time in dark forests, but I could see decently enough. Better than our target, who kept stopping, head rotating. The crackle of a leaf put him on the move again. Jack was drawing him in deeper. Perfect.

I got as close as I dared, following maybe five feet behind him, my gun poised should he turn. He didn’t. He kept going until he stepped past a massive oak and . . .

“Stop.”

It was Jack, standing right in the man’s path, gun drawn. I closed the gap quickly as the two faced off.

“Lower the gun,” I said.

The man started at the sound of my voice, right behind him. He began to turn and then thought better of it and just stood there, gun still trained on Jack.

“Lower the gun now,” I said. “Or I put a bullet in the base of your brain.”

I pressed my gun barrel to his neck. He flinched and tried to cover the reaction by pulling himself straighter. He still didn’t lower his gun. He did, however, make the small concession of aiming slightly away from Jack.

“You’ve been duped,” I said. “As you might have figured out, we’re not your typical marks. You’re the second pro they’ve sent after us. Do you want to guess what happened to the first?”

The man said nothing.

“We tried to extend him professional courtesy,” I continued. “All he had to do was answer a few questions about who sent him. He wouldn’t. Are you going to be smarter?”

Still no answer. Which proved, sadly, that the guy probably was smarter—smart enough to guess I was bullshitting and that nothing he said was going to get him out of this situation alive.

Jack motioned that he’d take over. The moment either of us moved from our position, we provided an escape route, so I kicked the guy in the back of the knee to send him down. He anticipated that and feigned a fall. Then he spun on me, gun going up. Jack kicked him so hard the guy almost took me down as he fell. Jack was dropping on him when someone called, “Over here!”

Jack pinned the guy as another voice called, “Hold up!” A drunken giggle. “Where’d you go?”

“Over here! Come on!”

A third voice said something, the words too slurred to make out. Drunk kids. Three young men from the sounds of it. They were on the path heading into the park.

“Hey!” our target called, the cry cut short as Jack slammed his face into the ground.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack whispered.

“Did you hear something?” one of the boys said.

“Nah. Come on. You have to see this!”

Our guy tried to yell again. Jack ground his face into the dirt, but he kept trying, his muffled cries as loud as shouts in the quiet night.

“I heard something,” a boy said. “Seriously, man. It sounded like someone in trouble.”

“And what are you? The Caped Crusader?”

“No,” another giggled. “He’s Brother Power the Geek.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of that one. Didn’t—”

“I mean it. I hear something. In the woods over there.”

The whole time they were talking, Jack struggled with our captive, trying to shut him up. The guy wasn’t listening. His nose was broken, blood streaming into the dirt. When Jack yanked the guy’s head back, his lips were bleeding, too, one front tooth broken. Still he managed a stifled cry. Jack got his hands around the guy’s throat, knees pinning him as I crouched in front, gun at the guy’s forehead, whispering for him to shut up, shut the fuck up, knowing he wouldn’t because I wouldn’t, because this was his only chance.

Even with Jack’s hands around his throat, the guy kept gurgling. Jack squeezed harder. Then harder. The guy’s eyes bulged and I wanted to tell Jack to stop, that we needed him alive, but no matter what Jack did, the guy made all the noise he could, thrashing now, arms and legs beating the ground.

Pass out. Please just pass out.

It seemed to take forever, but finally, his eyes closed, and his arms and legs went still. I moved to check his pulse, but Jack stopped me and motioned toward the drunk kids. He was right, of course—that was the priority. They were crashing about in the woods now. And I do mean crashing, moving with so much noise that it was impossible not to know exactly where they were.

“It’s stopped,” one of the boys was saying. It was the one who’d noticed the noise first—the one who seemed the least incapacitated.

“Yeah, because whoever it was heard us coming,” another said. “Probably some poor guy trying to get lucky and now you’ve fucked it up for him. Way to go.”

I kept my gaze straight ahead, not daring to look over at Jack. Adrenaline had knocked my hormones back in check, but there was a little part of me still going, Shit, of all the lousy timing . . . And I didn’t mean the boys coming into the park and disturbing our interrogation, either.

The boys traveled east for a couple of minutes, arguing, and then decided to give up the hunt. It took them a while to find the path again, and more than once they seemed to be stumbling our way. I’d glance at Jack, to see if we should bolt, but he held steady. Eventually, they found the path and decided what they really needed was more booze. Maybe even some dope. One of them “knew a guy,” and they all trudged out of the park to find him.

I bent beside our would-be attacker and felt his neck for a pulse.

“He’s gone,” I said.

“Fuck.”

“He knew his choices. Either bring those boys over or win himself a quick death.” I looked down at the body. “He got option two.”

“And we got shit.”

“I know.”

I checked the man’s pockets. There was a wallet with a few hundred in cash and the bare minimum of ID, out of state and probably fake. Unlike our first attacker, though, this one had a cell phone.

I turned it on and got a password screen.

“Fuck,” Jack said, leaning over.

“Yep. I’m sure Evelyn can crack it. In the meantime, we have a body. Do we drag it farther into the woods?”

“Nah. There’s a pond.”

“I missed that.”

“Didn’t pass it.”

“Ah, meaning you know from experience. All right then. Let’s get this guy to water.”

I started to turn.

“Hey,” Jack said.

I glanced over. He was poised there, watching me, his gaze shuttered.

“Hmmm?” I said.

“Lousy timing, huh?”

“No kidding.”

He relaxed a little, but his face was still tight as he said, “You okay?” and I knew he wasn’t asking if I’d been hurt or if I was shaken up.

Before I could answer, he said, “Earlier . . . We okay?”

“We’re fine, Jack. I had one glass of wine. I knew what I was doing.”

“Yeah, I know. Just . . .”

“I knew what I was doing and I wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want to do. Everything is fine.” I glanced down at the corpse. “Except for the dead body that needs to be taken care of. Very inconveniently.”

“Yeah.”