A Hard Core Justice Thriller

Old ranger instincts urged him to take up the chase, confirm what his gut screamed about the woman, shake something that made sense out of her, but his training overruled recklessness.

He looked back in the quiet clothing store, checking on things.

Ted no longer stood stationed at the entrance of the dressing rooms.

Nick touched his Bluetooth earpiece. “Ted? What’s your position? Do you have eyes on Hummingbird?” he asked, using the code name for Lori.

Deafening silence.

Nick’s pulse spiked, but he remained calm—never one to succumb to panic. He stepped past displays and racks, his gaze scanning, his mind assessing.

No sign of Ted. Or the sales associate.

Drawing his gun, Nick hustled toward the dressing rooms.

Anticipation coiled in his chest, adrenaline roaring through him. The weight of his backup piece strapped to his ankle was a small comfort. Nick’s fingers tightened on his Glock. He reached the threshold, scanned left, then right.

Ted lay on the floor beyond the entrance in a corner. Blood soaked his white hair at the base of his skull.

Son of a—

Ted was down.

There was no time to check if his partner was unconscious or dead. A commotion deeper in the dressing room drew him forward. Two people struggled inside the second stall.

The horror in Lori’s terrified whimper jolted his heart.

Chapter Two

Lori’s blood turned to slush, but her brain didn’t misfire in the panic swamping her.

If she froze, she was dead.

If she didn’t think, she was dead.

If she didn’t fight, she was dead.

Lori had caught the glint of the door’s lock moving in the mirror’s reflection. But the sales associate had slipped inside the dressing room stall before Lori had registered what was happening or even had a chance to spin around half-dressed.

The next thing she knew, the young woman rushed up behind Lori and whipped some kind of cord around her throat. The sharp wire bit into her skin, pressing against her windpipe.

The pain from the instant constriction of her airway, the absolute terror, was mind-numbing. Her earlier exercises with Nick, despite how aggressive he’d been, paled in comparison. Deep down she’d known he’d never hurt her and that she was safe with him.

But the sweet-looking sales associate had morphed into a merciless killer and was strangling her to death. Every time Lori tried to throw an elbow back, the woman seemed to anticipate it, jerking her left and then right, spinning her in the stall as if Lori were a rag doll.

She fought with all her strength. Her attacker dug harder, not giving a second of reprieve.

Dear God! Where are you, Nick?

Lori sent her silent prayer up to some omnipotent being, the universe, to anything that’d listen. She was utterly powerless.

Her heart beat harder and harder against her rib cage. Her lungs squeezed as if caught in a vise, starved for air. She wasn’t ready to die. Not like this.

She clawed at the wire tightening around her throat. Desperation welled in her chest. She tried to scream for help, to make any sound to draw attention. A guttural cry rose deep in her throat, but only the strangled wisp of air came from her mouth.

Her nerves ping-ponged as her mind surged for an escape. She kicked out, frantically.

At the same time, the dressing room door swung in. She glimpsed Nick for a split second before her bare foot—already in motion—knocked the door closed.

Pushing up and backward with both her legs, Lori sent her attacker slamming into the mirror. Glass shattered to the floor. Still clawing at the cord over her throat, her fingers slipped in the warm wetness of her own blood.

Her heart felt like it was trying to fight its way out of her chest, lungs burning for oxygen.

It was impossible for Lori to avoid the shards of broken mirror, and her naked soles were driven into the jagged pieces in the struggle. But only one thing mattered. Staying alive.

The door slammed open again. Nick used his hip and leg to keep it from swinging shut and aimed his gun.

He must not have had a clear shot because he didn’t fire.

Lori’s vision narrowed. Dark spots began forming in front of her eyes. Her panic-stricken heart squeezed.

Nick’s voice rang in her mind. Show me what you are. Prey or a predator.

She had to do anything possible to give him a clear shot. Right now!

Lori threw her head back, smashing her skull into her attacker’s face. Bone crunched and as the wire slackened a centimeter, she rammed her elbow into the woman’s ribs.

