They were just passing a quaint little café that had George thinking he could use some caffeine, when Andi suddenly tensed in his arms. Not sure what was going on, he followed his partner’s lead, turning slightly so that Andi’s back was toward the café. The sudden brush of Andi’s lips on his couldn’t have surprised George more if it had happened in front of the chief in the precinct. Andi mumbled into his mouth. “They’re here. Fuckinghere.”
George tightened his arms around Andi, doing his best not to be obvious while trying to take his surroundings in.
“Who is here?” he whispered back, sharing his breath with Andi.
“The killers. It’s them. Silk, and the blood is right and rich and one is a little older, the other related, so healthy, not ovulating this time, it’s the same silk, the same combination, it’s them.”
George didn’t question what Andi was telling him. Instead he walked him backward toward the wall of the café next to the huge window, chuckling softly as if they were a couple deeply in love.And wouldn’t that be nice?The thought flashed through his mind like lightning, there and gone, superseded by the need to catch their killers who seemingly had been served to them by fate.
“Where are they?”
“Inside, they’re just getting their coffee.”
“Have they seen us?”
“No, they’re focused on the pastries.”
“Good, let’s take a seat here. I’ll go inside to get us some coffee, see where they’ll sit down. You get Forard here.”
He led Andi to the next free table, which was away from the window, in a shadowy spot. To keep up the cover, he gave Andi a peck on his lips before he went inside. The café was moderately full, mainly tourists looking for some refreshment. To the trained eye, the two assassins stuck out like sore thumbs. They were Caucasian, sitting in a corner from where they could view the entire room, especially the exits, their body language relaxed. The cups with the coffee in front of them were steaming; they both wore bright summer tunics with shorts and flip-flops. If they had realized George was a threat, they weren’t showing it. George didn’t risk tipping his hand by staring at them too long. Just a casual glance, as one might give a room while waiting for an order. Then he took out his phone, again doing what people usually did in waiting situations, thumbing through it to see if Andi had sent a text. There was just a thumb up plusETA 10. Ten minutes until Forard would be here. George opened a game of Mahjong on his cell, finding it easier to really play something instead of simply pretending.
After he got his coffee and Andi’s tea, not making any small talk besides the usual pleasantries, he went back outside where his partner was waiting. Andi’s gaze was unfocused; he was undoubtedly keeping an eye—eyes? Antenna? Legs? Smelling organ?—on the two women inside. He wasn’t saying anything, clearly concentrating, which meant George could relax a bit and instead start worrying about the situation at hand. There were too many people here, and he doubted the two women would come with them willingly. He hadn’t seen any obvious weapons, not meaning there weren’t any. In fact it would be stupid to assume the killers wouldn’t be armed. Hell, Holway had worn three knives and a gun while cleaning his other weapons. While he was still mulling over how to best approach the situation, Andi’s cell vibrated. George reached for it when his partner didn’t give any indication that it had even registered with him. It was a text from Forard.
We’re here.
George looked around but couldn’t see anybody. Good.
Not sure how to proceed, he typed.
What does Hayes say?
George poked Andi until he looked at the screen George was showing him. After a moment, he started to type.
Suspects inside at back. Two exits additional to entrance. Go to back, windows at bathrooms need to be covered. We go in and pull a stupid police stunt, make them run. Position two people at entrance.
A thumbs-up appeared. George had to admit the plan wasn’t bad. Making the two assassins run—or rather try to leave unobtrusively while the two bumbling cops tried to find somebody—was the likeliest way to avoid any casualties among the civilians.
When theIn positiontext appeared a few moments later, Andi and George got up, taking out their badges in the process. They entered the café as loudly as they could, Andi going to the first table on the right while George went to the first on the left, introducing himself as a detective and asking if they could help him with an ongoing murder investigation. He heard Andi doing the same song and dance, and in the corner of his eye he saw the two women, both of them almost as tall as he was, one blond, the other with chestnut hair, getting up and calmly walking toward the bathrooms. He waited till they were out of sight before he thanked the two confused men for their help. Andi was already on his way over, almost tripping over a chair. George was at his side in a flash, gripping his elbow to steer him while he whipped out his cell with the other hand, hitting the speed dial for Forard’s cell. As soon as the call connected, he held it next to Andi so Forard could hear what his partner was saying.
