Chapter 1: Target
Cade
Within the next sixty minutes, Cade would kill a man.
He sat alone behind the tinted windows of his black Escalade, away from the faint light of the lampposts that dotted the residential street. Cicadas buzzed, and while dim lights glimmered from a few windows, no activity on the road or in nearby yards interrupted the stillness of the evening.
Cade mentally reviewed the plan and contingencies again. He double-checked his weapons, ensured he'd disabled the car's dome light, and watched the time closely. When the target left, he would access the house through the back door. He had easily picked the lock two nights ago and didn’t expect any issues tonight.
The target's home, with its stately bricks and manicured lawn, was unremarkable compared to the others in this affluent neighborhood. Its owner, Robert Wilson, appeared equally ordinary, just a middle-aged accountant of average height with a receding hairline and a bad combover. Cade had trailed him for several days and knew his nighttime routine; he left his house almost every night around this time to visit the same woman, a bleach-blonde, thirty-something who lived a few blocks away. Once he disappeared into her apartment, he exited again within thirty minutes and drove back home.
Tonight, when Wilson returned from his nightly tryst, Cade would greet him with his Glock. If he didn't cooperate, didn’t divulge intel about the missing girls, Cade would make him talk.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t get too messy.
When the target's car slipped from the driveway right on schedule, Cade triggered his stopwatch. He would sit tight for a few minutes in case Wilson forgot something and turned around.
A dog barked somewhere behind Wilson's house, interrupting the tranquility of the evening. Cade scanned the darkness but saw nothing that might be agitating the animal. The dog yapped nonstop until an angry voice snapped at it, then it whimpered and finally hushed.
Everything was quiet and still.
Until a flicker of motion caught his eye.
A dark shape skittered toward the back of Wilson's house. Had it been an animal? Cade scoured the area but detected no further activity.
He chalked up the movement to a raccoon or possum hunting for their next meal and relaxed. Checking the time, he noted it had been eleven minutes since Wilson left.
Cade was about to leave the car when a brief flash appeared inside Wilson's house. Watching closely, he saw more stirrings, shadows across the bare windows and other faint flickers, maybe from a small flashlight.
Son of a bitch.
There was someone in the house.
But who? An associate of Wilson’s was unlikely since they wouldn’t need to prowl. A rival hitter was a possibility given Wilson’s illicit activities. If it was another hitman, he needed to get inside before the target was eliminated because he couldn't get intel from a corpse. But the clumsy, visible movements were too obvious for a professional, so he dismissed that idea.
It could be a burglar, which would be ridiculously inconvenient timing. Hopefully, the intruder would leave beforeWilson returned home so Cade could proceed with the original plan. At this point, coming back tomorrow night was not an option. Once Wilson realized someone had been in his house, he was likely to increase security.
Fucking hell.
Cade watched the house closely, seeing occasional silhouettes and intermittent flashes, but when his stopwatch ticked past eighteen minutes, everything was still. The trespasser could be upstairs, where window shades blocked visibility, or he could be leaving. Cade sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the rear of the house, but with no sign that the thief had exited, he figured he must still be inside.
What the fuck was taking so long? You got in, grabbed the electronics and jewelry, quickly searched drawers for guns or cash, then got out. Cade and the other street rats figured that out day one, so what was with this guy? Was he looking for drugs or just stupid?
Cade checked the time and cursed when he saw it had been twenty-five minutes since Wilson left. At this point, it was too late to enter the house and get into position, but something compelled him to stay, to ensure the burglar got out. He waited, body tense, as time ticked by with no activity.
Then Wilson’s car pulled into the driveway.
Cade was pretty sure the intruder was still in the house.
Fuck.
He had to act now.
Wilson was a monster. He bought and sold people like animals or goods, so Cade knew he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate the trespasser. The robber was not exactly innocent, but compared to the horrific things that Wilson had done, the transgressions of a petty thief were inconsequential.
Cade had to save this person from Wilson; his code required it.
He waited for the target's form to disappear into the home, then slid from the car. He tucked his gun against his leg to hide its outline and slinked to the rear of the house, staying low to avoid detection through the windows. Through the back door, he could see past the kitchen into the living room, where a red-headed kid looked like he might piss his pants. He could make out part of Wilson's back and the gun aimed at the boy's forehead.
