Attempted Assassination(11)

After a few seconds, he was able to stand. The dizziness caused the dry heaves, making it difficult to breathe, and the deep pain throughout his entire body had him considering ripping off his own skin.

Part of him wanted to shoot both of them where they stood, but another smaller part overrode that. Those blue eyes glistened with tears as the woman grabbed onto the man.

"Stay away from me," he groaned, slowly backing away from them, memorizing their features in case he ever came upon them again. Next time, he'd make sure he was in good health and he'd kill them, no questions asked.

When he stood about twenty feet from them, he turned and began to run.

"Jordan! Please! It's me, Ava! Jordan!"

Her voice and her name caused an ache in his chest, one that made him certain he should be in the middle of a heart attack, but he pressed on to put as much distance between those two and himself.





12





Ava fought Garrett's hold as she watched Jordan stagger down the street, looking like one of the homeless drunks of the city. "We have to go after him!"

"No, Ava."

His voice was so calm, but his grip remained tight. Tears stung her eyes as Jordan glanced back one last time, then rounded the corner. With him out of her sight, defeat rolled through her and she stopped fighting Garrett. Finally, he let go and she turned to face him.

"We should find him again."

Garrett shook his head. "Ava, he just put a damn gun in your face. Would you find your common sense? You don't chase someone with a gun unless yours is bigger, and we don't even have one."



       
         
       
        

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She'd been so close to Jordan-he'd touched her! All she'd wanted to do was hold him and beg him to remember her.

"I think we better head back to the island. He's agitated, and we don't want him coming back shooting."

She sighed and looked over her shoulder at the way Jordan had gone. Yes, he'd definitely been upset. However, when she'd first stepped into the square, he'd been standing by the sign that pointed to the Underground Tour with his hands in his pockets. As he looked around the area, she had seen the small grin on his face, as if he had found a moment of happiness, and she hoped it had been a memory. She'd been certain he'd recognize her, and it had scared her and caught her completely off guard when he'd grabbed her so hard. In fact, her arm ached, and as she rubbed it, she had no doubt his fingers had left bruises.

Despite the urge to go after him, she felt like it would be poking a stick at a hornet's nest, and as Garrett had pointed out, he had drawn a gun on them. She should just be thankful he hadn't used it.

"Let's go, Ava. I'm not comfortable standing here waiting for him to decide he needs target practice."

"You're right."

As she followed Garrett to the car, she wondered if Jordan's agitation had been a good sign, or a bad one.

She slipped into the passenger seat, and suddenly began to shake. Her husband had pulled a gun on her. Never in a million years would she have though him capable of that, but it had happened.

He must have felt threatened by her in some way, which seemed ridiculous, but she could understand it. If he killed people for a living, he would have to be looking over his shoulder all the time.

It almost seemed as if he'd suddenly fallen ill during their confrontation. She'd noticed the sweat on his brow, the way his body shook, and how he seemed to be close to vomiting. What could have caused it? One moment, he'd seemed happy, until he saw her. The next, he'd acted like a sick, trapped animal. Could it be possible she was responsible for the quick change in demeanor?

She rubbed her arm where he'd grabbed her. It would definitely bruise. She hated he'd hurt her, that he'd pulled a gun on her, and that he seemed to be in so much discomfort in her presence, but she would look at all of that as a good sign that her husband would be coming back to her.





13





The farther he got from that woman, the better he began to feel. His heart slowed; he could finally breathe again, and the pain throughout his body lessened. The disappearance of all his symptoms also allowed him to think more clearly, more rationally. 

He figured he'd put about two miles between him and them, and he slipped into a souvenir shop, pulled a Seattle sweatshirt off the shelf in his size. As he waited in line, he also grabbed a travelers' pack of ibuprofen. He paid cash, and walked out of the store while slipping on the sweatshirt.