“They’re in the bathroom, preparing to go through the window at the very end. Careful, they have knives and two guns, wait till both are out, there’s a hole in the fence leading to the house next door, cover it, it’s big enough to slip through, don’t let them go too far right, there’s a car behind that tree, open, try to herd them toward the left, the wall is solid, the top full of shards, somebody wants to keep the doves away, foolish, they don’t care about shards, but blobs do, the three men from behind the trash need to make their move now, yes, very good, you’ve got them, no, be careful, the knives, so quick, she’s reaching for the gun, the shards, blood, delicious blood, smearing on the wall, duck—”
George ended the call when he heard a gunshot at the back, indicating the two contract killers were resisting arrest. They quickly made their way outside, in time to see Forard trying to wrestle a gun from the hand of the blond while two of his men were trying to herd the brunet woman against the wall. It wasn’t going well. Two other men were on the ground, unconscious, at least George hoped they were. There were no signs of too much blood on them suggesting they were dying. Another gunshot resounded, plaster falling from the wall where the bullet had hit, followed by an angry bellow from Forard and a clattering when metal hit stone. George dove forward to get the weapon before the blond had a chance to retrieve it. Forard was on his back, gasping. The pained yelp of another man had George redirecting his focus to the brunet woman, who had managed to fell one of her attackers. The remaining one was hesitating, merely following her along the wall without engaging. The blond, who had managed to evade Forard’s other man, was now next to her partner. Both of them had knives, and the brunet was taking another gun out of her purse, which she had taken up from the ground in a quick maneuver. George heard the telltale clicking of a gun being cocked, this time at his back. Andi’s voice was steady, cold.
“Drop your weapons.”
Both women tensed; George could see them weighing their chances. They weren’t as bad as George would have wished. Four of Forard’s men were down for good, the two who were still standing were positioned right and left of George, and Forard himself was back on his feet but swaying slightly. He did have his gun out, though George wasn’t sure if that would do them any good. These women had proven impressively that a few SWAT members weren’t a problem for them. George steadied the weapon he had taken from the ground, aiming at the brunet. Andi talked again.
“I said drop your weapons.”
There was a waver in Andi’s voice. From the corner of his eye, George could see his partner was so tense he was close to snapping, meaning he hadn’t been able to close the connection to the arthropods before shit hit the fan. It also meant Andi knew a lot more about the mental state of these women than George or anybody else could deduce from their body language. He risked a direct glance at Andi, who had his weapon firmly trained on the blond.
“Don’t. It won’t do you any good.”
George’s body reacted before the words truly registered in his brain. It was something about the way Andi angled his body, nothing anybody else watching him would have seen, just something George knew and recognized because he had spent so much time getting attuned to his partner’s body language. He fired a shot at the brunet, aiming for her right shoulder, forcing her to drop her gun. A second shot rang out, followed by a scream of pain and the glittering of a knife bouncing on the ground. Andi had taken care of the blond. Forard and the two SWAT members surged forward, Forard going for the blond while his partners got the brunet in handcuffs. Both women were cursing up a storm in a language George thought might be Croatian, but he wasn’t sure. They were both wounded, the blood smearing their brightly colored tunics, small puddles forming at their feet. Andi had hit the blond in her right leg. She was still standing, though, spitting on the ground when Forard dragged her toward the gate that would lead them out of the backyard. By now they had a healthy crowd of spectators, who George tried to fend off while the two women were led away. A siren close by told him backup was on the way, and once the beat officers arrived, they hastened to fence the scene of the crime off.
“Hayes. Another hunch?” Forard didn’t even raise a brow when he approached them. He was favoring his left leg, and George could see a bruise forming on his forehead. The blond had obviously not held back.
Andi shrugged, leaned heavily on George. He had been exhausted before, but now the dark circles under his eyes made him look like the realistic impression of a skull. George would have loved nothing more than to take his partner home and put him into bed. With the catching of the two killers, that wasn’t in the cards. What he could do was divert some attention from Andi to Forard’s wounds and himself.
