Kill Shot

by Sheri Landry

  There’s no getting out of this now. Without a weakness to exploit, it could have been a matter of time before this killer just gave up and left to regroup, trying for his mark at a better time. The blood trickling down my arm tells him this is the better time, especially since Jack hasn’t shown yet. I can only assume he’s been neutralized. I’m the last obstacle before his payday, and I’m a lame duck.

  The decision to send Dana running outside weighs on me. As soon as she steps out the door, she is in the open, and I can’t protect her.

  He lunges fast for me, pushing both of us back toward the wall, and I take a quick glance to see where the knife fell so I can keep him away from it when I feel an intense pain in my thigh.

  He had a second knife. Judging by the hilt, it’s a small hunting knife, easy to hide, and the pain sears through me as he pulls it out. I grab his wrist, banging his hand hard against my knee, the pain shooting all over with every movement.

  “GET OUT!” I scream, directly at the assailant, hoping he won’t realize I’m trying to get through to Dana, and the ghost of a smile spreads across his lips as he realizes he’s closer to getting paid.

  I know when I’m at a disadvantage, and this is it. I’m wounded from last night, and I have a second wound now.

  Lining me up against the wall, he digs his finger into my bad arm, searching for the wound under my shirt. I clench my jaw, trying to block out the pain as I grab for his face, hoping to take out an eye.

  Pain cripples my efforts as he digs in deep, pushing the wound further open, and I drop to my knees, groaning. I hope she had enough time to make it out.

  The scraping of something heavy grows louder along the floor. Forcing my attention upward, his shadow blocks out the light from the window as he lifts a chair above his head.

  16

  Dana

  “GET OUT!” I jump at Michael’s order, barely holding onto the gun. My hands are clammy around the butt end of it. I don’t even know what you call the butt end of it. I’ve never fired one in my life.

  I have a gun of my own in the freezer. I bought it and stored it there after I bought the place. I didn’t even load it.

  Michael is telling me to leave, and I don’t waste any time turning toward the door. Everything in me wants to stay and help him, but I haven’t listened to him yet and look where it’s gotten us.

  The latch to the door is unlocked, and I hit it at full speed—except it only opens an inch. My forehead collides with the door as I drop the gun at my feet, the sounds of crashing still coming from the other room.

  Putting all my weight behind the door, I push hard, and it budges open another inch. The alley looks deserted, and I look down to what could be blocking my escape. A pile of clothing blocks the bottom quarter of the door.

  Wedging my eye into the small open space, it’s not just clothes. It’s dead weight, and I recognize the back of Jack’s head instantly. My fingers tingle as I hold back another scream.

  “J-Jack. Wake up.” I rattle the door against him, but there is no movement, and I dry heave at the thought he might be dead.

  I reach down and grab the gun as a loud thud from the other room ends the commotion. There is only one way out of here now. Taking a step toward the kitchen door, I freeze in place as it swings out slowly. My eyes lock with someone who is looking at me like I’m a side of beef at the supermarket and nothing more. His face is beaten, and blood coats his lip as he glances into the room, checking for anyone else.

  There’s no way Michael would let him in here. Pointing the gun, I squeeze the trigger like I see in the movies, but nothing happens. These things have safeties, don’t they?

  The image of him getting the gun away from me, taking the safety off, and killing me with it makes me ill, and I spin on my feet, jamming my body hard against the door again. I know I’m not getting out of here, but at least I won’t be holding my own murder weapon anymore. I push the gun through the little crack in the door. It clatters on the concrete somewhere near Jack’s body before the guy grabs me by my top, spinning me to face him.

  “You have some files I need.” His voice is deep, apathetic, and I glance around the room, not bothering to look up at the shelf above us. “You give them to me, and I’ll let you go.”

  There really is no honor among thieves. I know he’s lying.

  “Okay. Um, it’s there.” I point, then wait for him to release his hold on me. I walk slowly over to the counter beside the coffee maker.

