Copyright © 2012 Jenn Nixon
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
The clock on the dashboard read four fifteen. Good timing. Most people would be coming down to the parking lot. She’d head right up without stopping. The rush she felt whenever her plan kicked into motion pulsed through her body. She shut and locked the door, checked her pockets, and silenced her phone. With a quick look back, she spotted Newton throwing his coat over his arm and pulling out a briefcase.
Lucky padded toward the thick silver doors, his heavy footsteps echoing behind her. She called for the elevator and thrust her hands in the sweater pockets, taking hold of the weapon she’d be using. She barely glanced over when Newton neared. The door dinged and opened; Lucky stepped in, sliding over to the buttons. With her knuckle, she pressed the number six. Newton followed and fumbled with his coat. His cell phone rang. He cursed, dropped his briefcase, and fished it out of his pocket.
“Huit s'il vous plait, eight please…,” he said politely and then answered his phone when she knocked on eight. “Oui.”
Lucky tuned out the conversation since she knew little French, and the chat sounded cryptic at best. The elevator passed the lobby level; she slipped one hand out of her pocket, resting it at her side. With her free hand, she reached up to her earlobe and glanced sideways at the mark. He was an ugly man with an oval, red-pitted face and cold brown eyes. Wishing she had a noose to hang him, as he had his victims, she felt content with her method of choice.
The elevator approached the first floor and slowed.
The doors opened. A young black man pushing a mail cart stepped in. Lucky kept her head down, trying to steady her pulse. A wave of relief hit her after he touched the number two. If no one else got on the elevator, she’d be all right. The four-floor ride alone with Newton was more than enough time for what she needed to do.
Newton finished his conversation before the mail kid exited. The doors closed, leaving her alone with the mark, who glanced over and nodded. The elevator moved again. Lucky touched her ear. Newton smiled. She dipped her head and gasped when the earring fell. He lifted his hand and then bent over to retrieve it.
Lucky turned and slammed her knee into his jaw.
His head flew back, crunching against the wall. She knelt beside him and palmed the earring. His head lobbed from side to side as he fought to stay conscious. Lucky pressed the needle through his clothes. She emptied the liquid from the syringe into his thigh. Without looking at him, she rose and turned. The elevator beeped. She pocketed the needle as the doors opened. Lucky exited into an empty lobby on the sixth floor.
She pushed into the stairwell, her heart racing. The door slammed shut just before the elevator groaned up the shaft. It would reach the top floor in less than sixty seconds. Newton’s floor. Wasting no time, she bolted down the stairs and stripped off the sweater.
Fifty-one seconds. Near the fourth floor, she removed the glasses and wig. His company rented the whole floor so reception had a direct, open view of the elevators, which might be a problem.
Forty-six. Lucky took two steps at a time while shaking her kinky hair out. If the receptionist didn’t stand up when the elevator opened, she’d have a few extra seconds. Maybe.
Twenty-two. She folded everything together and punched through the exit.
Eleven…ten. Tucking the bundle under her arm, she retrieved the keys and found the car right where she left it.
Seven…six. Jumping in, she started the beast and then pulled out of the space.
Three, two…one. She used the secondary exit. She got out, but she wasn’t in the clear yet.
Steering the car along some road with a fancy French name, she checked the rearview mirror. There was no sign of police in the distance. Buildings, cars, and pedestrians cluttered the scene. Of course, she knew someone would check Newton’s pulse at the very least before calling. They would contaminate the scene and probably freak out, which would also delay the call for help.