The Courier (San Angeles) (19 page)

“This is a one-time offer Kris. If you say no now, we won’t be seeing each other again.” Nigel put his hands flat on the table, trying to press home his point. He reached out and touched my hand. “You really need to understand how good this would be for both of us.”

I snatched my hand back, the fork in the other hand lost some of its spin before my fingers automatically corrected and stabilized it, keeping it going. My forced calm exterior was beginning to erode.

Nigel’s smile was gone from his face. “Some of our couriers pilot their own vessels to the mining colonies. They figure it’s safer than
taking the transports. If you want to go that way, we could look into it for you.”

Pilot my own ship? This guy was really fucking reaching now. Either that, or he thought I was an idiot. From what I had seen on the vids, the training took at least two years and cost a fortune. And where the hell was I going to get a ship? Were they just going to give me one? I barely contained a snort. This was getting too far-fetched. Still, if I could get a safe place to sleep, I’d play along.

“I need some time to think about it. I’m so fucking tired right now, I don’t think I can make any choices,” I said.

Nigel sighed, obviously mulling it through. “No problem. We’ll put you in a safe house tonight. We’ll need an answer by morning.”

“Okay. When can I get the ID tag removed?”

“We don’t remove it, we alter it. And that depends on your answer.”

“So, if I don’t work for you, I don’t get the tag removed?” The fucking bastard. If I didn’t get the tag removed, or altered, or whatever, I would be dead meat in days, if not hours.

“We don’t actually remove the tag, it’s too much a part of the lymph node. We just modify it. But essentially, you are right.”

“I’ve still got this blocker, that’ll work.”

“For a few days, at most. After that, the power source runs out. There’s no way to recharge them. You get one use, and that’s it.”

“You bastard.”

“Sometimes I have to be.”

“Is that how you treated my mom and dad?” The fork spun out of my hand, and I automatically bent to pick it up. A loud crack split the air and I bolted upright. It was a sound I recognized. Nigel had fallen over backward and blood was spattered on the wall behind him. Without thinking, I slid under the table. The corner of the chair pulled at the back of my t-shirt and gouged into my skin. I
grabbed Nigel’s legs, pulling him under with me. His head bumped the chair leg on the way down, leaving a red smear.

This wasn’t happening again. This
couldn’t
be happening again. He was supposed to be a fucking bigwig. Didn’t he bring some sort of protection? Fuck!

“Miller.” I screamed as loud as I could. I was a fucking sitting duck out here. I had no idea where the shot had come from. There was no place to hide anyway. Even under the table, I felt exposed. Where the hell was he?

Wait, there was one place I could hide.

I rolled on top of Nigel, shuddering when I felt his still-warm body, but I didn’t stop to dwell on it. The center table leg smacked into my back as I tried to roll off him. I ended up wedged higher off the ground between his body and the table. I wiggled my shoulders and pushed with my legs until I could feel myself starting to slip. I got a shoulder down and pushed against the table leg, my brain screaming at me to hurry. Nigel’s body shifted and I slipped down to the floor, stuck between Nigel and the table leg.

I heard another loud crack and Nigel’s body twitched, the force of the bullet moving him as though he was still alive, could still feel pain. The old ladies at their table started to scream, finally realizing what the hell was going on. I reached for the gun in my pocket and lay as close to the ground as I could get, trying to control the fear rising in my throat like bile. My face felt warm and I reached a hand up. It came away covered in blood.

I had no idea if it was mine or
Nigel’s.

M
ILLER WANDERED BY
the elevators for what felt like the hundredth time. This kind of shit wasn’t his gig. He wasn’t a delivery boy or a bodyguard. The waiting was beginning to wear a bit thin. He glanced over at one of Nigel’s bodyguards. The guy had been standing there for almost an hour, and he hadn’t even moved yet. Except for his eyes. They just kept on flicking back and forth, covering as much of the lobby as he could see. A sniper could have taken him out in a heartbeat.

A loud crack punctuated Miller’s thoughts. Out of reflex, he dropped to the floor and rolled behind a large potted plant while pulling out his gun. The bodyguard just stood there, a look of shock and confusion on his face. When Miller realized that no one in the lobby was the target, he stood and ran for the restaurant at the far end. The bodyguard ran after him.

By the time he reached the restaurant, he had to fight his way through the old ladies, each one trying to get out of the restaurant first, and to hell with their friends. Their screams, at such close range, almost drowned out the sound of another rifle shot.

He shoved the ladies out of the way, pushing one to the floor and jumping over her. At first glance, the corner table was empty. One spot on the dark paneling was shining, as though someone had thrown a cup of coffee at it.

