Subtle Target: Six Assassins Book 2

by Heskett, Jim

  She looked back to the left and saw a mafia thug in a suit chasing after Lydia, approaching Ember’s hiding spot. She whipped back, fast enough that the mafia guy hadn’t seen her.

  The Belcaminos must have assumed Lydia had invited the DEA here. Maybe that was even true. Doesn't matter now.

  Lydia was running toward the other end of the hall, her body jiggling left and right, her hands swinging, her cheeks red, permed hair rippling. The man’s eyes were only on Lydia so far.

  Ember held back since the running thug hadn't seen her. She wanted to shoot him but didn't want to give away her position to Lydia just yet, either.

  As soon as he reached the open door where Ember was hiding, she reached out to stick him in the side with her knife. He careened into the wall and then smashed into the ground, and Ember gave him one more quick jab to the base of his skull to take him out.

  But, it hadn’t been quiet enough. Lydia stopped and turned, panting, her thick frame shaking. She was holding a gas mask in one hand, a canister of something in the other. Her head tilted an inch when their eyes met and recognition crossed her face.

  Ember lifted her weapon to shoot, but Lydia ducked into an open door on her right before Ember could aim.

  She raced down the hall after her target. Adrenaline pumping, she reached top speed in one second, then she readied herself to pivot and leap into the room. But, a fraction of a second before she reached it, a pair of arms swung out. A heavy textbook smacked her in the face—no time to dodge.

  Crack. Eyes rolling back in her head.

  Ember’s body tilted back from the force of the blow. Her arms flew up as she went and smacked into the book from the opposite side. Pain sizzled in her forearms. The guns slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She heard them skid down the hall.

  A firm hand grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her into the room before she could hit the floor.

  Ember staggered to her feet and opened her eyes to see Lydia standing before her, a gas mask on her face. In one hand, she held a cylindrical canister, like a pop can with a nozzle on top.

  Lydia flicked her finger across the nozzle. It clicked, and in an instant, a hiss came from it. Then a mist of gray came out the top, like a fumigator.

  Ember's lungs burned, and her eyes filled with tears. She sucked in a breath and held it.

  She had not expected this. Despite all her planning, despite all her training and knowledge, a damn textbook had bested her. Now, she was in Lydia’s grip, poison spewing out of a canister two feet from Ember’s face. She had to get out of this room.

  This was death. With the gas mask on, Lydia would be protected. Ember had no protection. Fire flooded her lungs. Her eyes blinked, her lids heavy. All of this within one second of entering the room.

  Lydia took a step back. She held the canister out, letting the foggy and foul substance bloom in the air between them.

  Ember coughed, lungs on fire.

  No. No, she couldn’t go out like this. She wasn’t dead yet, and she wouldn’t let this bitch win.

  Ember ignored the burning in her chest and the heat on her face. She jumped forward and slapped the canister out of Lydia’s hand. With the other hand, she delivered a punch to Lydia’s gut.

  When Lydia bent over, Ember tried to rip the gas mask from her face. That took some doing.

  She pulled it away from her face and then shoved up, but the back strap caught on the back of her skull. Ember put both hands on it while Lydia screamed and swatted at Ember’s hands.

  Ember shoved up with all her waning strength. With one final shove, the mask ripped free. Ember held it up to her own face. She reached for her guns before remembering they were out in the hall.

  Lydia heaved a breath and staggered back, coughing. Ember could feel herself getting lightheaded, despite the mask. Lydia reached out for her. Ember kicked her in the stomach, sending her backward.

  Lydia bumped into a desk. Her face turned pink, her eyes rolling back in her head. She gagged, retching, shoulders jerking forward with each cough.

  Ember turned and leaped out of the room, then slammed the door shut. Only now did she notice a length of windows running alongside the room, allowing her to see in it. It wasn't a classroom, but a teacher's lounge—several tables with chairs, and a counter on one end with a sink and a coffee maker.

