Chapter Nineteen #3
“You all have too much time on your hands.” She went to the door, then stopped herself. Mac was in charge. She wouldn’t forget the man’s talk or his skills. She made herself wait and did what she didn’t let Quaid finish – checked her vest fit and both her guns.
Mac came to the door. “Everybody clear on the instructions? Frank is on the way to cover both flanks, but will do so with no sirens. Their job is to push him back to us.”
“Is the target confirmed?” Hunt was still and calm.
Mac refastened his tactical vest. “Yes. Cameras confirm. Conners has eyes on him from the second floor side windows. He’s on foot, identified clearly, loaded for a fight, and not bothering with a disguise.”
“Almost like he knows it’s a trap.” She turned to Ryker.
“We can only play the cards we’re dealt, Williams. We roll this out and finish it by any means necessary.”
“What is Whit doing?”
“Taunting him.” Harrison answered from behind her. “At least that’s what it looks like without sound. Frank reports they’re in place.” He handed off the communication buds and ordered a check of reception and the operating channel.
Alanna completed the tasks and turned to Quaid. “Kill Whit for me when this is finished.”
“Let’s go save him first.” Quaid followed Mackey out the door. She paced herself to him.
They took the stairs.
For a group who had only practiced together one night, they moved with assurance and silence. Mackey, Quaid, then her, with Hunt and Ryker at the rear. Harrison’s job to babysit Whit was essentially eliminated, so he stayed in Operations coordinating every move per Mackey’s instructions.
Mac adapted their plan and didn’t hesitate.
For the first time, she really understood his skill – and suddenly she could predict the result.
They weren’t going to lose him this time.
Mac would make sure. Of course, she was going to get to the bastard first and fulfill a life-long promise to herself.
Quaid and Mac moved in sync with each other, communicating with no hesitation. She drew on her training and copied. Outside, the night air fell into San Diego’s usual warmth, but goosebumps flashed across her skin.
The parking lot was more banged up since the wedding two weeks ago.
Those fresh painted white lines were scuffed from moving concrete barriers and explosions.
Construction equipment was parked by the front for the renovation of the entrance.
The native shrubs were the same, but in the dark she couldn’t find the hide.
QM’s cultivated, immaculate landscaping would need a major facelift when this was over.
And yet, the QM International sign on the top of the building offered muted light in the dark night.
She could hear Whit shouting. “Come on you, bastard. Come and get me.”
Quaid swore under his breath.
“I’ll take him,” Hunt said. “Give me twenty seconds. I’ll take him out of the equation.”
Harrison’s voice came over her ear bud. “He’s on the property, moving fast. Armed with sniper rifle, knife, and two handguns in his belt. He’s heading straight to Whit.”
Hunt moved, but Mac stopped him. “Hold. We won’t make it.”
Alanna pulled her weapon and shifted to the front before Mac could stop her. “Let’s go. Confront. Disarm or kill. And be done.”
Fortunately, Mac agreed. Whit’s voice cut off.
“He has him,” Harrison confirmed.
Alanna’s heart seized and she couldn’t speak.
You decide if you’re steady enough to do it. You.
Mac’s words resonated.
She moved like she was the breacher, yet going straight to where Mercer couldn’t miss her. Quaid and Mackey stayed with her every step of the way.
The objectives formed a list in her head, solution simple. Make the man talk. Get Whit free. Kill Mercer.
She took Ryker’s opinion on Mercer’s motives to heart. When the two were in sight, struggling for footing with each other and knives drawn, she shouted. “You want to keep playing with him or have what you came for?”
“No, girl,” Whit yelled. But she wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a professional, the hunter, the one who solved these things.
Quaid hissed, but stayed solid behind her and went silent.
Mercer trapped Whit in a chokehold with the knife at his throat. “Well, well. There she is. Finally. Why don’t you ditch your friends, and we’ll play?”
“FBI, pal. I don’t play, but I will admit you have me confused.”
He snorted out a laugh and twisted Whit’s neck until he groaned. “You know how I found out you were a cop studying the likes of me?”
She moved forward, gun pointed, with a head shot sighted.
“You tracked me.”
“Used this fool to do it.”
She took her eyes off Mercer for a split second and checked Whit. Angry frustration was in the set of his mouth. He didn’t care if Mercer killed him, and that was something she was going to take up with the old man later.
“I would have thought you had better things to obsess about.”
“Obsession? No, darling. It’s a calling. I’ve made some mistakes, I admit. Poor little thing, your friend. I should never have chosen her. You. You were the pinnacle.”
Her stomach rolled. “Why?”
“You fought back.” The knife pricked Whit’s throat and he hissed.
“What happened to my friend?”
Mercer sighed, an almost sexual completion in the tone. “Oh, she’s gone to the angels. It was marvelous.”
He couldn’t shake her with the confession. Deep in her heart she’d known.
“Send these people away. Let’s finish this, sweet honey.”
Hunt’s had shifted right in her peripheral vision and a shot rang out.
Whit sagged. His leg collapsed. The weight shift forced Mercer to let go. Whit hit the ground and rolled out of her shot.
Sound painfully echoed in her ear, but she didn’t flinch.
Time slowed, rolling like sluggish heatwaves coming off hot pavement.
Her target clear, she knew where the round would land. She pulled the trigger.
Her shot hit the assassin center forehead.
His face sagged. He fell backward to the pavement, eyes open and a smile on his lips.
Bastard.
&&&&&&&&&&
Alanna dropped her arm and tensed against the throbbing vibration in her head. Holding her left ear, she stared at the body. “It’s finished.”
Armed personnel pushed in around her, keeping eyes on the dead man.
Quaid, still behind her, put a hand on her shoulder. “He wanted you to kill him. That’s what this was all about.”
She studied the monster from her memories, dead on the pavement, dark hair shot with gray, pale skin, and his knife still in his fingers. She didn’t move closer to confirm death. She let Frank and Ryker do that. Mac had Whit and was yelling for Cait.
“It was a game to get me to kill him? Why?”
Quaid stayed close and talked in her good ear. “You called it. He was coming apart, not able to control himself.”
“Needing more and more to satisfy the compulsion. It wasn’t satisfying him anymore,” she whispered.
“He didn’t want caught, didn’t want prison. And he knew you would do it. He had you pegged from his first attack.”
“What if I hadn’t?”
His arm slipped around her and pulled her against him. “Mac would have. Hunt would have. I would have. He had to know someone would because he came here. Not to the alley where he first met you.”
“But that gave him what he wanted, dammit. I had questions.” She firmed her lips, trapping a surge of anger.
“Doesn’t matter, Lani. He’s dead.”
Her mind refused to believe this was over.
Ryker came to her. “Good shot, Williams. Now give me your gun. We’ll do this by the book.” He held a plastic evidence bag.
She studied the bag for a few seconds, then released her grip on the weapon, ejected the clip, and slid both into the bag.
“Sign the tag here.” Ryker handed her a pen. “You’re on administrative leave until we finish the shoot investigation. No problems will come from this. I was here. The whole thing has a dozen witnesses, and they recorded it to boot. Go home and get some sleep.”
Quaid took her arm. “Let’s go upstairs. Let the teams do the cleanup. Mac has it.”
She looked to where activity continued. Cait was with Whit. He was in good hands. Again. Mac was directing the flow and wouldn’t quit until the job was complete.
Thank God for Mac.
Because she needed Quaid.