With a grunt, her assailant’s hold loosened enough for Lori to jerk away to the side.

Nick fired twice. The woman dropped to the floor.

Relief poured over Lori’s soul.

Coughing, raking in air, tasting her own blood, Lori scrambled into Nick’s arms.

He pulled her sideways against him. His hand clasped the back of her head, his fingers curling in her hair, and guided her face to his chest.

She broke down as sobs tore painfully from her throat.

“You’re okay,” Nick said. “I’ve got you.”

The reassurance of his strong, solid form pressed close didn’t do anything to loosen the knot of terror and anxiety twisting her insides. But she wasn’t ready to put space between them. Not yet. She needed this. His warmth, his strength, his arms around her, a little longer.

“Nick. Nick...” she repeated again and again, unable to utter anything else.

She hated the neediness in her voice, the way she clung to him for dear life. Lori had never been a weak, whimpering damsel in distress. She took care of herself and never relied on others for anything. To do so only invited disappointment.

But this had escalated to the next level, to something that exceeded her deepest fears.

Someone taking a shot at her on the courthouse steps she’d braced herself for, but not this. Being attacked, nearly strangled to death in a dressing room with two armed deputy marshals within shouting distance.

How in the hell was that possible?

Oh, God. Oh, God. If they could get to her here, when her whereabouts and itinerary were supposed to be confidential, then they could get to her anywhere.

Panic swelled, building to hysteria. She was on the cusp of hyperventilating.

“Breathe. You have to breathe. Slow breaths, in and out.”

Nick moved his head from side to side and she would’ve sworn his mouth brushed her hair. But she wasn’t sure. Then his lips caressed her forehead in the barest touch, but the electric sensation was enough to burn through the mounting fear.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” He lowered his face to hers. His brown eyes—so authoritative and intense—anchored her. “I’ve got you, Lori. It’s going to be all right.”

NICK HELD HER tight to his chest, his heart sick with unfamiliar fear that threatened his composure. His muscles bunched, ready to blow a hole into anyone else who dared harm Lori. “Are you okay?”

She went limp against him, clinging to him with one hand and the other pressed to her throat. Her body shook so hard it was as if she might shatter into a million pieces.

He hauled her from the sight of the dead woman and inspected her neck. The garrote had left a laceration that would definitely scar if it wasn’t tended to quickly. But she was alive and that was all that mattered. “Lori, are you all right?”

Nick needed to get her talking, make sure she didn’t go into shock.

She sobbed into his shirt. Tears streamed down her face.

“Breathe,” he said, gently. “Take deep breaths.”

“If you had been ten seconds later...”

Brushing a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up to his.

Lori squeezed her eyes shut. “She would’ve killed me.”

Seeing her hurt and distraught made his stomach clench.

Ten seconds. Such a close call.

How many seconds had he wasted focused on Black Rose when he should’ve maintained his vigilance? The woman had been a deliberate distraction, goading him, to give the planted sales associate an opportunity to strike.

He’d give anything to rewind one damn minute and prevent this from ever having happened. How had he missed the setup?

Nick was no rookie. He didn’t make wet-behind-the-ears mistakes. The bait to hook his attention had been clever, well played. They’d been ready and waiting for Lori to arrive.

But how had those killers known they’d be in the store?

He longed to hold Lori tighter, closer, and soothe her, but this was the wrong place and the worst possible time. Once Black Rose, or whoever the hell that woman was, realized the assassination attempt had failed, she could come back—with reinforcements.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” His gaze fell to her bare, cut feet and exposed legs. Nick ducked into the dressing room, glass crunching underfoot, and gathered her things. “Here.” He handed Lori her clothes. “Get dressed. There’s a med kit in the trunk of the car. Once we’re away from the mall, I can treat your injuries. But we’re not safe here.”

More tears welled in her eyes. “Okay.” She brushed loose pieces of glass from her feet and plucked at embedded shards, wincing from the pain.

Nick took a knee beside Ted and put two fingers to his carotid.

