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Five minutes of waiting in the frigid balcony, and the hooded shooter was ready to curse aloud.
The chef—or former detective who faked his death and thought they’d never find him—would walk out any minute now. He’d trailed a lead to Mexico, but the guy there hadn’t been the one. He’d been a decoy. Still, he was going to make the creep pay for killing their boss.
So, he dug deeper and found the real place he was hiding out.
Living in Topeka, Kansas, was clever. But a man like that was a primary target for the gang.
No one killed Boss Wayne and walked free.
No one.
If he took this guy out, he’d get his street credits back and no longer be the guard who failed their boss at the last minute and led to his death. His wedding day had been the same day Boss Wayne was killed—and he’d lost Shayna, his love. That was a day he would never forget. But he could reset the clock now.
He could even be at the top and set up the drug runs again.
He could strengthen the gang.
Be the new boss.
Call the shots.
And line his pockets in the process.
His plan would work. If he killed this cop who sold them out.
Determined, and taking aim across the street at Oven Fresh Bakery’s exit through which he’d observed a man leave, he trained his weapon on the wooden back door above where melting snow darkened its base.
Soon, a man emerged—dark-brown skin, a hat obscuring his face, and a white coat hanging off his arm—with a similar appearance to the description he’d taken.
He showed up just in time. “Say goodbye.” Drawing in a breath, he squeezed the trigger, careful not to jerk and lose aim. The silencer muffled the sound as a bullet pierced the man’s chest and his body hit the ground.
While pandemonium struck the surrounding area, he packed up. Then stilled when passersby tore the man’s coat away from his arm to help him. A long scar shone dull white on his arm—a scar definitely not in his description. His face was round too, not oval like the cop’s.
A curse word flew out of his mouth.
But the guys he’d paid promised this information was legitimate.
This was the wrong guy.
He’d just killed an innocent man.
Another curse trailed the realization that his job wasn’t done and firmed determination in him to find the elusive detective—alive or dead.
Leaving through the lone exit and sprinting down the stairs, he donned a hat upon reaching the exit and walked away in the opposite direction.
Time to nail this guy.
***