Page 54 of Hit Man
I fuckingseeher.
Running.
Dragging a large suitcase behind her, a purse over her shoulder, and headed like a bat out of hell straight for the lawn.
Knock me down then run me over twice. I’m screwed. So fucking screwed.
And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
16
Aubrey
One second, I’m crossing the darkened lawn toward freedom and in the next second, my ankle is caught up in a tree branch and I’m face-planting onto the lawn. And in a half second afterward, the early morning quiet becomes an instant memory as multiple, high-pitched tornado sirens go off in warning. A terrifying sound that’s loud enough to wake up Sacramento along with Mexico City.
I come up onto all fours and lift my head.
That’s when I notice him.
Frozen like Zeus in the middle of the lawn. Shirtless, barefoot, and even at this distance I can safely say . . . furious.
Thenerveof him, running about in the dark, clearly up to his late-night business tricks yet pissed off at me. Like I expected to catch my ankle on a trip wire and set off dozens of sirens—because that’s what happened, right? Juan Carlos laid out a booby trap for wandering guests and I’m the unfortunate person to fall victim to it?
I rise, as do my eyebrows, as he does an about-face, drops onto his stomach, and proceeds to army-crawl back across the lawn. Lightning-quick and except for a sharp, fleeting glare, without even acknowledging me.
I cover my ears but the sirens are violently loud.
Violently . . .
I scramble over to my suitcase, grabbing whatever I can from inside and shoving the lot inside my purse. I’ve no choice but to leave the fine, expensive gift behind.
Like the devil’s at my heels, I take off in a mad sprint across the lawn, following the same direction Diego’s taken. I race toward the front of the mansion, toward the entry gate, and toward the unseen cab. I’m too anxious to sleep and though it’s early, prefer to wait outside the gate for the cab to arrive.
By the time I reach the driveway, I’m winded. There’s no sign of the cab or Diego.
And just my poor luck, the electricity decides to kick in.
I’m flooded in light with only a few things going in my favor.
My sneakers—smart, sensible choice. I’m also dressed head to toe in black, with tight black skinny jeans, a high-riding cropped black T-shirt, and black sweater meant more for show than keeping the chill off.
The gate is open. A crack, yet enough to squeeze through, its thick chain laying in broken pieces on the ground. A broken lock right there next to it.
I bite my lip, staring at it. I hadn’t considered the gate would be locked tight, making it impossible to walk out of here via the driveway.
Escape.
I inhale sharply and almost choke. There’s a strange smell in the air. Gunpowder, like there’s a firing range nearby. The last place I want to be caught nearby.
Escape.
The thought spurs me on.
I’m unsure why I pick up the chain and refasten it behind me, hooking what remains of the lock over it. Too many B-rate suspense movies perhaps, where prison escapees always cover their tracks? But those sirens are no joke. Those sirens terrify the heck out of me. Leaving me with no choice but to follow my instincts.
And my instincts say flee. Go. Run.
I hear shouting, but I’m already moving.
