Excerpt from Marked
Sophia bolted from her chair and made a mad dash for the frantic man in his early-thirties near the back of the pub screaming his head off. Luckily, she wasn’t seated far. “What happened?”
“H—He’s dead! Someone killed Arson. A man... he just ran through the kitchen.” The guy turned and pointed.
Well, hell. “Call the police,” she instructed, her tone calm yet hard.
He nodded wildly and started in the direction of the main floor.
Sophia drew her gun from the small of her back and ran down the hall, weapon pointed at the ground. She’d just gotten off her shift. So much for enjoying a drink with Cassie who, of course, was running late again.
A woman came out of the ladies’ restroom. Her eyes widened on the gun in Sophia’s hand and she shrieked.
“Quick, get out.” Sophia waved her past and the woman’s heels clomped on the tile floor.
Sophia shouldered open the swinging kitchen door and panned the room. A man in a baseball cap shoved his way through the staff.
Adrenaline lit her veins. “Everyone down!” She cried as she charged through the overheated space. Grease splattered from the stove as she rushed past, her eyes locked on the man’s frame.
“Police! Freeze!”
The man dipped his head and ran out the back door.
Shit.
If the blubbering guy was right and the man in the washroom was dead, she couldn’t exactly let a killer run free. Not when she could catch him. On the clock or not, she had to move. Sweat dampened her neck and she ached to reach for the radio that would’ve been at her shoulder had she been on duty.
Running for the exit, she kept her weapon positioned in front of her. She paused at the door and wet her lips. If he was smart, he’d be long gone. Tension radiating over her muscles. She booted open the door and stepped into the warm night air.
She swept the gun to her right and—
Slam!
A hard body crushed her against the outside wall of the building. One of the man’s hands pinned her wrist to the wall, caging her gun, the other applied forcefully at the base of her throat.
“Stay the fuck out of this,” he hissed.
Panic glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Her training jumped inside her to kick in, her muscles frozen against his hold. With his large, scorching hot palm just inches below her throat, all it’d take was one hard, long squeeze and she’d be done.
Stay calm, dammit.
Blinking slowly, as if it would assure him she wouldn’t make a move, she lifted her gaze to his partially shadowed face. His hat kept most of his features hidden, but the light overhead cast down on them like a spotlight.
Dark stubble darkened his jawline. The shape so chiseled and straight, that a shrill warning bell went off in her head.
Was this their guy?
No. It couldn’t be. But if he’d really just killed the man in the bathroom, there was a damn good chance she was staring at the one man that slipped through the police department, the FBI, and all other organizations that surely had this sonofabitch on their wanted list.
“I know who you are,” she gasped.
His throat bobbed on a swallow.
Her fingers ached to yank off his hat, but she didn’t need to. She’d committed that jawline to memory—the one photo the department had of him, a grainy cellphone shot in the woods when he’d helped rescue his brother’s girlfriend’s brother, Brooks Ivanov, from his torturous captors... slaying several men in the process.
“You’re Cole Holmes.”
His mouth went slack.
Dear god, she was right. Pride inflated her chest, followed by a sharp sweep of disgust. This man deserved the electric chair, or at least life in prison. And she’d be the one to deliver it.
He dropped his hand from her neck and reached behind his back.
A shudder wracked her body. Stark anticipation waited for the bullet that would rip through her heart.
Isabella, I’m sorry...
He brought the gun above his head.
Crack!
Glass rained down on her, pelting her face and hair. She let out a scream. The man seized the gun in her hand, but she tightened her hold.
He hadn’t killed her.
His mistake.
The gunfire kickstarted her training and made the fear seep from her limbs. He still held her gun in place, but his other hand was occupied by his own weapon. Using all her strength, she karate chopped his arm at the elbow and his hold on her wrist buckled, but didn’t free her gun.
He grunted and brought the mouth of his silencer to beneath her jaw. “Don’t be stupid,” he growled. The deep, gravel of his voice made her knees weaken. Terror coated her skin in a sticky substance.
This was a killer. Cold blooded.
She wasn’t going to die today and he wasn’t going to get away with another murder. Letting out a scream, she hiked her knee into his crotch.
“Umph.” He hunched forward, the movement made his weapon fall from her face.
Springing into action she hooked her elbow into his jaw. His hold on her gun loosened.
Yes!
She turned her weapon on him. He stood from his bent position, daggers glittered from his eyes. “Fucking bitch.”
She moved her finger on the trigger at the same moment he twisted her wrist. The bullet fired smacking somewhere in the alleyway.
Shit!
He tried to wrench the gun from her hold but she held on like with the grip of a Pitbull. She drove her knee into his midsection.
Her blow connected with a wall of steal. His hand clamped around her calf and held fast. She hopped on her foot as he stood, throwing her off balance. She stumbled and grabbed his shoulder to stop herself from falling.
He was too fast. His free hand caught her under her arm and threw her down, slamming her back hard against the asphalt. Her gun fell from her grip, skittering across the parking lot. The wind left her lungs and she coughed as her breath ejected from her lungs. He dropped his knee on her chest and brought the mouth of his silencer to her forehead.
A sob caught in her throat. The moonlight lit the otherwise dark area around them, catching his features in full glow. His hat had fallen in their struggle.
Dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck, the sides of his head just above his ears slightly shaved. Death stared her in the face, but she couldn’t turn her eyes away from her killer. Her brain took in the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He wore long sleeves, but she’d bet her last paycheck that the flesh there had more ink.
His knuckles were dusted in symbols and other drawings, but the position of his hand kept her from analyzing them. Sirens blared in the night, but rather than relief at the sign of backup, her body clenched.
Any second, he’d pull the trigger.
Isabella’s smiling face filled her mind and tears stung her eyes. She’d never see her baby girl again.
She’d be just another dead cop.
Another statistic.
And her daughter would be forever without a mother.
The man shifted his gun away and a choked cry escaped her lips. Her chin trembled and she clanked her teeth together—she wouldn’t show this bastard weakness.
He roamed his hand over her jacket, patting her down. His eyes never left her face, his brow in a hard, furious line as if he were pissed at the position she’d put him in.
So why hadn’t he pulled the trigger yet?
Stopping on her jacket, he flipped it open and delved his hand into her inside pocket.
Her heart stopped.
He pulled out her badge and flipped it open. “Detective Sophia Aldridge,” he mused.
Panic ricocheted inside her head. She wet her lips and swallowed.
“You know my name, now I know yours.” His lips twitched as if he found that comical. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to forget you recognized me. You’re going to say you didn’t catch a damn glimpse of me, and if you do that, you’ll never see me again.”
Bile burned the back of her throat. Every instinct in her bones screamed to fight, to knock him on his ass, to steal his gun and shoot him, but dammit, he held the upper hand. But if he got away, he’d come looking for her.
For Isabella.
“And if I don’t?”
His laser-hot gaze sizzled the air between them. “Then you’ll see me one more time before I cut your fucking throat.”
Snapping her wallet closed, he put it back in her pocket. His knuckles brushed her side and her insides jumped.
“Deal?”
She forced a mouthful of the heated saliva down her throat. “I don’t make deals with the devil.”
He chortled, the laugh derisive and condescending. “Because your organization is so fucking pure.”
He stood, scooped up his hat and fit it on his head. “See you around, Detective.” He waltzed up to her gun and booted it, sending the weapon careening over the pavement and too far for her to dive for.
She sat up and watched his shadowed form stride down the alleyway.
You should have killed me, Cole Holmes. I’ll put you behind bars if it kills me.