  Lydia staggered over to the interior window facing the hall. She slammed a fist against it, with Ember standing on the other side of the glass.

  Lydia’s eyes were bugging out, red, her face dripping with sweat. The canister’s fumes had now created a fog up to knee level. Spit dribbled at Lydia’s lips as she stared at Ember. Coughing, hacking, pained look on her face.

  And then, something changed in her eyes. A sense of calm that lasted for almost a full second. Her eyes flicked back and forth over Ember as if pleading. As if searching for an answer in the gas mask over Ember's face.

  “Hey,” she wheezed, and Ember could barely make out her voice through the glass. “Please, you have to help me.”

  Ember lowered the mask, tilted her head, and said nothing. She kept expecting Lydia to rush for the door. Ember was ready to hold it closed. But, Lydia instead stayed put, her face right up against the glass.

  “Please,” Lydia said, tears streaming down her face. “You have to save them.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a bomb in my office.”

  “At your house? There’s a bomb at your house in Parker?”

  “Yes. Please, do something. I put it there because I thought you were going to hurt my family.”

  "So, you're going to blow them up instead?"

  Lydia’s skin turned a vibrant shade of red. She attempted speech several times but gagged each time she tried to get the words out. Finally, she was able to take a breath. “I’m begging you. I made a mistake. I don’t want them to die. Please, you have to hurry. The bomb is going to go off soon. Don’t let them die.”

  Lydia's eyes rolled back in her head, and she stumbled back, then sank to the floor. She disappeared in the fog still pluming from that canister. It rose above Lydia, swallowing her.

  Ember, head pounding, chest on fire, eyes full of tears, dropped the gas mask on the floor and bent down to collect her pistols. Then, she heard voices from down the hallway.

  Chapter Forty

  THOMAS

  Thomas Milligan poured himself another glass from the bottle on the shelf. He walked it from the makeshift bar over to his desk, a journey that took less than a second. Such was the peril of operating out of a single-wide trailer home as a workspace. Back in California, he had a glorious home office with a massive bay window overlooking a hill littered with redwoods. Most days, morning fog rolled in, leaving the tops jutting out like spikes atop clouds. He never grew tired of the view. He would stand before that window in his robe and sip coffee as his eyes crawled over the grandeur of the mountains.

  Colorado had mountains, but he hated the weather. So unpredictable. And Fort Collins fell far short of a metropolitan paradise. Despite being a college town, he couldn’t even get decent blow anywhere. He’d looked all over the damn place, too.

  But, he wasn't here to sunbathe or do lines of cocaine. He was here for Zach Bennett. Wallowing in the squalor of Fort Collins was a sacrifice Thomas was willing to make to court the young man. And, for as long as it took. He had a mind that could take them both into the stratosphere if he would only learn how to play the game. But, geniuses were often headstrong and stubborn as side effects of their personality.

  Thomas was far from giving up. Not even close.

  A knock came at the trailer. He leaned back in his chair and put his legs up on the desk. “Enter.”

  A moment later, it opened, and in leaned the square head of his driver, Helmut. “Are you busy, sir?” he asked in his sharp and Eastern European-accented English. Helmut’s voice was like sandpaper. His demeanor wasn’t much better, but he was ruthless, loyal, and creative. Thomas could tolerate a lack
of everything else.

  Thomas waved him in. “Just the man I was hoping to see. Come on in and have a drink, if you’d like.”

  Helmut entered with a collection of stapled pages in one hand. He took off his jacket, revealing an armpit holster with a revolver jutting out. His broad chest and ample biceps crowded a button-down shirt.

  “No drink for me, sir. I have the report you asked for.”

  “Excellent. First, though, did you drop off the package for our friend?”

  Helmut pursed his lips, and his eyes shifted left and right. It was no secret Helmut had been uncomfortable handling child pornography, even if it had been faked printouts of websites. But, Thomas trusted him to be a professional about it.