  He groans behind me as he follows with a slight limp in his gait. I reach forward, pulling out the laptop we use to track the kids’ lunch money, and open it up so he can get a good look at it.

  Leaning over the computer, I watch as his eyes bounce around the desktop, his dirty fingers tapping away at the mousepad, and I slowly slide my hand up the side of the coffee maker while he’s distracted.

  “I guess this is it,” he mutters to himself, and my fingers touch the thing I’m searching for out of sight. “We’re leav—”

  As he lifts his head toward me, I bring the empty glass coffeepot down, shattering it across his face. He drops to the floor, his hands immediately going to his head, and I try to step around him, but he’s too fast.

  Reaching his arm out against the large table in the middle of the room, he blocks my way forward, and I turn to go the long way around our work area when he catches me, slamming my body against a wall.

  “Fucking bitch.” He spits blood into my face as he yells at me, and his hands move up from my shirt and circle my throat.

  Before his grip tightens, I lift my knee hard between his legs, and he buckles again as I stumble farther around the table.

  Another slam against a different wall. My breath leaves me and doesn’t return as quickly as I cry out.

  “It’s too bad I won’t get the bonus of my buyer seeing this, but I’m going to enjoy ending you.”

  His hands return to my neck, and he blocks my attempt at getting free. Panic consumes my limbs. Flailing my arms, I land on the container of sugar which is sitting on top of the—

  That’s it.

  Knocking over the plastic tub, I tear open the lid from the container below, grab a fistful of cinnamon, and rub it into his face, making sure to focus around his nose and eyes.

  “FU—” He tries to scream but starts choking on the cinnamon, and I inhale a bit of the spice as well. My eyes instantly burn, and I struggle to breathe. Stepping back from me, he releases his hold, and I crumple to the floor at his feet, coughing and sucking in air. The sound of his wheezing spurs me forward. He blinks rapidly, rubbing his eyes, and I stand to run again.

  The tip of my finger barely touches the swinging door, and I yell for help as his hand grips the shirt at the back of my neck, pulling me back and flinging me into the room. I roll over myself before I slam into the freezer door.

  He wastes no time jumping on me, lifting my weight up and over him, pushing me through the pots and pans hanging from a holder above and slamming me down hard on the table in the center of the room.

  My lungs don’t expand and I gasp, trying to open my airways as he pulls himself up. He climbs on top of the table and straddles his weight over my midsection, pinning one arm against my hip under his thighs.

  Sounds leave my ears as pressure builds in my lungs, and I uselessly kick my feet out as the fingers of my free hand move frantically, trying to find anything I can use to fight. My vision blurs with tears, and I slide my hand back before touching the handle of the kitchen knife I know all too well.

  Lifting it between us, I point it toward his chest. The strength to push it into him is leaving me, and I blink my eyes once, trying to center myself.

  My eyes settle on his face, red and twisted into an angry sneer as spittle drips from his bloodied lip. A loud crack echoes into the kitchen, and his rage transforms into nothingness before he falls forward on top of me and the room goes still.

  My lungs suddenly expand, greedily sucking in air, and I gasp, kicking my legs a co
uple of times, but he’s too heavy.

  I can’t move him off me.

  “Oh, dear. Are you all right, Kim?” My legs stop, and I go still at the sound of a motherly voice.

  I can’t see anything around the large man on top of me, and I have no idea how I’m going to explain my way out of this one as I imagine the mess out front.

  “Um, G-Gerri?” I call out from the mass I’m pinned under.

  “Just a minute. Let’s get this guy off you before he wakes up.” Gerri and Vi come into view as they push together. He lifts a little as I wedge my arms under him and help get him off the table.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna be waking up,” I mumble as the large knife I was holding between us leaves with him.

  A chill sinks into my bones, and I sit up straight, looking around at the kitchen. Glass is shattered all over the ground; supplies are everywhere, Gerri is still holding a frying pan, and there’s a knife sticking out of the gut of a stranger. I feel dizzy.

