Page 18 of Taking Care of the Target

“I love this time of year,” she said, changing her stride to step on a couple of crunchy leaves on the sidewalk. With the sun down, the temperature hovered in the mid-forties. Not cool enough for him to have bothered with a coat, which was why he’d also left his gun in the Jeep.

He cast a quick glance back, telling himself he wouldn’t need his weapon. The streets were quiet, hardly anyone was out, and this was a nicer neighborhood. People would notice punks trying to break into his car and report it instead of turning a blind eye as they scurried past.

Okay, focus. Normal people conversation. The kind that makes it seem like I don’t already know her.“Is that why you walk to and from work? Or do you not have a car?” Maybe she’d sold the hunk of junk.

“Oh, I have one, and it’s one of those unforgettable type cars. It’s old and ugly and growls like a cat in heat, but it’s reliable.”

Vince chuckled. “And how exactly does a cat in heat growl?”

“That’s what you’re going to ask in your remaining four minutes?”

“If you demonstrate it’ll be worth it.”

She shook her head, two spots of pink rising to her cheeks. With how easy her emotions were to read, it was a wonder he ever considered she’d only been acting clueless about who he was. “I got the saying from my dad,” she said. “Now that I think about it, it’s…a bit disturbing.”

Vince slowed his steps, his hand stilling on her back. From one of their late-night conversations at the restaurant, he knew her dad had passed away from cancer. She hadn’t gone into details, but he could tell from the combination of warmth and sadness in her voice they’d been close. Surely she remembered he’d passed away? Or had they had to tell her that in the hospital and have it crush her all over again?

“Sounds like an interesting guy,” he said, hoping it’d be comforting instead of like pouring lemon juice on a raw wound.

“He was. He’s…He died two years ago—or four, I mean.” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and confusion flickered across her features for a moment. Then she shook her head and it seemed to be gone.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know people always say that or act like they know how you feel, but I lost my dad, too. The emptiness never quite goes away, but it gets a little easier to deal with over time.” That was what he’d almost told her that night at Rossi’s, but he’d clamped it down. He didn’t know why it was suddenly easier to tell her now.

“Yeah. And some days that empty spot is more glaring than others, and you feel like you’re starting over.” Their gazes met and locked. “I’m sorry, too. About your dad.”

He took her hand, and she slid her fingers between his. The same warmth he’d experienced earlier came back, only twice as strong. Guilt over everything he was leaving out quickly rose up and diluted it with its cold edge, but he told himself he didn’t have a choice. Telling her they’d met before would only put her in more danger.

“So, I…” Vince forgot the rest of his sentence as a car crawled to a near stop next to them—a car that clearly didn’t belong in this neighborhood. Alarms rang out in his head, and his muscles coiled. One of the tinted windows rolled down a couple of inches, and the streetlight glinted on the barrel that stuck out.

He yanked Cassie to him and dove to the ground, right as a spray of bullets erupted. Another gun joined the first. Uzis, fully automatic. Keeping Cassie under him, he dragged them behind the closest tire of the car at the curb and tucked into a tight ball, throwing his arms over his head like that’d stop a bullet. The car windows shattered, the glass raining over them as bits of plaster from the building pelted their other side. He hoped for standard thirty-two round magazines instead of forty or fifty.

An eternity passed as he tried to make himself and Cassie smaller. Prayed for the car to offer them enough coverage. Waited for a bullet to tear into flesh or to feel Cassie jerk underneath him before she stopped breathing completely.

The ripping buzz-saw noise finally cut off, but the ringing in his ears remained. Tires squealed as the car sped off, red brake lights flashing as the driver made a sharp left.

For a moment Vince simply breathed in and out, checking to see if he still could. Then he realized Cassie hadn’t moved, and his lungs turned to lead. “Cassie? Are you hurt?”

He propped himself up on his palms, gritting his teeth against the broken glass and bits of plaster that dug into his skin. She slowly rolled to her back, and he studied her face—clear. Chest and abdomen…He wasn’t sure. “Cassie!”

“I…” She patted herself down, starting with the spot over her heart and moving slowly down to her stomach. Then she lifted her arms, turning them over several times as she ran her gaze across them. “I’m okay. I think.”

Vince sat back on his heels and stared at the intersection where the car had turned. Even though he knew he couldn’t catch them on foot, he wanted to run after them, pull his gun—which he didn’t fucking have—and make sure they didn’t come back for round two. The important thing now was to get going—he didn’t want to be here, unarmed and helpless, if they circled back around.

But someone was going to die for this.

He glanced back down at Cassie. “We need to move.”

Chapter Eleven

Cassie sat up, her limbs protesting the movement. Her stinging knees sported ugly scrapes, the blood pooling into large droplets and then running in crimson streams down her shins.

“I tried to talk my boss into slacks.” It was such a stupid thing to think of right now, but her brain could hardly process the fact that they’d just been shot at.

But then she looked at the car that’d protected them. So, so many holes—like metal Swiss cheese. Pock marks marred the side of the building on her other side, and…

Oxygen stopped going to her lungs, her hands trembled, and her nerves launched into riot mode.

Oh my gosh, we almost died. I can’t believe we’renotdead. If it wasn’t for Vince…She placed her hands on his chest. “Are you okay? Did any hit you?”

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