There was a pulse, thready and slow, but he had one. Thank goodness.

The possible horror of losing both a witness and his partner at the same time flashed before him. No, it wasn’t something he would ever be able to live with.

He had to make damn sure that never happened on his watch. Not today. Not ever.

“Oh, dear God.” Lori peeked around the wall of the dressing room at Ted’s body while tugging on her jeans. “Is he alive?”

“Yeah. She must’ve hit him on the back of the head.” Nick loosened Ted’s tie and undid the top button of his shirt. There was a lot of blood and no way to assess how bad his head injury was, not when Black Rose could pop up again at any moment. He hated it, but he had to risk waking Ted. Nick shook him hard. “Come on, Ted.”

The old guy didn’t move. Blood had trickled down, soaking the back of his collar.

Nick reached into his jacket pocket and took out smelling salts. As the middle child in a family of bounty hunters, he knew well enough never to leave without extra ammo, caffeine pills, condoms and smelling salts. Invariably, you’d need one or all of them.

He snapped the capsule of white crystals under Ted’s nose, releasing the acrid punch of fumes. The ammonium carbonate tickled the membranes of Nick’s nose and lungs, triggering his own breathing to increase.

Ted’s eyes fluttered as he took a breath.

“There you go, buddy.” Nick tapped his arm and helped him sit upright.

They had to get the hell out of there, but there was no telling what was waiting for them outside the store. Nick glanced at Lori. She’d mustered a brave face, her eyes wet with tears, but her stark vulnerability struck him.

“Take off your shirt,” he said to her.

“What?” She gaped at him. “Why?”

Nick pulled off his jacket and holster and unbuttoned his shirt. Lori stared at his bulletproof vest. It was regulation for the marshals to wear one out in the field. The beefed-up hard composite body armor had an extra protection plate.

She caught his intention and did as he instructed.

Even though Nick had fantasized about seeing Lori undressed more times than he was ashamed to admit, he averted his eyes while he unstrapped the vest to put on Lori. There was no way to conceal the fact she was wearing one with only the T-shirt.

He reached up to the rack of discarded clothes, grabbed a lightweight blazer, ripping the tags off, and helped her put it on.

Ted held the back of his head and wobbled to his feet. “What in the hell happened?”

“We’ll talk in the car.” Nick roped an arm around Lori, leading them from the dressing rooms. “But right now I want us out of here.”

BELLADONNA STALKED ALONG the upper landing of the mall, drumming her fingers on the cold steel railing. The clothing store was fixed in her sights.

Tension crawled along the tendons of her neck. She rolled her shoulders once to ease it, maintaining her cool exterior despite her nerves.

This was taking too long. Something must’ve gone wrong.

The two deputy marshals rushed out of the shop with the target sandwiched between them, shouldering past passersby down the walkway. The target looked like she’d been through the wringer, but the problem was she was still breathing.

Trixie had failed. The talented young woman could flip from happy-go-lucky to jamming a fork into your eye in a breath. She would be greatly missed.

Things had not gone as Belladonna had hoped, but she thrived on contingency plans and never accepted a hit without analyzing all the angles first. Not that she’d been given a choice in this situation.

Sixty contracts spanning over twenty years and three continents had taught her it was far easier to eliminate a target if they were on their own or simply had a private security team. Mishaps were more likely to occur when the target was in the protective custody of federal agents. Preparation for any possibility was key.

With the main money-laundering mechanism of the cartel at stake, it was imperative to have layers of contingencies this time. A web within a web, and she was the spider weaving the entire sticky trap.

After she was forced to take this job, her employer had made it crystal clear that a five-million-dollar payday, her reputation and her life all rested on the outcome.

Failure wasn’t a consideration.

She had too much to live for. A family counting on her this time. She had to finish this job. No matter what.

Gritting her teeth, Belladonna slid a steady hand over her flawless bun, ensuring not a hair was out of place. The store had been the optimal location to take out the target. A controlled environment. No witnesses. Disposal would’ve been simple.

This setback was irritating, but temporary.

