Page 55 of Hit Man
Wrapping my fingers tightly around my purse handle, I hurry away, following the driveway down its winding, twisting path.
Casa Bella seems to come to life behind me.
More shouts beneath the pauses in the sirens.
More anger and violence and screwed-up terror that no one in their lifetime should ever have to face.
Engines roaring to life.
And it’s that sound that really has me terrified because there’s only one way out of here.
By following the long, winding driveway.
If I stay on this driveway, they’ll find me. Who knows, they might run me down. Plow right over me then drop me off this mountainside just like what happened to their guest.
So I’ll find another way. But do I go left or go right?
It’s dark out here so far away from the house. I’ve no idea what the landscape is like off to either side, my focus during our arrival being on the architectural wonder at the mountaintop.
Boulders stacked higher than my head flank both sides of the driveway. Impossible to climb over without injury. No choice but to hurry on straight, the ground beneath me beginning to rumble from the trucks behind me.
Move it. Go.
I desperately glance around, and spy a few breaks in the rocks. One large one to the left and a little farther along on the drive, one tight squeeze to the right.
I run ahead and toss my purse over the boulder to my right, choosing the less obvious. Sucking in a deep breath, I squeeze between the boulders, retrieve my purse, and don’t wait around to discover if they’ve stopped to give chase.
Please be the right choice.
For roughly five minutes, I tear through the thick line of trees. Only to come to a stop at the sight of the boulder-riddled landscape ahead of me. The ground’s flat and less mountainous here, and the sun’s begun creeping up on the horizon. Still, there’s a strong probability I might break my neck if I’m not careful.
Fast and careful.
The sirens abruptly stop and the silence is so startling, I jump. My foot slips out from beneath me, and I’m falling, straight between two boulders half the size of a Fiat. As I land, my stomach connects with my overstuffed purse, knocking the wind out of me.
I lay there, stunned. Gasping for breath. Until I hear them, two men cursing. Far too close for comfort.
They’ve found me.
I don’t dare move.
“She’s been spying on Señor Mendoza,” one man says. “He wants her dead.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I heard him loud and clear.”
“No one can know about those crates.”
There’s a brief pause. “Mendoza isn’t cut out for keeping things quiet. Why host a party the night before their arrival?”
“Guess that’s why he wasn’t in attendance. Last-minute arrangements. No one was thrilled about the early-morning departure.”
“Forced departure.” The man laughs. “You think she’s spying for his father? Why else wouldn’t she have left with the rest of the guests.”
“You didn’t hear. She wasn’t on the list.”
“And Diana?”
I stiffen at her name, yet despite my dislike for her, I want no harm to come to her. “She’s been warming Señor Mendoza’s bed. It began that same night.”