  “Gerri, what are you doing here?” I feel that odd giggling sensation again as I look between the three ladies standing around me before another question suddenly seems important: “Why is Betty holding a sawed-off shotgun?”

  “Vi, put on the tea. Kim, who’s the guy facedown in your cupcakes out there?” Gerri tilts her head toward the swinging door.

  “Oh, shit.” Jumping off the table, I call over my shoulder. “He’s with me. There’s one out back; he needs help.”

  Michael lies on his stomach with his limbs spread out and a chair lying across his back. I don’t bother to flip him over; I have no energy left for that. Instead, I check his pulse. He’s still got one. Good.

  My heart sinks as I remember Jack in the alley, unconscious, and I leave Michael for a moment to check on him. By the time I get into the kitchen, the ladies have managed to pull him away from the alley door, which is wide open, letting in a freedom I didn’t have a few minutes ago.

  Together they drag him into the room, and I kneel down, checking for his pulse as well. A deep sigh relaxes my body as the thump, thump, thump of his heart beats in his neck.

  “Gerri, what’s going on?” I focus on her, because she’s the one I see every day in my coffee shop, and all the women still. “Just, for now, leave them. No tea. Okay?”

  I’m not ready to wake Jack or Michael up. I have a chance, a window to escape without them, and I want the chance to talk to the ladies before either regains consciousness and drags me out of here. I also need to deal with Zane.

  Dragging out the step stool, I grab the box, toss the lid away, and palm the drive in my hand as the women watch me and the kettle whistles. I need to hide this in my backpack until I decide what my next step will be.

  “Gerri.”

  She nods at my warning tone. “Dale told us you were in trouble. Said your past was catching up to you.”

  My vision blurs. “He told you? All of you?” I point at the older women standing around me.

  “Oh, no, dear.” She smiles before clarifying, “He told all of us. The town. Well, most of us anyway. We had a meeting this morning, out at the barn.” She pats me on the arm like I’m the crazy one.

  “What?”

  “Well, you see, this”—she points at Michael and the mess around us—“is bad for business.”

  “What business are you talking about?”

  17

  Michael

  The bell over the door to the coffee shop jingles as I open my eyes and blink a couple of times. The faint taste of sugar covers my lips.

  Broken memories connect slowly as I move my arms, testing the bed below, but I’m not in a bed. Opening my eyes, I see my jacket is rolled up and placed neatly under my head.

  And the jingling doesn’t stop. Actually, it doesn’t sound like the bell above the door at all.

  My body screams at me to stay down, but I fight through the pain and sit myself up.

  “What the hell—” I wince as I touch the tender spot at the back of my head.

  I follow the soft melody of the bell to the table beside me as Dana sits, stirring a dainty teacup with a spoon.

  “Michael, we need to talk.” Her eyes look sad, and I’m about to try to get up when I notice the bruises around her neck.

  “You’re hurt. What happened?” Our situation from earlier hits me and I jump up, staggering a step to the left. “Jack.”

  Raising her hand, she catches my attention. “He’s okay. He’s in the kitchen. He was knocked out in the back alley. We were able to drag him inside. I want to talk to you before he comes to.”

  “We?” I look around the room at the destruction. There’s no one else in the shop with us.

  “Some of the ladies stopped by.” Her casual tone is making me uncomfortable. I’m the one who got hit over the head, but she’s talking like she’s lost pieces of her sanity. Her voice is detached. “Please.” She points at the only other chair at the table, and I sit, not because she asked me to. I’m still feeling a little dizzy.

  “Dana, listen. We’re getting Jack, and you’re coming with us.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t care—what?” I had my argument all ready to go.

  “I know. I’d like to leave as soon as Jack is awake.” I watch everything about her as she speaks. She meets my eyes, speaking clearly and without hesitation, and I don’t like it when she’s agreeable.

