already gone before Baxter realized that only three cops had gone in.
He had to move. The police had underestimated Watters’ security and he didn’t have much time before the LVMPD would return with a much larger force, perhaps even SWAT.
He couldn’t allow a second raid to happen and Watters get caught. Baxter’s job was to kill Watters, period.
That time had come.
“The hit man we are up against seems to be slipping a little,” Dale said to Jimmy.
Watters was informed that Rachel was out.
Dale said, “Easy part done. Now, capture a killer, keep a suspected killer alive and hope that a Vegas leg breaker is not setting us up.”
He rotated the knots out of his neck and surveyed the area. “Make sure everyone removes their blanks and loads live ammo.”
Jimmy made the call.
The observation point was the parked car a block from Watters’ workshop. The entire workshop and surrounding area had been under long-distance police surveillance, outside the sniper’s perceived area of operations, so he wouldn’t detect them. The whole team was sitting on Dale’s “go.”
“Let’s move,” he said.
“But we haven’t spotted Baxter yet,” Jimmy said.
Dale knew Baxter had a plan. But what was it? “I know and I don’t like it. Let’s proceed with caution, but remain out of sight. Gradually tighten our surveillance circle.”
“If we move, Baxter will see us.”
He slammed his fist against the dashboard. “Okay, let’s wait. But the first sign of Baxter and we’re gone.”
Dale felt a sharp pain in his chest when the radio squawked again.
“Target B located and identified,” came over the radio.
Jimmy smiled. “Baxter’s taking the bait.”
Dale opened his cell phone and grabbed the door handle when the same voice returned. “We lost him.”
“What?” He grabbed the radio. “Team leader, repeat.”
“Baxter has disappeared, sir.”
Dale looked at Jimmy, who rolled his eyes.
“Baxter has breached the perimeter. They can’t see anything through the rain, Dale.”
“Bullshit! Baxter is not a ghost.”
“No, he’s just good at that part.” Jimmy hesitated before adding, “You need to make a decision.”
“I know.” He checked his gun. “Do we go in and blow our cover, or do we wait and put Watters’ life at risk? Check your weapon. Baxter is not going to give himself up.”
Calvin could at least exhale when Rachel was driven away and her safety was confirmed. He hadn’t heard from Dayton, who was supposed to call when Baxter had been spotted. He’d seen no sign of the killer through his monitors until a motion sensor picked up movement.
He knew Baxter was coming.
He shut off the computer monitor in case the light gave him away. Then he slipped on night-vision goggles and positioned himself behind the computer room door. The door was slotted so he could shoot outward, but low enough to make an incoming shot difficult.
He heard the click of the side door and Baxter stepped through the doorway, equipped with a Beretta 92FS Compact M and night goggles.
Calvin waited as Baxter neared, not risking a shot. He only wanted to disable with a shot to the leg.
When Baxter was within range, Calvin clicked back and aimed low. As he went to pull the trigger, his two- way radio said, “Baxter is in the house!”
Calvin looked down for half a second and consecutive, multiple shots ricocheted off the front of the door, one through the narrow metal slot. One inch to the left and Calvin’s head would have exploded.
When he peeked back through the slot, Baxter was gone.
This killer was good and Calvin only had a few minutes before the cops rushed the house.
Now Baxter knew this was a trap. He’d be waiting to pick off cops and escape. It would be a firing zone.
Calvin had to get Baxter first and his odds were low. He grabbed his .45 and checked the single action to make sure he had all eight rounds. Easing open the door, he poked his gun and head through the doorway, slipped in and sidestepped his way through the front room. He heard footsteps upstairs.
He took the steps one at a time, thankful the old, worn-down floorboards didn’t creak. When he reached the top and stuck his head up over the last step, two bullets flew past and smashed the wall.
He couldn’t risk a wild, blind shot that might kill Baxter. Calvin had to evade him until that one perfect shot.
With a deep breath, he launched himself off the top step and into the next room. Three more bullets hit the wall beside him as he dove head first, arms extended to break his fall.
Calvin had counted eight shots fired by Baxter. Chances were he had to reload his Beretta or at least pull a second weapon. That meant seconds to reach him.
Calvin stayed along the floor, crawling the hallway. When he reached the end, he rose and leaned against the wall outside the room where the bullets had come from. He couldn’t hear anything, only his own heavy breathing.
He pivoted and extended his arm into the room. As he inched inside, he was too late to spot Baxter, who kicked Calvin’s arm and jolted his weapon to the floor.
Before Calvin could react, Baxter caught him flush on the jaw with hard metal, dislodging the goggles. Calvin was stunned for a moment, but he was able to shake that off before receiving another blow from the butt of Baxter’s pistol to the bridge of his nose. He instinctively reached for his nose as his eyes watered.
The taste of warm, metallic blood brought him back to his football days. Adrenaline kicked in—no thinking. He heard a new clip snap into the gun pointed at his head.
From the dark, he heard, “Goodbye, Calvin Watters.”
But Calvin swung his body. The bullet hit his right shoulder, where the sleeveless bulletproof vest did not cover, and pain erupted. He rolled into Baxter, dropping the hit man to the floor. Calvin gritted his teeth, got into a three-point stance and exploded off his feet, barreling into Baxter’s midsection.
He heard the gun hit the floor, followed by Baxter’s night goggles. Now both men were blind. Feeling in the dark, Calvin landed a solid punch to Baxter’s throat and the two men wrestled.
Baxter went after Calvin’s bad knee with a swinging kick but missed.
Then the lights to the entire workshop came on.
For the first time they looked at each other and both saw their guns at the same time. Both men dove for their weapon.
Calvin, half a second faster, aimed and fired. The bullet hit with precision where he had wanted it to—mid- upper thigh—but hit a major artery and exploded, blowing Baxter’s leg off at the femur bone. Enormous clumps of thigh, blood and tissue hit the walls, ceiling and floor. Baxter fell to the floor, grabbing at the open wound and screaming. But he still attempted to crawl to his weapon.
Calvin rose to his feet and kicked the weapon away. Baxter stopped squirming and rolled onto his back, staring up into Calvin’s eyes.
Blood leaked from Baxter’s cut lip when he spoke. “Finish it!” He said, barely audible from the blood and spit in his mouth.
Baxter rose into a one-knee seated position, moving toward the weapon that hung at Calvin’s side. Baxter pressed his head into the muzzle of the gun.
“Hold the gun like a man!”
Calvin nudged the gun against Baxter’s temple. He struggled to stay conscious from the mind-numbing pain. His eyes burned, his nose stung and his shoulder throbbed.
Then he heard a voice.
