Katie returned to the present and to thoughts of Carson, with his fine body, strong jawline, and sad eyes. He was a great place to start anew. The divorce wasn’t yet official, but it had been over a year since Katie had enjoyed any real intimacy or even given such activity a second thought. She could see the potential of this big, strong military man, and she wanted to know more.
Chapter 3
Messages Delivered
“How was training?”
The accent told Katie who it was before she looked up to see Emma leaning into her cubicle. Emma had been the first person she’d met upon starting her job here, and the two got along rather well. As a transplanted British citizen, she had befriended Katie, showing her the local sites and making her feel welcome. She and her husband, Dave, had even taken Katie to a couple of restaurants and clubs so she could get a feel for the nightlife, what there was of it. She appreciated being accepted as their third wheel.
“Well, I learned what I needed to learn, and it was boring. Nothing I didn’t expect.”
“Welcome to state employment,” Emma told her.
“But,” she said, smiling coyly, “there was a very entertaining sideshow.”
“Really?” Emma said, he eyes lighting up. “Go on.”
Katie relayed her interaction with Carson, being sure to provide a detailed physical description of him as well as the note she left.
“Well, he sounds quite nice. Think he’ll ring you?”
Katie furrowed her brow in consideration. “50-50. I could tell he was interested, but he seemed shy, or maybe preoccupied. I don’t know – maybe that’s just his way.”
“So, you’re just going to hope he calls? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“No, it’s not,” Katie agreed, “and I’m not one to sit back and wait around. But I have to give him a chance, don’t I?” Her eyebrows arched mischievously. “If he doesn’t take the bait, I’ll change the game a little.”
***
Carson stood in the shadows of the building, waiting with a patience that did not come easily to him, even after all the times he’d done it. Hanging around here at this time of night was not a good idea for most, but he didn’t worry. There was nothing in this neighborhood he feared – well, nothing except the police, but that was for different reasons entirely.
His eyes shifted from the front door of the Ace-Hi Pub and the narrow alley just south of it. Anyone coming out of the bar had to use one of those two methods of egress, unless some drunk loser thought it would be a fine idea to climb a 12-foot cinder block wall with barbed wire and jagged glass at the top.
Every once in a while, a decrepit figure would stagger out of the front door and assume the familiar gait of an alcoholic after consuming way too much rotgut. Each time, Carson slowly raised his black binoculars to study the man, and each time he put them back down slowly, assured the man was not Chuck Kosciusko.
He didn’t know for certain Chuck was in the bar, but his intel, gained by watching the area over the previous days, told him it was very likely. He’d driven the route from Chuck’s dilapidated apartment building to the Ace-Hi the last few nights, and both times his target had not disappointed him. Carson’s reconnaissance taught him Chuck arrived at the bar early and left early, once with a woman who met the description of Stacy, his underage squeeze. It had been easy to determine both the place to wait and another to strike.
A case of nerves had plagued him before he left his house, but were long gone. Now he was singularly-focused on completing this mission, wanting to “get it done quick and clean and get out unseen,” as his old unit’s unofficial motto went. He mentally rehearsed each step of his plan over and over. Fully aware that plans rarely survived the actions they were designed to accomplish, he tried to imagine all the things that could go wrong, however unlikely. One of the lessons he’d learned in the Navy was he could handle any event as long as it was expected, but the unexpected was where the danger lay. He ignored a constant foreboding he’d forgotten to consider some possibility, and that it would be his undoing.
Movement to his left. He turned his head in that direction, reminding himself not to rush. Even in the dark, the human eye naturally tracked quick movement, seeing it as a threat, but slow, sedate movements like Carson’s did not raise any alarms. There were two people, and while they both staggered from the effects of too much alcohol, one still stepped with the spring of youth, while the other plodded like walking was an odious chore. That fit the profile. The couple passed under the streetlight, giving Carson the opportunity to make a positive identification. Game time.
The instant they passed out of sight, Carson trotted off to his secondary location, where he would execute his attack. He worked to quiet his breathing, irritated that he had to worry about it at all. You’re not 23 anymore.
He picked them up immediately after arriving. They were still a block away, talking loudly enough he could almost make out what they were saying, and certainly too drunk to pay attention to anything beyond their immediate vicinity.
He’d rehearsed handling both of them at the same time. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t see any issues dealing with a teenage girl and a broken-down boozer. He tugged the drawstrings of his hood so it pulled the brim of the ball cap further down over his face.
Twenty feet away. He took two steps back into the alley and leaned against the other wall, both reducing his visibility and giving him the opportunity to attack from behind. He could no longer see them, but they
