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He groaned as she rolled him to his side, and she could already see the lump forming on his temple. Rachel pushed to her hands and knees and felt around the knot. It was then she noticed the blood as it ran in rivulets down his arm and joined the puddles of water on the sidewalk.
“Oh, my God. Shane,” she said, tapping him lightly on the side of the cheek.
“Stop beating on me, woman. I’m fine. Just a knock on the head.” His eyes were open now but he still looked a little unsteady.
“Oh, yeah? What about the bullet in your arm?”
He looked down at his left shoulder in surprise. “Hell. We don’t have time for this. At least it looks like the bullet went all the way through.”
It looked like he was losing a lot of blood to Rachel, and his hand shook as he tried to apply pressure to the wound.
“It’s no big deal,” he said between gritted teeth. “The shooter must have had a night scope to have such a clear shot, but the sun’s starting to come up. The direction of the sun’s in our favor. There will be a glare for a few minutes as he adjusts. He’ll change positions and try to trap us behind here. It’s what I would do in the same situation. I need to get a pinpoint on his location and take him out. Otherwise, we’re going to be sitting ducks. If something happens to me I want you to run for the car and get out of here. I’ll try to stall him as long as I can.”
The .22 lay on the ground. Shane’s voice was getting weaker and his pupils were large and black.
“Like hell,” Rachel said. “We’re in this together, Quincy.” She grabbed the gun from the ground and crouched low.
“Where are you, you son of a bitch?” she yelled. Shane grabbed for her, but she dodged his hand easily.
Her heart was racing and her mind was on Shane, but she knew she had to pull it together so they could both escape alive. Rachel slowed her breathing and cleared her mind like she’d been taught. It wouldn’t help to think that the target was a live human being instead of a piece of paper tacked up a hundred paces away. She’d never taken a life before, but she knew she was strong enough to do what had to be done. But could she live with herself after? The little voice in the back of her mind kept asking the question, and she didn’t know the answer.
The scuffle of feet moving across the pavement proved Shane’s theory right. The shooter was changing positions, trying to trap them between the dumpsters and the motel. She’d have to anticipate his moves and catch him off guard. If the shooter made it to his destination they’d never make it out alive.
She concentrated on breathing and listening for the telltale signs of movement—the whisper of clothing as it brushed against a car, the scrape of shoes, a spent magazine falling to the ground and a new one being loaded. She glanced at Shane and saw his eyes were steady on hers. He gave her a nod of approval.
Rachel looked between the two dumpsters and caught a glimpse of a man. He was soft around the jowls and hard around the middle. Built like a boxer, with a nose to match. She didn’t recognize him, but she recognized the type. He was dressed in a drab suit with a hat pulled low over his brow. He carried his weapon like he’d had lots of practice using it and had enjoyed every minute. There was no doubt in her mind he worked for Angelo Valentine.
She took aim and waited until he moved closer, but he sensed her movement and raised his gun in her direction. She had only a split second to think before she fired. His gun discharged only a moment after hers, but his aim wasn’t true. The .22 stayed steady in her hand as she watched the man fall to the ground. It had been a direct hit, and she knew he wouldn’t be getting up again.
Jimmy Grabbaldi should have taken retirement sooner.
* * *
When the shooting stopped, the man from the office stuck his head out the door.
“I’ve called the police,” he yelled. “You folks had better pay for destruction of private property.” He slammed the door, slid the locks into place, and pulled the shades. Apparently Jake had some standards after all.
The sirens grew closer and Rachel looked down at Shane. He was losing consciousness, though the bleeding from his shoulder had turned sluggish.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Shane and ran out into the parking lot. She found exactly what she was looking for in the last row of the lot. A beige Volvo still had the keys dangling from the ignition. The shooter’s car. She got in, turned the key and it purred to life. She drove to where Shane was lying and loaded him into the back seat.
“We’ve got to get you to a hospital. You’ve lost too much blood,” she said.
“No, no hospital.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Shane. You can’t go on like this and last I checked I’m not a nurse. You need stitches and a brain scan, neither of which I can provide.”
“No hospital,” he said again. “I’ve had worse than this.”
His wallet landed in her lap, but she didn’t take her eyes off the road. She wasn’t going to argue with a man who obviously had no common sense.
“There’s a number in my wallet. Find one of the burner phones and call Wildcat. Tell him what’s happened and that we need an immediate safe house. I can rest there for a couple of days until I’m back on my feet.”
“Shane,” Rachel said, shaking her head.
“I’m trusting you to do as I ask, Rachel. The minute we step foot inside a hospital you’ll have Angelo’s men all over you. I’d rather die than let that happen. Promise me you’ll do as I ask.”
She looked at Shane in the rearview mirror. His face was pinched with pain and he was fighting to stay conscious until she agreed to his plan. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to him, but she found herself nodding in agreement.