  “Yes, sir. The roommate almost saw us, but we left it in the kitchen for Zach. As far as we can tell, he received it. He left the apartment ten minutes after entering, visibly distraught. He was holding a lighter in one hand.”

  “I’m sure he’s smart enough to know those aren’t the only copies, but it’s an expected reaction. And, if the roommate becomes a problem, we’ll take care of that, too. Do you have the manpower to put someone on him?”

  Helmut tilted his head left and right as his eyes flicked up. “On the roommate? I think so. We can make do, at least some of the time.”

  “Excellent.” Thomas pointed at the stapled pages. “Give me the highlights.”

  Helmut leaned over to set the pages on the desk. “The woman Zach went hiking with in Boulder is named Ember Clarke.”

  “Pretty,” Thomas said, holding up the report, which contained a printed picture of Ember, paper-clipped to the front. Tall, black-haired, pale-skinned, with striking blue eyes and a slender figure. In the photo, Ember was walking down Pearl Street in Boulder, phone up to her ear.

  “She has no known occupation, lives in a small condominium near the CU campus in Boulder, and is aged thirty or thirty-one.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Which one is it? Thirty or thirty-one?”

  “We don’t know yet, sir. It’s incredibly difficult to find information about her. No social media presence. No rental or home purchase history before her current residence. We’ve been unable to find her social security number.”

  Thomas flipped through pages of mostly useless information on her. “Interesting. Probably not her real name.”

  "That was our conclusion, as well."

  “Do you think she could be a fed?”

  Helmut blew out a sigh. "I considered that but was not able to find any information to prove it, or even suggest as much. Her blank past could also be from a bad marriage, or to escape a former criminal organization."

  “Witness protection?”

  Helmut shook his head. “That’s not likely. My contacts at the Marshals had never heard of her.”

  “Quite a puzzle,” Thomas said as he skipped back to the front page and studied her picture. Curvy-waisted, but not much going on up top in the breast department. He held up the pages and used them to gesture toward Helmut. “I hope this isn’t the best you can do.”

  “Of course not, sir. We will keep looking.”

  “What’s your take on her?”

  “I don’t like having so many unanswered questions.”

  Thomas again skimmed through the pages on his desk as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t, either. But there’s one thing that’s pretty clear about our mystery woman.”

  “Sir?”

  Stapled to the last page was a picture of Zach and Ember on a hiking trail, kissing. “That she’s a threat. She’s going to be a roadblock in our mission here to persuade Zach Bennett to move to California and work for Firedrake full time. That alone makes her a high priority.”

  “How do you want me to proceed?”

  "Right this minute? Don't do anything. You keep eyes on her, and I'll think about it for a day or two. If I feel like she's going to be too much of a problem, she'll have to go."

  Thomas handed the pages back to Helmut, who folded them and slipped them into his back pocket. “Of course, sir. Just say the word.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  EMBER

  Ember knew she had to move. Her eyes were too bleary to see, but she could hear the stomping of government-issued boots. Her chest burned, and she couldn't take in a full breath. Her lungs wouldn't expand all the way. Being exposed to Lydia's poison for only two or three seconds had damaged her body.

  Ember had to hope it wasn’t permanent, but she also couldn’t worry about it right now.

  Right now, if she didn’t move, her long-term lung capacity prospects wouldn’t matter much. She flashed one last look into the windows of the teachers’ lounge. Lydia was dead on the floor, with the poison now dissipated enough for Ember to see. Lydia’s bloated body rested face up, her skin purple.

  She’d said there was a bomb at her house. That it would detonate soon. But how soon, Ember didn’t know, and there was no one to ask. Was Lydia telling the truth, or was this a final attempt to trap Ember, and she would instead find a half dozen lackeys with guns hiding in that house?

  Ember couldn’t take the chance. She pointed her feet away from the incoming traffic and ran. The slightest exertion made her lightheaded, but she had to ignore it. One foot in front of the other, drawing shallow breaths so she wouldn’t explode into a coughing fit.

