A bullet thudded against the brick façade of the school building, and I thanked God our would-be assassin had suddenly lost his ability to aim. I squeezed Mia’s fingers and practically dragged her down the school hallway. As we crossed hallway intersections, I noticed the building’s few occupants stepping out into the hallway, foreheads wrinkled, wondering what the commotion as about. They turned in our direction as we ran by, but it was so quick that they barely caught a glance before we were gone.

I tucked my chin into my chest, trying to hide my face.

“The cameras are down,” Mia said, breathing heavily. “I disabled them.”

I didn’t say anything, but that was a relief. Mia may have fucked up my plan, but she apparently had a pretty thorough one of her own. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep us out of prison, though that concern was secondary to being shot and killed.

The doors opened into an alley where a six-foot wooden fence ran the length of the building. I ran down the stairs and leaned against the fence, crouching down behind a trash can as sirens roared past us at the end of the block. Mia put her hands on her knees and took a few deep breaths.

“We are so screwed,” she whispered. “How are we going to get out of here?”

I grabbed her shoulders, stood her up straight, and then grabbed the bottom of her hoodie. As soon as I started to lift it, her eyes widened, and she tried to swat my hands away.

“I’m a little too preoccupied trying to survive to worry about what you have going on underneath this hoodie,” I said. “If anyone got a good look at us, they’ll definitely mention the blonde in the big white sweatshirt to the police.”

“I’m fully capable of taking off my own sweatshirt, thank you very much.” She pinched my hand between her thumb and pointer finger and dropped it at my side like it was a dirty gym sock. “And maybe you should ditch your shirt, too. Red isn’t exactly understated.”

“I plan to,” I said, already pulling the shirt over my head. I was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath.

Mia turned so her back was to me and then lifted the large hoodie over her head. Immediately, I realized I’d lied. I wasn’t too preoccupied to worry about what was going on under her sweatshirt. Because damn, there was a lot of good stuff going on under there. She had on a tight black tank top that hugged her curves and had a piece of lace spanning running down her spine from her neck to the center of her back. I could see the lean muscles moving beneath the skin and the hint of her ribs. Memories of running my fingers down her back flooded my mind, and I had to turn around to keep my train of thought from completely derailing.

I threw my shirt into the trashcan and then felt a whoosh of air as Mia’s sweatshirt flew over my head and into the garbage, as well.

“What now?” she asked.

I turned back to her, trying to focus on anything but the way her tank top cut low across her breasts and shrugged. “You’re the one who disabled the security cameras. It seems like I should be asking you for a plan.”

“That took days of research and planning. I don’t often have to work on the fly like this,” she said. “You are the one who decided you could just strangle the complication—me—moments before carrying out your hit on Gordon Sanchez. This situation definitely feels like it falls in your territory.”

I took a deep breath and tried to think. We didn’t have time to argue, but damn it Mia made it hard. She grated on my nerves. How did I not notice that the night before? Probably because she’d been in a skin-tight red dress and I’d had far too much to drink. Honestly, I could hardly remember anything before the sex. Maybe she’d been just as annoying then, but I’d been too drunk to care. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Okay, we obviously need to get out of the area as quickly as possible, but we don’t want to draw any attention from the police,” I said.

“Or whoever the fuck is trying to shoot at us,” she said.

I loved when women cursed.

I bit my bottom lip, hoping the pain would keep me focused. “Right. We obviously don’t want to get shot. See? Who said you weren’t good at plans on the fly?”

She rolled her eyes at me, and then reached out and grabbed my hand.

I flinched. “What are you—?”

“Someone was just shot in the street. My boyfriend would be holding my hand to comfort me,” she said.

Boyfriend? I knew it was just a cover story, but the title still made me uncomfortable. I did not want to be Mia’s boyfriend. Friends with benefits? Maybe. Acquaintance with benefits was the most preferable.

“Right. Fine.”

