Chapter 13 - The Hit
I knew he would panic. I knew he would send someone.
I left my apartment at midnight, walking down the quiet street toward my car. I didn't have my police-issued Glock, but I had a personal, registered snub-nosed revolver concealed in my jacket pocket.
The roar of an engine broke the silence. A black SUV with tinted windows sped around the corner, its headlights killed. It accelerated, jumping the curb and barreling straight toward me on the sidewalk.
I dove over a concrete retaining wall a split second before the SUV smashed into a parked car, crushing the metal exactly where I had been standing.
The driver threw it into reverse, tires screeching in the smoke and debris. The passenger side window rolled down, and a man in a ski mask pointed a suppressed pistol at me.
Muscle memory took over. I drew my revolver and fired three rapid shots through the windshield of the SUV. The glass shattered. The driver screamed, clutching his shoulder.
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The shooter in the passenger seat ducked, blind-firing wildly into the brick wall above my head. Realizing they had lost the element of surprise and were sitting ducks, the driver slammed the gas, peeling out down the street and disappearing into the night.
I stood up, brushing glass and brick dust off my jacket. My hands were perfectly steady. Mark had just escalated from domestic abuser to attempted murderer of a law enforcement officer. He had signed his own death warrant.
