Nathan rode the elevator down with Macklin, Sheila, and me, phoning in his lunch order to a nearby deli as we descended. The four of us walked across the lobby, out the revolving door, and onto the sidewalk in front of the building. While the sidewalks were normally teeming during lunch hour, the crowd was much smaller today. Thanks to the rain showers, many of those who might normally venture out for lunch had decided to order delivery or had packed a lunch.
We snapped our umbrellas open, huddling under them.
Sheila pointed first at Nathan, then at Macklin. “Either of you hear from the Hildebrands,” she said, “give me a call immediately.”
A loud noise met our ears, a pop like a firecracker exploding. But when a hole appeared in Sheila’s black umbrella and a projectile lodged itself in the potted ornamental tree behind us, we knew in an instant what the noise was.
Gunfire.
Sheila sent her umbrella reflexively into the air, bolted sideways, and shoved the bar of the revolving door to rush back inside. The bullets pinging against the metal frame and penetrating the glass behind her discouraged the rest of us from taking that route.
Macklin flung his umbrella aside and took off running, holding his briefcase over his head for protection. Not a wise move. Two layers of leather and a legal pad were no match for a bullet. But the guy was in a panic. Hard to think logically under these types of conditions. Luckily for him, the shooter didn’t seem interested in taking him out. He would’ve been a fairly easy target.
The other pedestrians scattered in all directions, running down the walk or rushing into buildings and doorways to take cover. Those in their cars were initially unaware of the shower of bullets raining down on the sidewalk and continued to drive up the street. But soon the fleeing pedestrians caught their attention. They realized something was up and that this might be a good time to get the hell out of Dodge. Tires squealed as they floored their gas pedals, their horns honking as they ran the red traffic light.
In a split second, my subconscious took in the data and computed the trajectory of the bullets. They were coming from above, from the other side of the street. Fortunately, the Hildebrands appeared to be lousy shots. Unfortunately, given enough ammunition, even a lousy shot would eventually hit its target. Given the number of bullets whizzing past me, the Hildebrands seemed to have no shortage of ammo.
I scanned my surroundings for something—anything!—that might provide cover. A blue mailbox was the only thing in sight.
I shoved Nathan with all my might in the direction of the box. “Get down!”
He launched himself at the mailbox. The impact of his body hitting the box gave off a kerklunk as the aluminum bowed inward, then snapped back into place. Nathan crouched and spun around, sitting on the ground with his knees curled up to his chest, his face bent forward, his arms bent protectively over his head. He’d assumed the crash position suggested by flight attendants, but I supposed the position would serve him well in this situation, too.
I joined him behind the box, yanking my gun from my rhinestone-studded holster. A bullet pinged off the side of the mailbox, and Nathan shrieked. He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me over him, hunkering under my body to use me as a human shield, burying his face between my breasts just as he’d done on our “amazing night.” At least this time he didn’t do that stupid motorboat thing. As if that would turn a woman on.
I looked down at his face, framed by my boobs. “Been here, done this.”
“Protect me!” he screamed up at me. “You’re a federal agent! It’s your job!”
This guy wanted me to risk my life for him when he hadn’t even had the courtesy to give me an orgasm? Sheez. Still, if I could help it, I didn’t want anyone, man whore or otherwise, to get shot under my watch. I had a perfect record to uphold.
I peeked around the corner of the mailbox, scanning the area, my eyes moving up to the balcony of the Fairmont Hotel, where Alicia and I had dined earlier in the week. Two identical figures wearing two identical dark raincoats stood there in two identical wide stances. Two identical guns flashed in unison as two identical bullets pierced the back side of the mailbox.
The Hildebrand brothers.
I thought they’d seemed like a couple of cocky, immature assholes. Looked like I’d been right. I’d just been wrong to assume they were too geeky to be violent.
I jerked my head back lest a bullet pierce my gray matter. My cell phone went off in my pocket, playing Michael Jackson’s “Workin’ Day and Night,” my special ringtone for Lu. Appropriate, given the workload my boss saddled me with, huh? I answered the call, punching the speakerphone button and placing the phone on Nathan’s quivering back so that I could keep two hands on my gun.
“Hi, Lu.”
Her voice came through the speaker. “I hear there’s someone shooting downtown.”
News travels fast in these days of texts and Twitter.
“It’s not you, is it?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“You’re killing me, Tara.”
Seriously? I was the one being shot at by a couple of creepy clones, but I was the one killing her?
Two more bullets hit the mailbox.
Time for action. They didn’t call me the Annie Oakley of the IRS for nothing.
I peeked around the corner of the mailbox, raised my gun, and sighted, firing off two rounds in quick succession, putting a bullet in the left thigh of one of the Hildebrands and the right thigh of the other.
The twins were identical no more. Good. The prison wardens would be able to tell them apart.
The brothers screeched a string of curse words and limped away from the railing. I couldn’t see them anymore.
“Sorry, Lu,” I said, picking up my phone and putting it to my ear. “But those last two shots were mine.”
“I told you not to shoot anybody!”
“You only told me to try not to. Besides, you should know by now it does no good.” Really. When would the woman learn?
My phone bleeped as a text came in. I pulled the phone away from my ear to check the message. It was from Brett.
Shooting downtown. Plz tell me its not u.
Another text came in, this one from Alicia.
Bldg on lockdown. R U OK?
A final text from Nick.
When ur done shooting, bring me that chili I asked 4.
By that time, Dallas PD had arrived and blockaded the intersections with cruisers to keep traffic off the street. Officers crouched behind their vehicles, guns at the ready.
I returned the phone to my ear. “Look,” I told Lu. “I gotta go. I’ll see you back at the office in a bit.” Unless, of course, the Hildebrands resumed firing on me. Then I might be seeing her at my funeral. That would be a bummer. I didn’t want to die with Nathan’s face mashed against my breasts. Actually, I didn’t want to die period.
The cops were too far away for me to yell to them, so I dialed 911 on my cell phone and gave the dispatcher the facts, keeping an eye on the terrace all the while. The dispatcher kept me on the line while she relayed the information to the officers on the street.
An alarm sounded at the hotel. The operator returned to the line a minute later to tell me the Hildebrand brothers had been spotted fleeing through an emergency exit at the back of the hotel and were quickly apprehended by officers in the alley.
The jig was up. And I still had most of my clip left. All in all, not a bad day.
I exhaled a long breath and rocked back on my heels until I, too, was sitting on the sidewalk.
Nathan looked at me and I looked back at him.
“Tara,” he said, his voice breaking, “I…I’m really sorry. For everything.”
I suppose if he could be big enough to apologize, I could, too. “I’m sorry your chair got broken.” Okay, so that was as big as I could be. I wasn’t actually sorry for any of the other stuff I’d done, and my mother didn’t raise any liars.
I stood and reached down to offer him a hand.
He looked up at me, his face contorted in embarrassment. “I’m afraid I wet myself.”
Yep, not a bad day at all.