  She’d dashed a few feet down the hall when the first bullet whizzed over her shoulder. The men behind her were shouting, but their words were lost in a garble of noise.

  The door at the end of the hall was chained shut, like the outside of the gym.

  Ember tapped the Bluetooth to wake it. “Hey,” she said, her voice wheezing and the word making her throat feel like gravel.

  “You’re still alive,” Gabe said. “I was sure you were dead in there.”

  “Nope. Coming out. Be ready.”

  She ducked right, into the next classroom—a lab room. There were beakers and Bunsen burners still sitting out on desks bolted to the floor. Once again, all the windows in this room were intact, not a victim to the vandals and bored teenagers who had broken out so many of the school’s other windows.

  She reached out for a big glass thing—faintly recalling the name "graduated cylinder" from school—and hurled it across the room. It collided with the window and poked a hole big enough for her to jump through, but the jagged edges around it would cut her to pieces—no time to turn around to check. The feet were still moving, which meant she had another second or two before they caught up with her.

  Ember grabbed a textbook sitting on a nearby desk and held it out like a cudgel. She smashed at the remaining glass shards of the window. She'd done the same thing coming in but didn't have the luxury of time now.

  Teeth gritted, reddened eyes wide, she swatted at the triangular hunks of glass to knock them out of her path.

  After clearing the last jagged shard, a voice behind her shouted for her to stop. No more time. They had caught up to her.

  Ember dropped the textbook onto the floor. She heard the rustle of body armor and boots but didn’t turn around.

  Time to go, ready or not. Either that or have a shootout with a bunch of DEA agents.

  Ember launched herself out the window, aiming for the ledge immediately outside it. Her thumbs hit the ledge first, and she clamped down with the rest of her fingers. The idea was for her grip to break her movement and not fall face-first two stories down.

  She grasped the cold concrete ledge with two hands, holding on for dear life as her body’s inertia continued in a semi-circular arc through the air. Her legs smacked against the brick below her. Her arms were above, bent back at a weird angle, the rest of her body dangling free. Her fingers pulsed with the strain and demanded she stop making them support her.

  Ember let go and plummeted ten or fifteen feet toward the ground. At the last second, she told herself to bend her knees, and she rolled forward. A bush broke her initial fall. She felt her head, neck, shoulders, and hips connect with the co
ld ground, but didn't feel or hear anything snap.

  A dozen scratches to her face and hands, but no broken bones.

  She jumped up and leapfrogged over a bike rack as she turned toward the hill, where she could see Gabe waiting for her, clutching the drone in one hand. He was holding his laptop and the car keys in the other, his body poised to run back down the other side of the hill toward their parked car.

  She waved to get his attention, and then pushed herself with everything she had left to make it before the DEA could catch up with her.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  EMBER

  Ember raced around the corner in Lydia's neighborhood. She did not see a column of smoke rising from the house. No fire lighting up the night sky in this quiet collection of identical houses and lawns. A good sign. But, there was still no way to know when the bomb would go off—maybe seconds from now.

  “What kind of bomb is it?” Gabe asked.

  “No idea. The exploding kind.”

  “Okay,” he said, his foot bouncing up and down. “I can figure this out. I need to get my hands on it and look it over. If there’s a timer, that helps. No timer, then I have no idea. Could it be a remote detonator?”

  “I don’t think so. Most anyone Lydia knows capable of pushing a button on a cell phone right now is dead or incapacitated.”

  Still, Ember wasn’t positive about that. She held her tongue as she parked in front of the house and threw open the car door before she’d come to a full stop. She and Gabe raced out and thundered up the front steps, breathless and haggard.

  Ember banged on the door. For five seconds, nothing happened. She banged again. Bile rose up in her throat, still burning from Lydia's canister attack. Her head pounded, and every sound was like a hammer smack to the brain.