  “What’s changed?” I reach over, taking a sip of the tea she was stirring.

  “I can’t let anyone here get hurt, Michael. I need to get out of this town, but I need to lead the other two who are trying to kill me out of here as well. I need you to help me with that.”

  “Other two?” I repeat her words and she nods impatiently. “So this one is—“

  “Dead.” She takes a her tea back and sips it, her pinky slightly raised, her hand shaking.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You want me to use you as bait to lure the other two after you?”

  “I brought them here. I need to take them away.”

  Sitting in silence, I watch her. There are a number of questions on the tip of my tongue. “And so I ask again: what’s changed?”

  Biting her lip, she looks as though a big part of her wants to unburden herself.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” I push, and she sits quietly for a few seconds longer before nodding her head.

  “They’re hiding a grow op.”

  “Who is?”

  “Everyone. Most of the people in town.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “The little old ladies who just dropped by for tea earlier and helped me kill the hitman,” she answers matter-of-factly, her bottom lip trembling.

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I’m not making any sense?” Her brows arch high as she gestures incredulously to the room around us.

  Lifting the cup to her lips, the tremble in her hand is obvious, and I take a second to look around at what was once her quaint coffee shop.

  Desserts and cookies are everywhere, and shards of glass cover the floor.

  “I’m going to table this for now. I need to check on Jack, and we need to become a moving target, fast.” Glancing at my watch, I estimate I was out for damn near twenty minutes. I groan. We need to get in motion. None of us are ready for the next round, and there are still two open contracts. Dana cranes her neck to look around at a tipped table behind her, and again I catch the marks on her body. “Dana, you’re hurt.”

  Her fingers shoot up to her neck where my eyes burn into her. She gingerly touches the darkened lines around her throat as she sets her cup down with her other hand. It rattles against its saucer.

  “I’m—” Before I get a response from her, a loud bang, like pots clanging against the floor, echoes out of the kitchen, followed by Jack yelling expletives.

  I rise quickly. Keeping an eye on her, I move to the kitchen to swing open the door.

  I mean to open it a bit, to make sur
e he’s okay, but as I follow the trail of destruction into the room, I can’t help but push the door wide and walk in.

  There in the middle of the floor lies the guy I fought earlier, with what looks like a long-bladed butcher knife sticking out of his chest.

  “You do that?” Pointing at the body, Jack is winded, a little weak on his legs as he gathers his bearings, bracing himself against the large table in the middle of the room with one hand.

  I shake my head. “Dana.”

  We share a look of shock and admiration before taking a second look at the guy on the ground.

  “Well, shit.” Jack brushes the front of his pants and straightens his jacket.

  He takes a step closer to the body and pulls out a phone, snapping a picture for identification. I join him, stepping over the mess on the floor. I wait for Jack to search our attacker’s pockets, looking for something to go on, then hook my arms under the corpse, sliding him across the floor as Jack simply shakes his head and opens the door to the freezer.

  What’s one more body, right?

  After dropping his literal dead weight to the floor, I straighten, my breath escaping in little cloudy gusts.

  “We’re leaving.” I take the lead, and Jack nods, following me out of the kitchen to Dana, who is already standing and clutching her backpack. I don’t have time to fill him in on the town’s dirty little secret. “We’ll talk on the road.”

  “Wait. I have a question.” Jack stills at my side as Dana captures our attention. “The man in there.” She points past us, toward the freezer. “He said something about losing a bonus for his buyer not seeing me. Do you know what that’s about?”

  Jack shakes his head and shrugs, taking a step away from the conversation, but I stop him with my answer.

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Grizz.” Coming to a halt, he turns his attention to me, warning me not to continue, but things have changed.

  “No, Phoenix. She trusted us with some information, and she needs to know this.” Dana watches me with wide eyes as I tell her about the bonus on the contract. Biting her bottom lip, she tugs at her bag, holding it tighter as I tell her how Maxwell might be closer than we think.