We jogged down the alley, slowing to a walk as we neared the sidewalk. The road was packed with people being herded back towards the start of the parade, away from where Gordon Sanchez had been shot. Even though there were no more shots ringing out, people were still ducking their heads and running. People were crying and calling out the names of people they’d been separated from. It was an absolute madhouse.

Mia let go of my hand. “No one is going to notice us in this crowd,” she said as a way of explanation.

She was probably right, but I strangely missed the warmth of her palm in mine.

“Excuse me, sir?”

I froze. Someone’s hand was on my shoulder, and in the span of a second, I debated several different ways I could incapacitate them and run. But reason prevailed, and I turned around to look at the middle-aged man with tufts of gray hair at his temples.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked.

“I didn’t see.”

Mia stepped forward and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Someone shot a man on one of the floats. It was all gunfire and screaming,” she said through an exaggerated hiccup. She wrapped her hand around my arm and tucked herself against my side, her face half-buried in my bicep. “We are getting out of here as fast as we can. I’d recommend you do the same.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he darted off into the crowd, dodging and weaving through people until I lost sight of him. I turned to Mia and her face was already back to neutral.

“What was that?” I asked, eyeing where her chest was pressed against my side.

“A practice run,” she said with a shrug, disentangling herself from me. “If we get stopped by anyone asking any questions, I want to put on a believable performance.”

The crowd surged forward, and we allowed ourselves to be carried away with it, moving at a steady pace and keeping our heads down. After what felt like a lifetime, the crowd began to thin and we moved from the street onto the sidewalk along the right side of the road.

“Let’s stop in here,” Mia said, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards a small coffee shop on the corner.

“Now is not the time for coffee,” I said. “We need a plan.”

“And what better place to formulate one?” she said. Then she looked around, her eyes flicking to the buildings across the street. “I don’t want to be so exposed.”

She was right. As much as I wanted to put the shooting behind us, it was impossible. The likelihood that the person who had taken out Gordon had accidentally fired four rounds at us was slim. It had been a purposeful attack, and it might not be over yet. Walking around on the streets was dangerous until we knew who we were dealing with.

The barista asked me what I wanted, and after a quick glance at the menu, which might as well have been written in another language, I told Mia to order for me. Two minutes later we sat down at a rickety table in the back corner of the shop with two large Americanos.

Mia sipped from her paper cup, leaving a slick of pink lip gloss around the rim. Then, she looked up at me, green eyes set. “Okay, explain.”

I slurped a drink and then lifted a shoulder. “Explain what?”

She tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you.”

I sighed. “I’m a hitman.”

“Obviously. For who?” she asked.

“A large group that runs the south. That’s all you need to know,” I said. “What about you?”

“I don’t work for anyone. I’m freelance.”

“Contract killer?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Who hired you for the Gordon Sanchez job?”

“A local faction. That’s all you need to know,” she said, raising one eyebrow in a challenge.

“Fair enough.” I held up both hands in surrender and then took a drink of my coffee. “I assume my boss and your client were pissed that Mr. Sanchez decided to go clean?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” I continued. “Well, is there anything else you need to tell me about this job?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “I mean that I’m usually the one doing the shooting, not the one getting shot at. Do you have any idea why someone wants us dead?”

Mia twisted a strand of blonde hair around her finger and then tucked it behind her ear, folding her hands in front of her on the table. “It might be because of me.”

“You’re going to have to explain more than that,” I said after she’d been silent for a few seconds. “One of those bullets whizzed right past my ear. I’d like to know why I almost lost my life.”

She fixed her gaze on the ceiling, giving me the opportunity to study her profile—her smooth forehead, her nose that turned up slightly at the end, and her pouty lips. I never would have imagined she was a killer. Perhaps, that was one of the reasons she got into the business. If no one could see it coming, her job was a lot easier.

