Free The Assassin's Trail by J.C. Fields

from her, a frustrating bureaucracy within the agency, and the realization his job was no longer challenging—all this merged into a sudden realization of his own weariness. In the past five years, he had solved several high profile cases. But recently, he had not felt challenged.
    Why? Was it because he was bored, or was it due to loneliness? He went back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee, one with a little Sweet N Low and one with half ‘n half for Stephanie. Taking the cups back to the bedroom, he set hers down on her nightstand. She stirred and opened one eye. With a slight grin on her face, she said, “I don’t suppose you know what time it is, do you?”
    “I do.”
    “You said that Saturday.” She grinned.
    “Yes I did.”
    “Well? Are you going to enlighten me about the time, or do I have to guess?”
    “Guess.”
    “Seven-thirty?”
    “Nope.”
    “Eight.”
    “Nope.”
    “Sean, don’t tease me, it can’t be past eight.”
    “It’s exactly ten-forty. You slept in.”
    Stephanie groaned, rose up to look at the digital clock, then fell back to her pillow. “I was supposed to get my hair cut at eight-thirty. Guess that didn’t happen.”
    “Nope, guess it didn’t.”
    “Can you say anything besides ‘nope’ this morning?”
    “Yes. I love...”
    He didn’t finish. The explosion rattled the windows of the condo. It intensified as the concussion and dust cloud reached the balcony and swirled into the condo through an open sliding door.
    “What the hell...” was all Kruger could say as he reached first for a pair of jeans, then tennis shoes, a polo shirt, badge, cell phone, and gun.
    He was out the door before Stephanie could say anything. When he got to the street, he stopped, clipped his badge to his belt and tried to determine the direction he needed to go. Sounds were echoing off buildings and masking their true direction; he saw a reflection of flickering light and took off running.
    He ran down 47th Street to Pennsylvania, turned right and saw the chaos two blocks to the south. Heading that way, he reached the corner at 48th and witnessed pure bedlam. As he turned, he saw the tangled metal of what was once a limousine in front of O’Dowd’s Little Dublin. Body parts were strewn on the sidewalk and street, while individuals with blood streaming from their face sat on the sidewalk dazed. A woman screamed as she cradled a young infant in her arms. An elderly man held a similarly aged woman in his arms, stroking her face and trying to keep her calm. Trees in front of O’Dowd’s were smoldering as first responders started to arrive. The scene reminded him of a terrorist bombing in Bagdad he had helped investigate a few years after the downfall of Saddam Hussein.
    Kruger’s trained eye went to the burning limousine. The right side was a twisted tangle of metal and melted plastic. The roof line was sheared and angled perpendicular to the body. He positioned himself to see if there were any survivors; what met his sight told him the answer. The interior of the limousine contained two bodies in the rear portion, both charred beyond recognition. He had seen this type of destructive power before, but it was always military in nature. He made a mental note to make sure explosive residue was tested. His guess would be C4.
    A fire truck screeched to a halt next to the shattered limousine. Several firemen leapt to the ground with fire extinguisher and started spraying the burning car. Kruger backed off and let them do their job. He walked back to O’Dowd’s and went in through the shattered glass of the front lobby. The scene was grim. A young lady, with whom he had flirted on several occasions, lay unmoving on the floor. He bent down, felt her neck and did not find what he was searching for. Her unfocused eyes stared at the ceiling, confirming her condition. The tables and chairs next to the front window had been thrown back into the interior and shattered. Apparently the only person