What had to happen next would be messy, far too public, making it harder to contain and to clean up. The likelihood of collateral damage would escalate exponentially. Belladonna abhorred the unnecessary loss of life. The hallmark of a true professional, one of the best in her humble opinion, was no accidental casualties.

But it had to be done. If a little innocent blood was spilled in the process, ultimately it was Lori Carpenter’s fault. All that woman had to do was keep her mouth shut. Would’ve saved Belladonna so much trouble.

Now she had to go through the hassle, not to mention the sheer inconvenience, of killing that bitch.

Belladonna inserted her earpiece and activated it with a slight touch. “Bishop, you’re in play. No knight stands in your way. Secure the queen at all costs,” she said to another person on her team stationed in a prime position.

“Check,” the low voice acknowledged.

The only other thing she wanted to hear was checkmate.

NICK GUARDED THEIR REAR, ensuring no one got the drop on them from behind. They hustled toward their exit. The mall left them too exposed. There were multiple sight lines for a sniper to take a clean shot. He glanced around, trying to assess where one could hide.

No, no. He shook the thought off. They’d considered that at least. That was why they liked this mall. There wasn’t a suitable position for a sniper’s nest. But the shopping center did provide opportunities for a hit man. They hadn’t factored in the possibility of an open, up-close assault.

The couple with the stroller and baby carrier looped back around in their direction. There was no movement from inside the stroller or the carrier.

Were the kids asleep? Or were those dolls and the gear a facade, hiding weapons?

He had to consider everyone a potential threat.

Two feet in front of him, Ted escorted Lori toward the last short corridor. Both were injured and frazzled and needed time to recuperate.

Lori hurried along with a hand pressed to her throat. The back of Ted’s head was still bleeding badly. His partner might need stitches and hopefully nothing else. Ted was literally hours from retirement and had almost bitten the dust.

Nick itched to have his weapon in hand until they were safely in the car, but he’d holstered it after leaving the store.

The last thing they needed was to draw unwanted attention to themselves. Their scramble out of the clothing shop had probably already raised speculation among the onlookers, making them wonder if they’d robbed the place.

Nick spun on his heel, doing a quick three hundred sixty scan.

No sign of the woman with the tattoo. She’d vanished like a phantom. But that didn’t give him a warm and cozy feeling, and it didn’t mean there wasn’t any danger.

Stay alert, stay alive, his former platoon leader used to say. There were no truer words.

They hit the west side corridor. The outer doors leading to the parking lot were in sight.

Ted held Lori by the elbow, keeping her moving at a rapid pace.

The older guy in front of the tea shop had progressed past asking questions to tasting samples. The nail salon and mobile phone shop were now a flurry of activity with customers.

A woman rummaging around in a large, bucket-size purse heading their way stole his attention. Nick slid his hand inside his jacket and gripped the handle of his service weapon, fingers tightening in readiness.

She pulled out a ringing cell phone and answered it, passing them by.

Nick exhaled the breath he’d been holding.

In fifty feet, they’d reach the doors and clear the mall. Then he’d reset from this epic disaster. Figure out how this could’ve happened in the first place.

All his senses were keyed up hot. Even his heartbeat had a machine-gun rhythm.

“I like the loose-leaf Dragon blend the best,” the senior citizen said as Nick came within earshot.

The sales associate holding the tray smiled at him. “That’s my favorite, too.”

Only thirty feet to go.

The old guy pivoted, lifting his cane like a shotgun and aimed at Lori with shocking speed.

Taking him head-on was the only response.

Nick bolted forward in a rush and charged the guy. The AARP-card-carrier’s eyes widened as he spotted Nick inbound and tried to redirect the aim. Nick knocked the cane up.

Bullets spit from the tip, spraying rounds on automatic. A plate glass storefront shattered. Rounds stitched up toward the ceiling. The air was split by the loud sewing-machine sound.

Ted pushed Lori up against a wall, out of the line of fire, and shielded her as he drew his Glock.

