Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

"In other words, this wasn't a random mugging."

Jack gave me a look.

"I know. The chances of that were slim to none. I was being optimistic."

"Yeah. Wish it was. Could just let him go." He hefted his gun and checked to make sure I had mine out. "Ready?"

I nodded.

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.