Kim & The Hitman, Sandie Baldry [red novels txt] 📗

liability, he would face being hunted and eliminated. The prospect set his pulse racing. An angry surge in his chest that this could happen to him.

Having followed the ambulance to the hospital, he parked and watched as they took the woman out. An hour later, he was still waiting. There was no difficulty tracing her in the hospital. He just followed the uniforms. What was going to be harder was grabbing her. His own life depended on his success. Take her somewhere, then interrogate, find out who she was, then finish it. Once done, he would conclude his business with the original target. No one need know what had happened. However, he must act quickly. Deal with this problem, then get to the target before she had time to recover and go into hiding. It had already occurred to him he might have to deal with the husband too—no loose ends.

He hovered in the corridor, faking a check of a notice board. He watched as a detective walked into a cubicle out of his sight. Shit, he was going to interview her before he had the chance to interrogate. A moment later, he was out again, and Vincent released a breath.

The corridor was alive with traffic wandering back and forth, giving him cover as he stood by the notice board. Then he saw her step out from the cubical, willing her to walk his way. For a moment, she hesitated with a glance towards a uniformed officer talking to nurses; her eyes then flickered towards him. Vincent turned his head, again gazing at the notice board. Enough people were moving around to obscure his figure, yet if she spotted him… was he stupid to pursue her? He held his breath, daring to check her position from the corner of his eye. Then an orderly appeared before him, holding a hot drink.

‘Can I help you, sir, are you lost?’

Vincent smiled at the young man, who had probably seen him there before he went to get his drink. By the smell, hot chocolate. Then returning with said drink, concerned for the stranger studying the hospital map.

‘Just waiting for someone, thank you for asking, though,’ returned Vincent, his eyes catching the woman walking towards him. The orderly moved on.

The woman, he noticed limping, continued to venture his way. His luck was changing. He waited, ready to walk behind her, take her by surprise. If she was an assassin, she might fight. He needed to ensure she didn’t—his hand gripping the revolver hidden under the mac over his arm.

She was getting closer. Then she turned into a door. Fuck. Vincent went to follow. It was the ladies. Okay, he would wait. He was a patient man. He flicked a look at his watch. A few minutes later, another look. She had been in there for 10 minutes. How much longer? What the fuck was she doing?

***

Funny what you think about when stressed. Waiting outside the ladies was the hitman. And I thought he was at the wrong door. Gents were further along the corridor. It took a second to appreciate he was there, waiting for me, his coat over his arm, pointing the gun in my direction. Gliding behind me, I could feel his warm breath on my ear. He was a smoker.

‘Unless you want to be responsible for a blood bath, do exactly what I tell you.’

He pushed me through visitors as we headed toward the elevator a few metres away. My head spun, working through scenarios that saw me legging it without getting a bullet in my back. The elevator doors opened. I turned my head in the hope of catching the policeman’s eye; he was still engrossed with the same nurses. Further up, I recognised the detective that had been waiting for me. He was surveying the corridor. If only he looked to his left. The man prodded me to move into the elevator.

We stood there with two orderlies: glancing to us, one asked,

‘Up or down?’

‘Down,’ said the man.

The lift jerked into movement, and my eyes flicked to the lift lights progressing through the floors, the fingers on the man digging into my shoulder. It stopped at level two. The doors slid open, and another orderly, pushing an empty wheelchair, stepped in, acknowledging the other two. The three chatted about their holiday plans for the summer as we continued down, stopping at level one. The orderlies left; the door silently closed behind them. An onslaught of panic gripped my chest. I couldn’t even scream. What did this man want with me? Did he think I knew where Jenna was?

Emerging on the ground floor, he had one hand on my arm, the other behind my back, holding the weapon. Steering me out towards the reception, where he froze as several officers stood by the door. We spun around, going back in the direction we’d come from. He, swearing under his breath, the fingers digging into my shoulder, getting painful. We walked along a corridor, guessing he was hunting for another way out. I could sense his panic. He would have been better off, leaving me and escaping through the front reception. No one knew what he looked like. I guessed the reason he wouldn’t let me go. I could identify him, and so could Jenna. But she was safe, for now. It was then I realised what would happen. My legs froze. He was going to kill me.

His lips touched my ear as he whispered, ‘I will shoot you here and anyone else.’ There was a beat. ‘So, move.’

I continued. My heels hurting, my limp getting worse.

A few more metres, he found a door leading to an exit. We were standing in the delivery area with a notice to keep clear for deliveries displayed on the brick walls. But just my luck, it was empty, with no deliveries. Further along, there