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Not long after the officer left the Camaro idling, the grocery store’s back door opened. Cutter was first to emerge, hands high in the air, blood dripping from his left temple. Schading was right behind him, gun in his grip as he jabbed Bryant in the back, prodding him forward. With his free hand, he gripped his wife by the hair and dragged her out behind him.
The woman trembled and cried, mascara running down her face. She was a little thing, with a hint of a baby bump. Schading yanked on Bryant’s shirt, then turned back to shout at his wife. The terrified woman cowered and tried to make herself as small as possible. One-Mile felt really fucking sorry for her. Bryant must have had the same reaction, because he started talking, clearly trying to take the gunman’s anger down twenty notches. The bad news was, while Brea’s boy toy stood there and played the hero, he was shielding Schading from the shot One-Mile had painstakingly lined up.
Finally, the gunman shoved his wife to the ground. And because he was such a Prince Charming, he kicked her a couple of times. Cutter was clearly itching to use this distraction to launch more heroics. Not that he didn’t understand Bryant’s urge to punch this abusive asshole in the face, but the Boy Scout could help most by getting the fuck out of the way.
Schading’s temper seemed to ratchet up as he waved the gun in his estranged wife’s face. She shrank back and curled her arms around her belly protectively.
One-Mile would lose zero sleep over ending this douche.
He wrapped his finger around the trigger, triple-checked his sights, and held his breath…
Before he could pull the trigger, Bryant opened his mouth and started flapping his jaws again. Schading whirled, turning his crazy-eyed glare on Cutter, and charged toward him like an enraged bull. Then he shoved the gun against Bryant’s bleeding temple and shouted something that looked expletive-filled.
Fuck, this was heating up too furiously and too fast. If he didn’t act now, Schading might lose his shit, decide to take his wife hostage after all, and blow the head off his expendable tagalong, Cutter.
With a rapid mental ticktock in his head counting down the seconds, One-Mile realigned his shot, curled his finger a little tighter around the trigger…and squeezed.
Chapter Five
The crack of his shot resounded in his ears as the rifle kicked back, but he stayed with the scope and watched the bullet plant itself dead center in the middle of Schading’s forehead. The would-be gunman crumpled to the concrete. Blood splattered onto the screaming woman behind him and pooled around his body.
Cutter whipped his gaze around, searching for the source of the shot. The Boy Scout couldn’t see him, but he seemingly realized the ordeal was over and blew out a deep sigh of relief before turning his attention on the newly minted widow. More blood rolled down his temple as he bent and helped the shaking woman to her feet.
Cops rushed in from everywhere. A pair of EMTs followed with a gurney. Gaines marched in, the colonel by his side, followed by another guy who looked too bleak to be anything other than the coroner. Someone drove the still-idling car away.
One-Mile stood and stretched. The phone in his pocket buzzed with a message from Caleb Edgington that read Good job, Walker. He didn’t reply. He hadn’t done anything heroic or amazing, just taken out the trash.
What exactly did he tell Brea now? She’d be both relieved and horrified. Sure, she’d asked him for this…but it wouldn’t take long for the reality to hit her that she’d begged him to kill a man. Then she’d probably tie herself in guilty knots. Would she even speak to him after that?
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but he didn’t have a choice. With a grumble, he tapped in her number and typed out a message.
I’m done. Stay put.
Brea only wanted to know one thing.
Is Cutter all right?
As soon as the words appeared on One-Mile’s screen, he cursed. Of course she wanted to know. She’d pleaded with him to save the son of a bitch’s life because she loved him so much. Naturally, his fate was the first she’d ask about. He’d been an idiot to hope differently.
Fine, just a scratch or two.
Thank you.
For the update or for killing someone who had threatened her lover?
Shaking his head, One-Mile pocketed his phone. Time to blow this fucking shit show.
With short, sharp movements, he packed up his weapon and the rest of his equipment, then hopped in his Jeep and returned to the strip mall. When he arrived on the scene, Gaines sent him a businesslike nod. The colonel gave him a thumbs-up. The cops around him stared either in worship or terror.
Cutter jerked away from an attentive EMT applying pressure to his bleeding temple and scowled. “That was your kill shot?”
