Free Madness (Revenge Series Book 3) by M.S. Brannon Page B

a building steps from the shadows. My gut stirs in warning when he walks out onto the sidewalk and blends in. I don’t know this man, and from what I can tell, he doesn’t appear to be part of the thieves . His ethnicity is wrong; he appears to be of Middle Eastern descent. I won’t be able to tell for sure until I get a good look at him, though.
    I come out of my alcove and cross the busy sidewalk, keeping a good distance behind to remain unseen. I flank him on the left as I travel coolly down the street, keeping my feet steady, walking as casually yet as assertively as possible.
    The people walking in the opposite direction take note of my demanding stride and move to the side. I don’t need to move my eyes anywhere except between Josslyn and the strange man.
    He is dressed out of place for this time of year. It’s nearly seventy-five degrees, and the man is wearing a heavy black leather coat, boots, and dark denim jeans. I’m certain people would say that about my leather gloves, but I have found no one really notices them until I raise my hand to shake theirs or wrap them around someone’s throat. However, a heavy winter coat is something else entirely. He’s an amateur.
    I sidestep a hole in the concrete, diverting my eyes momentarily to the ground. When I raise them again, it’s then I see the bulge under his jacket. It may fool some, but not me. He’s strapped and on the hunt.
    The distance between the two of them is dwindling. He picks up the pace, reaching inside his coat.
    Swiftly, I step diagonally across the sidewalk, getting directly behind him. He’s only a few feet from Josslyn, and when I look at her, she has no fucking idea what is about to happen, which pisses me off. Does she not have any self-awareness for danger? She is a cop, so you would think she would have some kind of alarm going off. She seemed to know every step I made when I was hunting Boris in Blythe Harbor.
    For a moment, I wonder how I’m going to get the man out of her clutches without causing a very public scene. Before I even have time to come to a decision, though, the taxi pulls alongside the curb, and Josslyn walks over to him.
    The man tailing her abruptly stops and starts to slink into the crowded walkway. He pulls a cell phone from his pocket, looking to get a car of his own, I presume, but I won’t let that conversation take place.
    I kneel down on the sidewalk and pull my shoelace free. As my fingers work to retie it, I slip my hand swiftly inside my left pant leg where, strapped around my inner ankle, a small, razor-sharp knife rests. It’s the blade I use when a gun is too noticeable and the victim needs to be stunned quickly. The blade may be small, but when stuck in the right place, it is a very handy instrument.
    The knife is all black, camouflaging nicely next to my black suit. My briefcase is in my other hand, and my garment bag is strapped on my shoulder. It seems impossible to the normal person that I can manhandle someone while still carrying the weight of all of my belongings. What they fail to realize is that they are simply more tools in my demented plan.
    I walk across the traffic again, not trying to blend in behind the man. I move to the front and put myself right beside him.
    The taxi door slams shut, and I know Josslyn is safe inside. I strike. The man moves to step forward, but the knife hidden alongside me is now wrenched in his rib cage, placed strategically between two bones and right in a vital organ.
    Stunned, he teeters to the side. He’s on the edge of a bad collapse, but I’m there to catch him before he does. I drape his arm around my shoulder and guide him to the side of an old, unused building. To the outside world, it looks like I’m helping a drunken friend get home. And I will help him. I will be relieving him of his pain as soon as I get some information out of him.
    The side of the building is dark, providing the right amount of cover. Setting my briefcase down, I pull my gun from