He jogged into the back alley, found a pallet to sit on, and swallowed the ibuprofen dry. Then, he put his head in his hands. It was time to really think about what had happened in Pioneer Square, what it all meant, and what the consequences would be. He had to consider all his options. Right now, he supposed he could pass for a homeless man and no one would pay him any attention. He certainly didn't look well-dressed as he had this morning-who knew what dirtied his pants from the sidewalk, and his loafers had been scuffed up pretty good. He could smell his own body odor from the panic and the run to escape. His hair stood on-end from the sweat, and he ran his hands through it, messing it up further. He felt safe huddled among the garbage dumpsters and the scent of urine. However, once he got his shit together, he needed to get moving.

First and foremost, he'd been compromised.

Both she and that black man had known his name, which could never be considered a good thing in his position. However, they'd seemed to want to help him, not hurt him. Whatever was wrong with him had intensified when he'd seen the blonde, to the point where it had almost debilitated him. For the second day in a row, his reaction to her had been strong and visceral, and he didn't have a clue how to explain it.

How had they found him?

They must have followed him from the hotel. It could be the only answer that made sense. Two days in a row, he'd seen that woman, and he didn't believe in coincidences like that. Seattle happened to be a fairly large city, and the chances of simply stumbling upon her again seemed pretty slim.

So, he couldn't go back to the hotel, and he couldn't use his credit card. Thankfully, he'd had the wherewithal to grab his second identification packet and all the cards that went along with it. Jordan Callahan would now become Jordan Newman.

The first thing he needed to do would be to get some new clothing. He couldn't very well walk into the Four Seasons in a Seattle sweatshirt and wrinkled pants. He needed to look like he belonged there, and casual business attire would be the passport.

Second, he needed to find another hotel; it would be best to stay near the Four Seasons. He'd become very familiar with the area, and felt comfortable with his upcoming task and escape plan.

He pulled out his phone and looked for hotels around there, finding a Motel 6. He could check in there in his current disheveled state and no one would look at him twice.

Third, he better do something about his hair-maybe a quick buzz cut, and let some scruff grow out on his clean-shaven jaw. A new pair of sunglasses, and he'd be ready to go, and just about unrecognizable.

He took a deep breath and looked up and down the alley, happy to see he still sat alone.

Now that he had a game plan and he felt better, he was confident he could get his job completed tomorrow. After that, he'd get the hell out of the city, head down to a beach somewhere, and get some rest and relaxation. At that point, he'd be able to put the blonde woman behind him; he'd have time to recover from whatever illness he had, and he'd drink a bunch of margaritas, get a lot of sex, then he'd be ready to return to work. Yeah, he just really needed a vacation. He'd been working all year, non-stop.

As he stood, his muscles felt tight, but at least his body aches had subsided. He walked out of the alley and headed toward the Motel 6.





14





"Hell, yeah, we got a reaction out of him! The son of a bitch pulled a gun on us!"



       
         
       
        

Garrett paced back and forth in Joe's living room on Whidbey Island. As she watched him, it occurred to her that Garrett was more upset about their encounter with Jordan than she was.

Did it bother her that he'd pulled a gun? Absolutely. However, she'd never feared for her life. She didn't like that her bicep still ached from where he'd grabbed her, but overall, she felt good about the encounter, no matter how dangerous it had been.

Joe narrowed his gaze, as if in deep thought. "Interesting. Why didn't he shoot you?"

Garrett stared at him a moment, then shook his head. "Are you fucking kidding me, man? I don't give a shit as to why he didn't shoot me. I'm just happy he didn't!"

A small smile pulled at Joe's mouth. "Garrett. Language, please."

Garrett rolled his eyes incredulously. "I just almost got killed, and you want me to worry about a few curse words?"

"There are ladies present."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She'd been around these guys enough to know that a few curse words-or even a whole slew of them-wouldn't bother her in the least bit.

"It's okay, Joe. Let him vent."

Her words seemed to calm Garrett, and he sat down on the couch next to her, laying his head back against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling.