Free No Chance in Hell by Jerrie Alexander Page A

but the facility manager was all too eager to spill his guts. A sniper had taken a shot at her. Anger spiked his blood, sending a sharp pain to his temple. She was his to kill. He sprang to his feet and paced back and forth. The answer hit so hard it buckled his knees.  
    He fished his phone from his pocket. With trembling fingers, he punched in Michelangelo’s secret number.
    On the third ring, he picked up. “My boy. What a nice surprise.”
    “Where are you?” The taste of betrayal filled his mouth as he waited for the answer.
    “In my room at the Regency. Why?”
    “Do not lie to me.” His voice quivered with anger. “Just don’t.”
    “I don’t like your tone of voice or your accusation. Why are you attacking me?”
    “Did you take a shot at Christine today?”  
    “Considering I don’t have access to a long-range missile, I have to ask the question... What the hell are you talking about?”
    DaVinci sank into a chair. “Someone tried to kill her today. You insinuated you might try.”
    “How many drinks have you had?”
    The question shocked him. “Two.”
    “I think more than that. Call me with an apology. When you’re sober.”
    The line went dead. Fuck. His mentor and friend had never lied to him. Had he faked his indignation? Calling the hotel in London to confirm Michelangelo’s claim would be a waste of time. He wouldn’t have done the deed himself. He’d have ordered one of his minions to kill her.
    DaVinci returned to his private office and watched the camera feed. Christine thought she could outsmart him. No cop or bodyguard in the world could keep him from her. She lived at his convenience, a lesson she had yet to learn.
    A flash of clarity and resolution came to him. Minutes later, he was dressed in black, his pistol was in the pocket of his windbreaker, and he was walking to his car.
    ****
    “It’s Marcus,” he called out and knocked at the same time. He’d been gone only a couple of hours, but his nerves were fried. Diablo sensed his stress, the scruff on the back of his neck rising as if the dog watched for imaginary enemies.  
    Wayne opened the door and stepped back. “You and the dog look like shit. What’s up?”
    “Nothing. I was in a hurry to get back.” Marcus caught Chris’s gaze and held it. His breathing leveled off when she smiled. “Everything quiet?”
    “Yeah. Chris doesn’t even have noisy neighbors.”
    “We had sandwiches. I left everything out for you.” She moved to the kitchen. “I’m packed and ready, but Wayne’s right. You and Diablo look like you could use a meal. We have time for you to eat.”
    “Better listen to the lady.” Wayne walked to the door. “If you need me or Tomas to stand watch, just give us a call.”
    “Will do,” Marcus said.
    “Thank you for babysitting me,” Chris called out.
    “Anytime.”
    Marcus locked up and joined her at the kitchen counter. Diablo growled at the door. “I’m sorry, big fellow. It’s a good thing you reminded me.” He clipped the leash to the dog’s collar. “If you’ll make me a sandwich, I’ll take this guy out. We won’t go far, but lock the—”
    “Door.” She finished his sentence with a grin, joining him to do as asked.
    “Right.”  
    The crack of gunfire split the night. Marcus dropped the leash. Crouching low, he pulled his Glock and sprinted to Wayne’s unmarked car. He jerked open the driver’s side door to find Wayne slumped to the right. Blood had already saturated the back of his shirt. A bullet had hit him in the shoulder, behind his left arm.
    “I called 911,” Chris called out.  
    “Looks like you took one in the left shoulder blade.” Marcus tried not to sound panicked. That was the last thing Wayne needed right now. “I can’t tell more than that.” He rested his weapon on the top of the car so it would be easy to reach and then jerked off his shirt. “This is gonna hurt.” He pressed hard against the wound to slow the flow of blood.  
    “I was