Capitol Threat

46

Loving darted behind Renny, positioning his rope-bound body between himself and the assassins.

Renny only chuckled, laughter distorting his thick European accent. “So, in a mere matter of seconds, I am transformed from your punching bag to your human shield. Do you perhaps see some intrinsic worth in me now?”

“Just shut up,” Loving growled, putting an arm lock around the man’s neck. He looked up at the two assassins, both with their sizeable guns poised and ready. “What’s it gonna be, you clowns? You gonna take out the boss, or you gonna leave quietly the way you came?”

The two men in the long coats exchanged an expressionless glance.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Loving.

“It means they are men of few words,” Renny said. His chuckle had escalated into a full-out laugh. “They are obedient, but not chatty. I like this in my trained killers.”

“Trained by whom?”

“By the best in the entire world.”

Loving scoffed. “I’ve spent some quality time with the Pretty Boy, and I’m here to tell you—he could use a few more days in the swamp with Yoda. Maybe a couple of years.”

Pretty Boy’s grip tightened, but he managed to restrain from pulling the trigger.

“Enough with this childishness,” Renny said, suddenly ominously serious. “Feodor. Take this fool out.”

Like a robot responding to command, the older of the two assassins raised his weapon.

Feodor trained the gun on Loving’s face. He squinted his right eye closed and focused…

Loving pulled Renny up higher, till his head totally covered his own. Then he began rocking the man’s head back and forth, just to make sure there was no clear side shot. A flesh wound to the ear probably wouldn’t kill him, but it might sting enough to make him release the hundred-and-eighty-pound burden that was currently the only thing keeping him alive. Feodor readjusted his aim; Loving moved the human shield in response. Back and forth, back and forth…

“Please,” Renny said, exasperated. “You are making me dizzy.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” Loving replied.

“And how long do you think you can keep this up? Already I feel that your arm is weakening.”

“I got two.”

“So that will give you twice the—what?—three minutes you have held me already? And then these gentlemen will perforate you like a fishing net. And the alley dogs will eat your corpse.”

“Very colorful. You Europimps really got a way with the language.” He tightened the lock on Renny’s throat.

“Very well. Shoot his arm.”

“It’ll go through my wrist to your throat,” Loving warned. “If I think I’m goin’ down, I’ll choke the life out of you first.”

“Empty threats.”

Loving clenched the man’s windpipe. “Maybe I’ll just start the process now. Call your men off or you’re dead.”

“If I am dead, then you have no shield.” Despite the lack of air in his lungs, Renny managed a perverse smile. “Either way, you will die.”

Loving continued choking, but his mind was working the entire time. What the creep said was unfortunately all too true. He needed an end-game strategy, one that didn’t result in him being dead. He could delay all he wanted, could threaten Renny, perhaps even kill him, but he’d still end up dead. Dead, and without the satisfaction of having obtained the information he wanted. That Ben needed.

“If I’m goin’ down,” Loving grunted, still choking the life out of Renny, “then chokin’ isn’t good enough. I want you to experience pain.” He grabbed the man in the crotch and squeezed. Renny screamed. The two assassins leaned forward, adjusting their aim, but Loving warned them back, pushing Renny forward and squeezing all the tighter.

What looked like desperate cruelty had, of course, been done for a reason. With two hands posed at either end of the man, Loving was ready to make his move. It wasn’t a very good move, but it was all he had.

Mustering his considerable strength, Loving hoisted Renny into the air, chair and all, and threw him at the two assassins.

Feodor and Pretty Boy toppled several steps backward. Renny crashed to the cold hard floor. Both guns fired, but Loving didn’t know where the bullets struck because he was already out the door and thirty feet down the parking lot. All he knew for sure was that they hadn’t hit him. And that was good enough.

Loving knew he didn’t have time to get to his car and get it started. Instead, he wove his way through the parking lot. If he could make it to the highway, it was just possible he could attract some attention, enough that the two hit men would back off. He knew the darkness would help protect him. On the other hand, a pro like Feodor probably didn’t need to see his target to hit it. All he had to do was keep flinging bullets until he got lucky.

Sure enough, Loving heard shots ringing out behind him. He ducked but continued moving, low to the ground. Those two men had major-league firepower. Pretty Boy was still firing his automatic weapon, not that he really knew how to use it. Most of his shots were flying a foot over Loving’s head. He obviously thought that if he just fired often enough, the law of averages would eventually give him a hit. A killer who trained on Nintendo rather than the firing range. Pathetic.

But still potentially lethal.

Loving kept running at top speed. What else could he do? And for that matter, how many times now had he been reduced to turning tail and running? How many times had he allowed himself to become the hunted, racing away from people who were trying to kill him? He couldn’t stay lucky forever. As soon as he got out of here, he was going to turn the tables. Go after the hunters. It was the only way he could come out of this case alive. As soon as he was safe, he would start planning his attack. The best defense is a good offense. So that’s what he would do. As soon as this parking lot emptied out into the street. Just as soon as the parking lot—

Loving put on the brakes, stopping his forward momentum as best he could. But he still had to hold up his hands to prevent himself from crashing headfirst into the brick wall.

The brick wall.

This parking lot didn’t empty into the street. It was a dead end.

Loving whirled around, ready for action. But there was nothing he could do, nowhere he could go. He was trapped.

Feodor stepped quietly forward, gun poised. Like the pro he was, he showed no trace of emotion. He didn’t have to. Loving could feel the pleasure emanating from him.

“It would seem,” he said, with a thick German accent, “that this merry chase has come to an end. You have been a worthy opponent. But now our revels are ended. Go with peace.”

Loving backed against the wall. He had nowhere to maneuver. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not go at all.”

“Alas, regrettably, that is not a choice.” Feodor raised a gun. It was smaller than the one he had brandished before, but all the more terrifying as a result. He held the gun so close to Loving’s chest he couldn’t possibly miss. And then he fired.