Page 46 of Vicious Fall
She orders two more drinks while I sip on my one and by the time we’re done eating, I feel a little buzz.
A beeping catches my attention and I turn as Lucia pulls her phone out of her pocket. An alarm is flashing on it and she grins at the screen before shutting off the alarm. “Come, Winnie.” Despite the fact that we don’t have our bill yet, she stands.
“We have to pay,” I tell her.
“We will, but come.” She urges me.
I cautiously climb to my feet before following her. She waves down our waitress and slaps a handful of big bills into her hand. “We’ve got to jet, but this should cover it.”
The waitress's eyes widen and she looks at Lucia and then at the cash, sputtering.
But Lucia doesn’t have time for that as she starts moving to her car and I follow behind her wondering where the fire is.
I also wonder how much the alcohol has gone to her head as she starts driving, but she doesn’t seem tipsy or drunk, just maybe buzzed in the slightest.
She’s on a mission though as she speeds down the streets until we come to an industrial area full of buildings. She pulls her car into the back of one of the lots, climbing out of the car. I follow behind her as she pops her trunk with a button on her key fob.
The trunk is empty and I frown until she lifts the cover and where a spare tire usually is there’s a compartment with a lock on it. She presses a key into it, turning it before pulling the latch up.
There’s a big black bag and a large case under it. She grabs both, throwing the bag over her shoulder. She slams the trunk back done.
I eye the bag, the image of hitmen on TV coming to mind. “Jesus, is that… your bag?” I ask her.
“Yes, it’s my bag, Winter.” Again, she’s being sarcastically and completely ignoring what I really mean even though she’s aware of it.
She starts walking quickly in the direction of the building and I have to damn near run to keep up with her. “I mean is your… assassin stuff in there?”
She laughs lowly. “Yeah, Whinne-Pooh, all my assassin stuff is in here.” Again, sarcasm is dripping from her words.
My pulse speeds up as we enter the building. It’s vacant, full of tall columns. There’s a stairwell in the corner of the room and Lucia starts climbing it, two steps at a time.
When we make it to what I’m assuming is the top floor, we move across the room. It’s just as barren as the bottom floor, graffiti painting the walls. There’s a couple of windows and Lucia sets up in front of one of them.
My legs go weak when she opens the black case, revealing a large gun. She opens the bag next, setting up some kind of contraption that she props the gun on. She lies down flat on her stomach before looking through the scope of the gun, pointing the barrel at the window. She gives a nod before looking up at me. “Get down here.”
“Me?” I ask in shock.
“Yeah, you, you’re the only one here. I swear Winter, you’re a lightweight.”
But the delay in my brain isn’t from the alcohol but what I’m watching unfold in front of me.
Still, I swallow, laying down next to her and looking out of the window. It's facing another lot and there’s a red car sitting by itself. I try to make out who’s sitting inside, but it's impossible, the windows far too dark.
“Do you make a habit of doing your jobs after you’ve been drinking?” I ask Lucia, lost for what else to say. I can still smell the fruity drink on her breath from how close we are now.
“Not, typically, just when the occasion requires it.”
“And why does today require it?” I ask her.
She releases her hold on the gun, turning her head to look at me. Her eyes narrow slightly, her lips twisting. “Because I’ve been after this person for a long ass time. For years I’ve looked and could never figure out who they were but then a fbi report hit my table a few months ago and I found them.”
“FBI reports don’t just hit tables,” I remark dryly.
She smirks. “They do after you get done killing the agent you just fucked.”
Holy fucking shit.
“You fucked and killed an FBI agent?” I ask her.