Any assassin worth his weight in salt would have both exits covered. Taking Eugene outside would only increase his exposure. They’d never get him to the car alive.
Aiden tapped his earpiece. “Torres, don’t. Track where the gunfire is coming from and lay down suppressive fire to give me a chance to move. We’ve got to kill the sniper first.”
“On it.”
“Banks?” Aiden waited for the next reply that didn’t come. “Dale, come in.”
“I think he’s down,” Charlie said, echoing his thoughts.
If that were the case, the sniper did have a line of sight to the backyard, kitchen, most likely the front, too, and had taken out Banks before unleashing a torrent of slugs on them.
“Protect Potter,” Aiden said to Charlie. “The fridge door will make better cover and take the brunt of the gunfire.”
He guessed the rifle was a .50 cal. The thick stainless-steel doors wouldn’t hold up indefinitely under the heavy firepower, but they should withstand the onslaught long enough for Aiden to take care of the shooter.
“You stay,” Charlie said, her eyes bright and shining, her voice too eager. “I’ll go—”
“No. It’s an order.” Aiden only played the I-outrank-you card when necessary. It wasn’t that Charlie couldn’t handle the sniper—she was more than capable, but she was drawn to danger like a moth to a flame, and he’d do anything to prevent her from getting burned.
Coming up on one knee, he drew his gun and then moved without hesitation toward the door leading to the yard. He’d be easy pickings once outside. Since Banks had taken the back, Aiden didn’t know if there was anything out there that he could use for cover besides a couple of stone pillars.
A grill. He recalled noticing a gas grill on the patio as he’d lowered the blinds, but the propane tank made it more of a hazard than potential cover.
Going outside was a dicey move, but necessary. Eliminating the threat required two people. One as bait to draw fire while the other went in and neutralized the enemy.
Aiden stopped before reaching the doors and stood with his back to the double-wall ovens in a pocket of space protected from gunfire. “Torres, you got a bead on our sniper?” Aiden asked, slipping the thumb drive into his pocket.
“Yep. He’s on the roof of the house on the west side.”
The location made perfect sense based on the lines of sight, and would put the sun at the shooter’s back, but the gunman hadn’t been out in the open when they’d arrived at the exact same time Eugene had been pulling into the driveway, returning from errands. The sniper must’ve set up while Aiden and Charlie had been indoors explaining things to Eugene. Risked pulling off the hit in broad daylight rather than taking the chance of losing his target.
“I need a distraction so I can move,” Aiden said.
“Got it. Be ready on my mark.”
Aiden glanced at Charlie.
The fridge doors were doing a good job of absorbing the bullets. Charlie would make sure Potter didn’t lose his head, literally or figuratively.
Aiden braced for what was to come, for what he had to do next.
An icy stillness stole over him. His heart pounded, but he grew utterly calm. Resolved. Focused on nothing except the plan forming with brutal clarity. Warfare meditation.
“Go now,” Torres said in his ear.
Gunshots from a handgun rang out. As expected, the suppressed rifle fire refocused.
Aiden dashed through the dining area, slipped outside and shut the door.
In the grass, Dale Banks was down on his back. Blood pooled from a hole in what was left of his head. Aiden’s gut clenched at the thought of Dale’s pregnant wife and how there wouldn’t be an open casket.
Aiden pressed his spine hard against a stone column, ensuring he wasn’t in the line of fire. Then he drew on honed professional detachment.
Low pops from the big rifle whizzed in the direction where Torres must’ve taken position on the side of Potter’s house.
This was Aiden’s chance. It wouldn’t last long.
He took two deep breaths and bolted toward the fence, racing across the spacious yard before the shooter spotted him. He scaled the six-foot wooden barrier with little effort while Torres played decoy.
Making his way around the adjacent ranch-style house, Aiden crossed the short distance to the far side of the home. He had to sneak up on the sniper’s rear and deal with him quickly.
A trash bin had been propped against a section of the stucco wall alongside an AC unit. The shooter must’ve used it to get up to the second floor, where there was a broken window.
No time to go through the house to get to the roof. Besides, the plastic receptacle might make unwanted noise or buckle under his weight, giving him away.
He searched for a better option.
Fragrant honeysuckle climbed a trellis that screened either side of the back porch.
The wooden lattice might be perfect. Provided it was sturdy enough.
A quick shake after putting his full weight on two bottom rungs showed it to be a durable frame that’d been built to last.
Aiden holstered his firearm and scaled the privacy trellis. He climbed smoothly, moving from one handhold to another. At the top, he hoisted himself up onto the patio roof and landed softly, straining not to make a sound.
The sniper was clad in all black and in a prone position only several feet away, cheek pressed against the stock, trying to put holes in Torres.
Aiden crept forward. Slipped his sidearm from the holster on his hip. “Freeze! Or I’ll blow your head off.”
The semiautomatic gunfire stopped. The shooter stilled.
“Hands up off the rifle. Now!” Aiden stepped closer, aiming for the shoulder. If he had to shoot, he’d prefer to wound him so they could question him and find out exactly who’d taken out the contract on Eugene.
Slowly, the man with a buzz cut complied, raising his gloved hands to ear level, staying down on his belly.
Aiden unhooked handcuffs from his gun belt and tossed them over to the guy. They clattered next to his left elbow. “Cuff yourself. Hands behind your back. Take it nice and slow.”
“Please, don’t shoot,” the sniper said with a heavy twang that came from somewhere below the Mason-Dixon line. “I’m just going for the handcuffs.”
Dixie reached across his body with his right hand toward the cuffs, posture tightening, muscles shifting gradually. No sudden moves. Fingers dipped out of sight in front of his chest.
Then a lot of things happened in a flash.
The killer rotated lightning quick, flipping onto his back.