Jack laughed and broke the kiss. “Let me get—”
A light flickered, somewhere in the trees. We both saw it. And we both heard the click that followed.
“Down!” Jack said, grabbing me by the shoulders.
He pushed me down before I could get there myself. He dropped, too, covering me in a half crouch, his gun already out.
When we heard that click, I’m sure we both thought the same thing: gun. There was no accompanying shot, though. The park had gone silent. Jack stayed over me, scanning the trees. Then it came, the faint crackle of a dead leaf underfoot. Jack trained his weapon in that direction. We could see nothing except black trees against the night. Standing, we’d caught light from the path. Down here, it was completely dark.
When I started to move, Jack stopped me, hand on my shoulder.
“Gun,” I whispered. “In my bag.”
He paused, as if just realizing there’d been no way for me to conceal a gun under my dress. Hell, I think a tube of lipstick would have been noticeable.
“Got it,” he whispered. “Stay.”
He passed me his gun. I bit my lip to keep from arguing. I did, however, grab his jacket, which was lying beside me, and hand it to him, to put over his white shirt. He tugged it on and crept hunched over to where I’d let my purse fall.
I covered Jack as I continued scanning the landscape, still seeing nothing. The leaf crackle had come about twenty degrees away from the light flash and the click. If it was the same person, he was on the move. I listened for footsteps, but the ground here was too soft. I glanced at Jack. He was trying to find my purse—black against the dark ground.
Another crackle. A shape moved from behind the trees, less than fifteen feet away. An arm swung up. I caught the faintest glint of the lamplight against metal.
“Jack!” I said.
I fired. I had no idea if I’d seen a gun. It didn’t matter. I saw that arm raise. I saw a glint of something in a hand—twenty feet from Jack, pointing right at him, and I didn’t care if it was an assassin with a gun or a kid with a knife. I just didn’t.
Jack hit the ground as soon as I said his name. Two shots, mine a split second before the other. A soft grunt, my bullet hitting flesh. Then, almost in echo, a crack as the other bullet struck a tree.
Jack’s would-be attacker swung on me, gun going up. I saw a flash of a pale face under a dark hood. I fired again. My bullet hit him square in the chest. He stumbled back, grunting again.
A grunt and a stumble. Not the proper reaction to getting a bullet in the chest. The gunman was wearing a bulletproof vest.
Jack lunged at him as I shot a third time, aiming for his head, but he saw Jack coming and veered out of the way. He swung his gun around to shoot. I fired and hit him in the shoulder. There was a different sound now, a gasping hiss of pain. The man fired two rounds in quick succession. Jack hit the ground. The man took off running.
I started after him, but Jack leapt to his feet and caught the back of my dress.
“Hold up,” he said.
“But—”
“Let him run. Lots of room here. Got time.”
I nodded and scanned the ground. I caught sight of the chrome clasp on my purse and picked it up. I noticed something else, too—my panties. I grabbed them. Then I gave Jack back his gun after he finished buttoning his shirt.
“The guy’s wearing a vest,” I said.
“Yeah. Figured.”
“In other words, this wasn’t a random mugging.”
Jack gave me a look.
“I know. The chances of that were slim to none. I was being optimistic.”
“Yeah. Wish it was. Could just let him go.” He hefted his gun and checked to make sure I had mine out. “Ready?”
I nodded.
CHAPTER 36
Our attacker may have been quiet when he ambushed us, but he wasn’t nearly as silent as he made his escape. Like the pro Roland sent to kill me at the lodge, clearly this guy had expected an easy mark. It probably even seemed as if he had one, when we strolled off from a romantic dinner to take an equally romantic walk through an empty park followed by a much more strenuous—and distracting—form of romantic activity.
Even when we hit the ground, he probably only thought we’d moved into a more gravity-friendly position. God only knows what he figured Jack was doing, fumbling around on the ground.
And when that bullet hit him? Well, I wouldn’t blame the guy if his shorts weren’t entirely dry after that shock. He’d recovered nicely, his hitman instincts kicking in. But now another instinct had taken over—the one that told him to get the hell out of that park before we put more bullets in his ass.
Jack was right to stop me from tearing after our attacker. When we didn’t follow, he slowed down. I could imagine what he was thinking. Despite what he’d been told, the woman obviously realized she was a target and had armed herself. He wasn’t unprepared for this, having worn the vest. Yet right now we’d be doing what any normal couple would do after a gunfight in the park—get to safety.
So as we tracked him, his pounding footsteps turned to walking ones and then to slow, measured steps as he likely considered whether the hit was still salvageable. When the guy neared the edge of the park, he stopped to consider some more.
“Time to split up and circle around,” I whispered.
Jack kept his gaze forward. “I can do this. Just stay—”
“No.” I got in front of him and forced his gaze to mine. “I don’t stay on the sidelines, and if you think that has changed—”
“Circumstances. You’re the target.”
“You’re the one he actually shot at. He’ll take you out to get at me. If you keep arguing, we’ll lose him.”
I tugged off my heels. I was going to leave them behind, but Jack shoved one in each jacket pocket. Then he pointed at my bare feet. “Be careful.”
I figured stepping in dog shit—or even on broken glass—was the least of my worries, but I nodded, and we split up. I went south, into the trees, picking my way past windblown piles of dead leaves as I hurried to flank our target. He was on the move again, slow now, as if still undecided about searching for us on the streets. I hoped he wouldn’t. The park was far more conducive to a takedown and interrogation.
I was less than thirty feet away when he moved under a path light. Just a guy dressed in black—black jeans, black sneakers, black hoodie pulled up. From what I could make out of his face, he was a little old for the hoodie look, maybe forty. Otherwise, average height, average size, average looking. I studied his face, trying to impress it on my memory in case we lost him. He tucked his gun into the pocket of his hoodie. Getting ready to head out. Shit.
I glanced around for Jack. Maybe we could still do this. Get me to lure—
A crash sounded in the woods on Jack’s side. I heard a muffled oath, followed by an angry whisper. Jack’s voice.
Our target bought the fake out. He gave a low chuckle as he pulled out his gun and went after the stupid marks hiding in the woods.
As he slipped along the path, I followed from the woods. Jack had gone quiet now—he wouldn’t overdo it. But the guy had already pinpointed the location of the sounds and when he drew close, he stopped and listened again, wondering if we could see him on the lit path. If we did, we’d make some noise, a small exclamation of fear or the rustle of a retreat. The woods stayed quiet.
The man eased toward the trees, rolling his footsteps, moving slowly as he watched and listened. When he passed the tree line, I started toward the path. Now came the tricky part. I had to cross that path, and the smallest noise would cause him to turn and see me, a lit target. I paused at the edge, calculating the best route and waiting until he was a little deeper in—