Cellar Door

I prop my booted foot against the elevator door to prevent it from closing and check the hallway. The lights have been dimmed. A soft glow filters through the offices. The floor is quiet. Farther down, Milton is sprawled on the tile floor. Blood blooms around his head in a thick pool. I clear both hallways on either side of the elevator before I step out.

A flashback of my last case threatens to emerge, the sight and stillness rushing my conscious mind—but I tamp it down. Not now. I’m too close.

Once I’m sure there’s no immediate danger, I kneel next to Myer and check for a pulse. Nothing. Gunshot to the forehead. A professional shooter. People have survived a bullet to the head before, but Milton Myer isn’t one of the lucky few.

His unseeing, cataract eyes stare up at me.

Where did the second bullet go?

I glance at the bank of elevators. There are three sets of doors. A light flashes above the middle door overhead—someone’s coming up. Chances are, it’s the police. I shove my weapon into the holster of my chest harness and make for the emergency stairwell.

I hustle through the door just as the ding sounds.

I breathe heavily through my nose, centering myself, as I travel down the stairs. I’m not evading the police, I tell myself. I just can’t let the shooter escape.

I slow my steps as I reach the ground level. This is the only way he could’ve come. He wouldn’t chance getting stuck in an elevator, or going to the roof. Easing the door open, I scan the parking garage. Two uniforms are investigating the dead security officer.

Muttering a curse, I slide through the narrow crack of the open door. I decide to go the opposite way. One, because it’s going to be damn difficult to slip past cops. And two, the shooter would probably do the same. He wouldn’t double back where he left a dead man.

Think like the perpetrator. That’s what Hudson always said.

There’s only one way in, so there’s only one way out. I maneuver past parked vehicles toward the back of the garage. All activity is at the front of the building. I keep to the third row, slinking as low as I can…before I stop.

I make out the silhouette of a man in a black sedan two cars over.

Even if he wasn’t expecting the cops to show so soon, he’d want a clear escape. He’s an expert shot but not meticulous enough to devise an exit strategy? It’s hard to profile a perp with having only witnessed one murder, but everything about this scenario feels off in my bones.

The sedan’s taillights glow red.

Shit. He’s making a run for it.

I act fast; I have to take the risk. After nearly six months, he’s my only lead. Hunched down low, which isn’t too difficult at 5’1”, I maneuver between cars, coming up on his just as he pulls forward and cuts his wheel sharply to the left.

I roll under the car and pop a GPS tracker on the undercarriage.

Got you.

I flatten my body to the ground as the car pulls away, leaving me behind.

I’m only given a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before the shooting begins.

3

Strike Twice

Makenna

The first shot is fired in warning. The bullet is fired from the black sedan, the reverberating echo deafening in the concrete parking garage. My ears ring with the muted quality that blocks out all other sound, but I pick up the muffled crossfire as my senses adjust. The two uniforms at the security gatehouse are retaliating.

I collect myself and hunker near the back tire of an SUV and cover my head. A moment of reprieve, where the shots stop, and I peek around the bumper.

I catch a glimpse of the sedan as it speeds past security and crashes through the gate. The windows on the car are intact. The indention of bullets blanket the side of the vehicle, but there are no holes. The car is bulletproof.

A hired hitman. This is a logical leap. The thought spurs me out of my hiding spot, and I grip my weapon as I make for the other side of the garage. I note the two cops; they’re alive and calling in the shootout. With how accurate the shooter’s aim was before, I have to believe he left them alive on purpose. While the cops are distracted, I rush through the exit door that leads to the side of the building.

I’ll never catch up with the sedan on foot.

I need to look into his eyes.