Page 71 of Fight for You
26
LOS ANGELES
Jamie
The warehouse reeked of dust,mildew, and rat droppings. Broken skylights allowed bright moonlight to stream in, casting long shadows across the rotten rafters. I lay prone on the upper mezzanine, cheek pressing against the rest of the matte-black .408 CheyTac that I’d assembled in two minutes—would need to cut that time in half the second I confirmed the kill shot. The long barrel balanced on a tripod over a shattered window frame.
I flicked a glance at the teddy bear near my elbow. Carly’s de-stuffed teddy bear. Leith had given me the keys to Camdyn’s F250. Those trucks came a dime a dozen, which was a blessing. The blessing in disguise was the custom doll from her Build-A-Bear party. I was in Somalia when Camdyn’s little girl had turned five. Of course, I hadn’t responded. Not even to decline the invitation. Camdyn texted a picture of Carly and this curly-haired teddy. After I saw it and hadn’t responded, he’d sent an emoji of a certain finger, which I assumed he hadn’t shown the birthday girl.
Through the Nightforce scope, my sighted target narrowed toprecision. The rooftop gala shimmered with Christmas lights, light from the various outdoor firepits, and laughter. LA’s elite mingled. Among them was Hagarty. Navy suit. White hair. Fake teeth shoved in a smile. A predator in the body of a man Los Angeles civilians trusted.
Oh, Jamie. You’re such a beautiful boy. Yes, you are. And those eyes. Call me Governor…
The old, repressed memory returned. Unbidden. My steady breathing broke into a pant. No control. Bile pushed up my throat.
Not now.
I couldn’t remember that part of my time with Jordyn. That worst part. Hissed exhales came from my clenched teeth. And my hands?—
They trembled. I blinked my eyes shut and tried to refocus. Nae. Didn’t work.
Please just let me and Jordyn go?—
A volatile sigh rushed through me.
“This is my will, not Yours, God. I gave Hagerty a chance to fess up, though. Please forgive me, and please guide my hands,” I murmured, firming my cheek against the rest once more.
My finger hovered just off the trigger. Through the scope, Hagerty raised a champagne flute for a toast. His mouth opened wide in a big smile.
I pulled the trigger.
A whispered thunderclap crackled through the suppressor. Through the lens, half of Hagerty’s head exploded. Blood sprayed outward along the white dress of the woman, half his age, at his side. His wife?
The President Pro Tempore’s corpse didn’t offer even the faintest postmortem muscle twitch before the rest of his face ate the marble floor. A frenzy ignited. The woman, whose dress now looked like crappy art, screamed her lungs out—a still picturewhile around her, people ran in all directions. A mile away, I was on the move.
With practiced speed, I disassembled the CheyTac. Bolt removed. Barrel unscrewed. Bipod snapped off. Suppressor twisted loose and shoved into Carly’s teddy bear that now only held half its stuffing. The barrel fit in its fluffy torso. The less identifiable pieces—by civilian standards—got shoved into the backpack.
I sealed the bear shut with Velcro. My own handiwork from a few items I bought at Dollar Tree while waiting for Enzo’s plane. I placed the teddy bear into the Dollar Tree bag. Hopefully, no one peered too closely and saw the custom job. They might just think I was a father on his way home to his little girl.
I jogged down the metal stairs, boots barely making a sound while an even greater sound swirled around outside.
LAPD’s finest.
Even with jet-black hair, I prayed not to cross paths with Officer Welsh.
OrUncleNolan.
Outside, distant sirens converged on Wilshire. I kept my head low, hood up. Unremarkable. A nobody.
Then I glanced at my watch and sprinted off. Authorities would soon head in this direction based on the bullet’s trajectory.
They’d use CCTV footage to follow my tracks.
A dark F250 slid into position, blocked by a city bus in an area heavy with cameras—as was all of Los Angeles. Luckily, the opposite side of the street was a construction mess. Due to the construction equipment and public transportation, this was a virtual blind spot. The bus driver honked, and the cars behind Camdyn’s borrowed truck did too. I ran around it and climbed into the passenger side.
Enzo edged forward as I scooted down in my seat. I had already pushed the chair back as far as possible. My six-foot-sevenframe still felt awkward as I pulled off my hoodie and changed my shirt.Stop griping, Jamie. You’ve got bigger problems.
Our problems didn’t end with avoiding police surveillance.