“I want out,” she said, still looking up at the ceiling. “I failed to follow through on a job and my client wasn’t pleased. I returned the money, but it didn’t matter. As soon as I didn’t uphold my end of the deal, I became a liability because they had told me their plan. As far as they knew, I could go to the police. I could blow up their whole operation.”

“If your hands weren’t dirty, then you were a risk,” I said.

She looked at me and nodded. “So, I agreed to do one more job for them. I’d take out Gordon Sanchez and then be finished. Except…”

“You didn’t kill him,” I said.

“Right again,” she said. “And I don’t know for sure who did kill him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone connected with my client. They had me followed before and I’m sure they wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.”

“Well shit,” I said, hanging my head. “This is a mess.”

“Understatement,” Mia grumbled as she took a sip of her coffee.

“Who would have guessed two hitmen would be trying to take out the same target less than fifteen feet from one another?” I asked. “And that they would run into each other the night before, as well? Isn’t that crazy?”

I wasn’t the kind of person who usually believed in fate, but even I couldn’t deny that the coincidences in our relationship so far were astounding.

“Hit person,” Mia said.

“Excuse me?” I blinked.

“I prefer ‘hit person.’”

I laughed. “You’re seriously correcting me right now? Is that really important?”

“Combating the sexism inherent in this line of work is always important,” she said without missing a beat.

I was about to ask her what kind of sexism she faced while she was seducing male targets so she could kill them, but her phone rang before I could.

She stared at the screen while the device nearly vibrated off the table.

“Are you going to get that?” I asked.

Mia blinked as if waking from a trance and then looked up at me, her forehead wrinkled in worry.

“Who is it?”

She picked up the phone and stood up. “My client.”

Before I could say anything, she answered the phone and walked into the bathroom.

No sooner had the door shut than my phone started to ring. I knew who it was before I pulled it out of my pocket. The only surprise was that it took him so long to call.

“Tad.”

A humorless chuckle came through the speaker. “Jack.”

“Did you find out I didn’t get shot like you planned?” I asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack.”

I didn’t know if that was true. Mia had reason to believe the bullets had been aimed at her, and she could be right, but after working for Tad for over ten years, I knew how he operated. Fear. And fear could only be instilled when he punished anyone who crossed or betrayed him. Unintentionally or not, I’d betrayed Tad’s trust, so I would be punished. I just didn’t know how yet.

“But speaking of you being murdered,” Tad continued. “I’m calling to let you know that I have been disappointed for the last time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, dropping all pretenses of a working relationship.

“It means, you’ve failed me yet again, and it is for the last time,” he said.

“But Gordon Sanchez is dead.”

“Did you pull the trigger?” he snapped. “Did Sanchez die by your bullet? You got lucky. That son of a bitch pissed off enough of the wrong people that people were literally lining up to kill him. If Gordon had survived the parade, you would already be dead. But as it is, I am giving you a head start.”

“The only reason I didn’t kill him is because you told me to take out the other hitman.”

“Hitwoman, don’t you mean?” Tad asked.

He knew. Somehow, he knew. I looked up from my table, scanned my eyes across the other customers in the coffee shop. They looked normal enough, holding steaming mugs and smiling in quiet groups, but I couldn’t say for sure. Tad was watching me, but I didn’t know how.

“Yes, I know about your failure to complete that mission, as well,” Tad said. “You can’t seem to do anything right, can you?”

“She wasn’t a threat,” I said.

“She stopped you from completing your mission, so she is a threat to me. You allowed yourself to become distracted. You failed. It was your fault, and yours alone. Unfortunately, you will not be the only one to suffer the consequences.”

“Mia didn’t do anything to you,” I barked. I looked around the coffee shop and realized I’d attracted a few onlookers. I lowered my voice and hunched over my phone. “Enough with this vague, threatening bullshit. What are you planning?”

“The head start is all you’ll get from me,” Tad said, his voice annoyingly chipper. “So, goodbye. And I’d suggest you start running. There is a burn notice out on you. The person who kills you and brings me proof gets a raise.”