Page 36 of Not This Soon

And then he turned and fled.

The assassin's feet hit the linoleum floor with purposeful strides. Ignoring the nurse's warning, he moved towards the exit, his pace steady and unhurried. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across his angular features, accentuating the cold determination in his eyes.

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Hospital security. Their radios crackled with static, urgent voices demanding updates on the situation.

The assassin's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His bandaged arm throbbed with a dull ache, a reminder of the violence he had already endured. But he couldn't stop now. Not when there was still work to be done.

He quickened his pace, his strides lengthening as he neared the exit. The security guards were closing in, their shouts becoming more insistent. "Stop right there! Don't move!"

But the assassin was already in motion. He burst through the doors, the cool night air hitting his face like a slap. He broke into a sprint, his feet pounding against the pavement as he raced across the parking lot.

Behind him, the security guards emerged from the hospital, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. They gave chase, their heavy boots thudding against the ground.

The assassin's lungs burned with the effort, his muscles screaming in protest. But he pushed on, weaving between parked cars and leaping over concrete barriers. He could hear the guards falling behind, their pursuit growing more distant with each passing moment.

Finally, he reached the edge of the parking lot, his escape within reach. With a final burst of speed, he vaulted over a low wall and disappeared into the night, leaving the hospital and its chaos behind.

He had a mission to complete, a promise to keep. And nothing, not even the full force of the law, would stand in his way.

CHAPTER TEN

Rachel squinted against the glare of the setting sun reflecting off the yacht's polished hull. Ethan stood beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, his brow furrowed in thought.

The scent of the bay wafted in with the cool evening breeze, a salty reminder of the city's close relationship with the sea. Rachel stood atop a hill overlooking the bay, binoculars pressed against her eyes. The sky was a canvas of brilliant hues - orange, pink and purple - as day gave way to night. Below, the city shimmered with a million lights reflecting off the calm waters. Yachts, sailboats, and cruise liners dotted the harbor like stars in an oceanic galaxy.

They’d tracked Robert Morris to this harbor. His company was sponsoring a night-time Yacht cruise around the Texas coastline. A lavish event meant to wine and dine potential business partners and wealthy investors.

Rachel watched as Morris, a tall, silver-haired man in a crisp white suit, mingled with his guests on the yacht's deck. He seemed relaxed, charming even, as he laughed at something one of his guests had said. But Rachel knew better than to be fooled by outward appearances.

Beside her, Ethan's phone vibrated on the hood of the patrol car. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. "It's from forensics," he announced, turning the phone so Rachel could see the message. "They've confirmed it was a rattlesnake bite. And the venom matches that of a Western Diamondback."

Rachel didn't need to ask further. She knew big game and also the slithering types. The Western Diamondback was a common species in Texas – its potent venom fatal if untreated.

“Do we have anything placing Morris near the scene?" Rachel asked, already knowing the answer.

Ethan shook his head, scrolling through the messages on his phone. "Nothing so far," he admitted, a note of frustration in his voice. “But you saw him in the interrogation. He hated his daughter.”

Rachel didn’t disagree.

As they watched, the tall man with the navy background stood near the railing of his private yacht, peering out at the harbor. His posture was ramrod straight, his hair cropped close to his scalp. He moved with a purposeful stride, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of his surroundings.

Rachel nudged Ethan, her voice tight with anticipation. "Doesn’t look too sad over his daughter’s recent death."

Ethan frowned, studying the man more closely. "How can you be sure?"

"Call it instinct," Rachel replied, her gaze locked on the newcomer. "He's too neat, too precise. Nothing is bothering him.”

Robert Morris exchanged a few words with the crew member at the gangway before disappearing back onto the deck, mingling with the small crowd. The other guests on the yacht were dressed to the nines, their designer clothes and jewelry catching the glint of the setting sun. A live band played a soft melody, its notes carried away by the wind.

“So… what do you make of the pendant left at the scene, then?” Ethan said quietly.

"I'm not sure the cartel is our answer," she said, her words measured. "We need to dig deeper into Morris' business connections. His partner, Grant, was in organized crime. So maybe Morris is associated with a cartel."

“And you think he hired someone to kill his daughter?”

“Someone unhinged. To murder someone by rattlesnake then sniper bullet? There’s more than one loose screw upstairs.”

Ethan nodded, his eyes still fixed on the yacht. "You still think Grant's involved, even after that polygraph?"

---