A third shot rang out from Miller’s left, and he dived under the nearest table. As his eyes adjusted to the darker room, he saw the assistant director and Kris under the table. It looked like Nigel had protected her with his body, except that he was lying facing outward. Most people, when protecting someone else at close range, faced the person they were shielding, covering them with their arms.

The bodyguard came running in. “Kitchen!” Miller yelled and waved his gun in the general direction before putting all his attention back on the corner table. He moved closer to it, crawling from table to table, trying to keep as many obstacles between him and the kitchen. He realized the AD was dead before he even got close.

“Clear!” The shout came from the kitchen and a bodyguard ran out and sprinted to the AD’s table. Miller stood from the table he was behind and followed.

The barrel lay flat on the smooth counter, and Abby held her breath. She had one shot left in the small cartridge. One shot to get this right. She could see the courier’s shoulder just above Nigel’s body, and aimed for where the head should be. Her second shot had been
in the same place, but with the inherent weakness of the put-together rifle, the bullet didn’t have the power to go through Nigel’s bulk.

This one just might be able to do it. She let her breath out in one slow smooth motion and squeezed the trigger again. From where she stood, it looked like the third bullet had entered the hole created by the second one. With some luck . . .

Now it was time to move quickly. She stashed the weapon under the counter, behind rows of clean and shiny plates, and pulled a small tube from her pocket. She popped the lid and placed the tip of it in her nose and squeezed. Blood, her blood put in the tube earlier, flowed from her nose to her chin, soaking the front of her borrowed uniform. She resealed the tube and put it back in her pocket. From her other pocket, she took a plastic bag with a sponge in it and patted it over her fingers. She placed her hand onto her cheek, leaving red finger marks across it. She quickly wiped her hand on a small cloth and put both items in the bag.

Abby moved to the far corner and kneeled, whimpering and holding her hands behind her head, and waited.

The sound of the kitchen door banging into the wall, and then back into whoever slammed it open, almost made her laugh. She turned her shaking shoulders into part of her act. The frightened woman. Brutalized by a man with a gun.

“Get up!” A man’s voice. Probably one of the four who walked in with Nigel.

“No please!” She cowered in the corner, trying to make herself appear smaller, drawing short sobbing breaths.

“I said get up!”

A rough hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. She watched his eyes widen and flick from her cheek to her bloodied shirt.

“Christ. Did you see who did this?” he asked.

She shook her head, still cowering and sobbing.

“Okay, okay, you’re safe. Stay here and I’ll get a medical team over to see you.” He ran around the corner, heading to the front kitchen.

Abby stood and stumbled to the door leading back downstairs. If anyone was watching, she had to maintain the act. Reaching the door was easy, and the guard placed behind it had already left. Most likely running around like an idiot looking for a man with a gun. She took the stairs two at a time and ran to the changing room.

Two minutes later, a lady walking tall and assured left the unguarded front door and walked down the street. She wasn’t carrying a briefcase this time.

Blood ran into my eyes, partially blinding me. My world had, once again, turned into blur. I remembered waving my gun over Nigel’s body, but I didn’t know if I had pulled the trigger.

The gun had been grabbed from my hand at the same time Nigel rolled away from me. I shook my head slowly, trying to clear it. He couldn’t do that, could he? He was dead.

Miller’s face swam into view and I latched on to him like he was the last person on Earth, a familiar face with soft brown eyes in the hell my life had become. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realized I had only known him for a few hours, but somehow, here and now, it was enough.

I felt myself being dragged out from under the table and carried a short distance away. The sounds of plates and glasses smashing to the floor filled my ears, drowning out the sounds of voices, before I
was laid on a table. Miller had a napkin and was wiping the blood from my face, a look of concern on his.

“It’s okay Kris, you’re okay. You’re safe now. None of this blood is yours, you’re not hurt.”

Somehow, the thought didn’t seem to make me feel better. I still felt the warm, sticky stuff on me. Some of it had run down under the front of my shirt. My stomach twisted and I rolled onto my side. Miller placed his hand on my hip, stopping me from rolling off the table, and got a wave of cheeseburger and strawberry shake as a reward. I didn’t hear him complain.

A man in a dark suit swam into view. “The extraction team is here. Back delivery door.”

“Good. Did you find the shooter?”

“No. We had a witness, a waitress, but . . .”

Miller turned quickly and looked at him. “But . . . you can’t find her now.”

“That’s right.” The bodyguard stood a little taller, as if waiting for Miller to pick a fight. Instead Miller took one last wipe of my mouth with the napkin and lifted me up.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

I must have passed out somewhere along the way. I remember a van, and someone lifting my shirt up over my back. I struggled a bit at that, but Miller came back into view.

“Just checking the ID blocker. It’s okay.”

My world faded to black.