Page 51 of Fox in Plain Sight

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Michelle cursed. She’d wanted to place only one more camera, but had remembered too late that the northbound lane on George Washington Memorial Parkway didn’t have an exit on Columbia Island. So she’d had to double-back after installing a camera right off the highway where the Pentagon Lagoon Yacht Basin was flowing back into the Potomac River. The bridge was a strategic point from which any boat leaving the lagoon could be watched.

Unfortunately the detour had cost her precious minutes. Minutes, it now turned out, she didn’t have. Because she wasn’t the only early bird.

“Well, look who couldn’t wait to meet,” the stranger said in a menacing voice, as he gripped her elbow.

She knew immediately that this wasn’t Smith. His voice sounded different, and he let her see his face. Smith had always made sure she never got a glimpse of him so she couldn’t identify him.

One thing was immediately crystal clear: this man had been sent by Smith to get rid of her.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” he suggested, jamming something hard—and concealed beneath the jacket that he’d slung over his forearm—into her side.

She didn’t need to see the item to know it was a gun. She also knew immediately why he wanted to head away from the path that led back to where she’d parked the van. A group of three-to-five year olds was playing in the open meadow only a few yards away, supervised by three young kindergarten teachers. He couldn’t kill her here, or he would have several witnesses and a panicked group of kids on his hands.

Just as Michelle knew she couldn’t call out to the three teachers for help either. It would only endanger the children. For all she knew, the man currently holding a gun to her ribs had no scruples killing innocent children in order to save his own ass.

She was on her own.

“Move!” he ordered between clenched teeth.

She cast him a sideways glance. He looked so normal. Not like a villain, but more like a boring accountant on his way to work. That’s why she hadn’t even noticed him, though clearly he’d noticed her.

Michelle had no choice but to put one foot in front of the other. But she had to somehow buy herself time. “Smith sent you? What does he want?”

A little chuckle came from the man. “What do you think?” He pressed the barrel of the gun harder into her side to make his point.

“Why? I’ve done everything he wanted.”

The assassin nudged her in the direction of a public restroom, which was partially surrounded by bushes and trees.

“Apparently your employer wasn’t quite satisfied with your job performance.”

“I can improve,” she hastened to say, realizing that once they reached the restrooms there was nothing to prevent him from killing her out of sight of any witnesses.

“I believe your probationary period is over. And guess what?” He leaned in. “You didn’t make the cut.”

Her heart beat frantically, and her palms were sweaty. “Whatever he’s paying you, I can pay you more.”

A snort was his answer. He didn’t believe her. Well, she wouldn’t believe herself either.

Michelle eyed the one-story brick building that housed the restrooms and saw a man exit from one side. He walked toward them.

The assassin pasted a smile on his face and said for the benefit of the man passing them, “Honey, your stomach will feel better in a second, I promise you.”

The fake sweet tone of his voice made her want to puke and make his lie about her stomach trouble true.

The moment the other man was out of earshot, her assailant hurried her along. “Let’s move.”

She pretended to stumble over her own feet, letting out a gasp. He gripped her elbow even harder, his gun slipping for a moment, but then he pulled her along again. The distraction had worked, however: she’d managed to pull the cell phone Yankee had given her from her pocket, press what she hoped was the redial button, and drop it into the grass. Yankee had programmed in his number, and they’d tested it before she’d left with the van. She could only hope now that he would get the message that she was in trouble. It was a long shot, but what else could she do?

“Stop, please,” she begged loudly, praying that the call had already connected and would pick up her voice from this distance. “My ankle. I think I sprained it. Please don’t take me into those public restrooms. Please don’t kill me.”

“Shut up, you bitch!” he growled, looking around. He seemed satisfied that nobody was close enough to have heard her or seen her struggle.

Her gaze darted past the structure ahead of them, where sailboats and motorboats were docked at the small marina. But it was quiet there, too.

With every step they got closer to the public restrooms, hope that the cavalry would arrive in time faded a little bit more. A hand clamped around her heart and squeezed it tighter with every second. Soon, it would all be over. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her end: shot in a public restroom, her body lying on the urine-stained concrete floor. A cold shiver raced down her back, and her hands trembled.