Bullets kept discharging in rapid fire. The gun concealed as a cane was such a thin, deceptive-looking weapon, but a stout recoil reverberated through Nick’s arms.

The man fought Nick to regain control and almost succeeded.

Though the guy was older, he wasn’t about to be put out to pasture. He had the strength of a bull and unleashed blinding martial arts moves.

Nick struggled to hold on to the cane through the assassin’s lightning kicks until the weapon clicked. Empty. Nick threw a hard right punch, catching the older man full in the face.

To his credit, the man didn’t stumble, but the blow stunned him a second. Maybe only a nanosecond before the man took a running leap into the air, screaming like a ferocious beast. AARP hoisted the cane up and swung it down.

Nick raised both arms, forming a triangle in front of his head to protect his skull. He took the brunt of the blow with his forearms and went for the man’s knee with the heel of his foot.

The old guy was too quick and dodged it but left another body part vulnerable. Nick kicked the man straight in the gonads.

The cane slipped from AARP’s grip and he doubled over in what must’ve been a world of hurt. But Nick wasn’t gullible enough to think that man wouldn’t recover in the next breath.

Nick grabbed the stainless-steel tray from the gawking clerk, letting samples of tea spill to the floor, and smacked AARP with the platter. A clang rang in the air as the man’s head twisted. But he stayed upright, wobbling—still a threat. Nick threw his entire body into hitting the man with the steel tray again. Not once, not twice, hell, he didn’t stop whaling on AARP until the guy dropped like a sack of potatoes and didn’t so much as twitch.

Lori was safe behind Nick’s partner, her face awash in renewed horror. Ted stood vigilant as a sentinel, determined not to let anything or anyone touch her, but his gun hand was shaking.

Not a good sign.

Ted was solid as a rock and Nick had never seen him tremble from nerves. Hopefully, his partner could make it to the car and Nick would tend to Lori and Ted later.

Right now there was a far more urgent problem.

The tingle in the back of his neck that slipped down between his shoulder blades told him he was being watched, and not by lookie-loo civilians.

He glanced around, barely taking in the carnage of broken glass and injured bystanders, bleeding and rolling on the floor from stray bullets.

One thing was at the forefront of his mind.

How many more hit men were there?

Chapter Three

Another bishop lost. Damn it!

Belladonna forced herself to stop staring at the target and turned, pretending to look at a storefront window display, in the opposite direction of the murmuring crowd that was gathering at the scene.

In another second or two, Deputy Marshal Nick McKenna would’ve sensed her surveillance and spotted her.

Unlike the older, softer Zeeman, McKenna was razor-sharp and capable. Traits she’d banked on in the clothing store when she’d lured the younger man away from the vicinity of the dressing rooms. She thought for certain he would’ve pursued her. The feral gleam in his eyes telegraphed his gnawing desire to do so, but he’d followed his protocol instead.

Something she bet he’d do again.

Even if she was mistaken on that account, she’d spent weeks planning, putting the pieces into place, waiting—down to the wire—for the final, missing element to fall in line.

There was nowhere they could go that she wouldn’t follow. Nowhere for them to hide. She had a carefully handpicked hit squad of more than a dozen left at her beck and call.

Belladonna whipped out her burner phone. First, she made a call to housekeeping.

“ETA on police?” she asked.

“They were just called,” the whiskey-smooth female voice on the other side said. “A bystander in the crowd phoned it in. ETA six minutes. We’ve kept the mall security phone lines down and the video surveillance feeds to the clothing store and southwest entrance cut.”

“Good. One less complication to deal with.”

“You need to consider that someone may have filmed the altercation on their phone.”

Exactly what Belladonna didn’t need. Video footage slapped up on YouTube going viral. “I need cleanup. ASAP.” She kept her own voice calm yet firm. “Two down. I don’t want any DNA traces of my people left behind. Not a drop of blood. Not a single hair. No clothing fibers. Nothing. Do what you can to wipe the phones in the area clean. Are we clear?”

“As always. We’ll monitor the internet in case any footage slips past us and pops up.”