L. Sellers - The Gauntlet Assassin

About halfway up, Lara’s lungs began to burn and her throat was as dry as an August day in Arizona. She felt herself slow down. God, this was insane. It could take forever. She pushed on, climbing and climbing and getting almost nowhere.

Behind her, Jason yelled, “Get out of my way!”

Lara ignored him and made a final burst for the top. Another short platform and another escalator. This structure headed back down, but of course, the steps were rising. Legs weakened from her intense climb, Lara stumbled her first step on the escalator, twisting her ankle a little as she landed. A shock of pain traveled up her shin. She fell forward, but grabbed the rails before landing facedown on the moving stairs.

Lara switched strategies and pushed off the rails to vault to the bottom, touching her feet to the upward-bound steps as little as possible. She stumbled off the escalator and looked up for the next obstacle. All she saw was a red ribbon stretched across the middle section of the arena about thirty feet away. Reporters and cameramen waited on the other side.

Ignoring the pain surging everywhere and never once looking over her shoulder, Lara sprinted for the finish.

Three weeks earlier, Mon., April 24, noon

Paul took a diet pill, ate half his sandwich, and rushed outside. He stood near the bus stop, with no intention of going anywhere. Sweat broke out on his upper body as he waited for Camille to come out of their work building. The summer heat was coming on. Soon he would have to stay inside as much as possible. When he spotted Camille in her white sundress, he stepped behind the bus sign so she wouldn’t see him.

After a minute, he glanced back and watched her walk toward Broadway Bistro, the restaurant she frequented but never invited him to. He suspected she was seeing someone else. She’d canceled their date at the last minute on Friday, saying she wasn’t feeling well, then hadn’t returned his texts over the weekend, except once to say she needed rest.

Paul hadn’t seen her in the office that morning and he thought she was avoiding him. He hurried after her, not bothering to be discrete. Camille never looked back, so he followed her to the restaurant, admiring the way she carried herself, shoulders back and head up. Paul envied her natural confidence.

From inside the restaurant doorway, he saw her take a seat in a booth where another woman waited. Were they lovers? Paul saw the hostess eyeball him, so he stepped back outside. Okay, so she’d met a friend for lunch. It didn’t prove she wasn’t seeing another man or that she wasn’t breaking up with him.

He spent the rest of his lunch break walking around the block, sweating in the ninety-degree heat. He figured he burned at least three hundred calories.

Back inside, he went through security and stepped on the elevator. An older co-worker named Marlie was on board. She leaned over and pushed the button for the third floor. “By the way, Paul. I’ve been meaning to say that you look terrific. You’ve lost a lot of weight and it really shows in your face.”

“Thanks.” Did she not realize he’d had two cosmetic procedures? Was she unobservant or just trying to be polite?

“What’s your diet secret?” She smiled and touched his arm.

“I’ve been taking a supplement called MetaboSlim.”

Marlie looked alarmed. “Health websites say there’s a chemical in that stuff that is really bad for you. I think it cause changes in your brain chemistry.”

“But it’s FDA approved.”

“That doesn’t mean much anymore.”

Paul was irritated with the conversation. It wasn’t her business. “I’m only taking it temporarily. I’m almost at my goal weight.” The elevator stopped and he stepped off without saying anything else. He’d tried to quit the MetaboSlim recently, but the first day without it, he’d become too depressed to function. Now he was trying to cut back slowly.

At five, he strode down to Camille’s office and walked in as she prepared to leave for the day. “Can I walk you to your car? I’d like to talk.”

“Of course.” She smiled, her beauty taking his breath away. In that moment, Paul believed everything would turn out well.

He waited until they were in the parking lot to speak. A few other employees were getting into their cars, but they seemed focused on going home.

“Camille, are you breaking up with me?”

“No. It was just one date and I wasn’t well.” Her tone was sharp.

“You’re angry with me because I haven’t managed to get Morton fired.”

“Not angry. Just disappointed.” Camille climbed in her car and rolled down the window. “Can you make it happen?”

“I’m trying, but I’m not really a hacker and I can’t get into his WorldChat page. He pays for extra security and changes his password every day.”

“If I get a sleazy photo of him, can you post it somewhere it doesn’t belong?”

“Of course.” He would find a way. Paul hated admitting to his lover that he was failing the one thing she’d asked of him. “We’ll see each other this Friday? At my place?”

“Sure.” She drove away without offering him a ride home.

After an unsatisfying dinner of humus, celery, and low-fat crackers, Paul went to his NetCom and searched for the commissioner again. There had to be something he had overlooked. He remembered Camille’s offer to track down a sleazy photo. At the time, he’d been pleased by her offer to help, but the more he thought about it, the more worried he grew.

Too agitated to sit longer, Paul changed and went out for a run, taking his Taser with him. He carried it in a water-bottle pouch in his shirt. The weight was annoying, but worth it for the security. His missed having Lilly at his side, but in the long run, her absence was for the best. A little white lapdog didn’t match his new image. As he jogged through the neighborhood, he kept trying to imagine how Camille would obtain a sleazy photo of Morton. Then it hit him. Camille planned to seduce the commissioner to get him naked. Would she have sex with him too?

Paul sprinted back to his apartment, grabbed his keys, and drove like a madman across town. A thunderstorm shook the night and occasional flashes of lightning lit up the empty roads. Paul didn’t care. Let it rain. Let it hail! Nothing would stop him.

He reached the new suburb and slowed down, not wanting to attract attention. He passed Morton’s house and spotted Camille’s car in the driveway. No! Paul pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. Every nerve and muscle in his body wanted to run into the house and confront them.

What if they were screwing?

The thought filled him with despair and rage. Little bursts of pain flared in his temples. He gulped in air and willed himself to think rationally. Just because Camille was here didn’t mean she was sucking Morton’s dick. She was just trying to get an incriminating photo. He wanted desperately to believe that.

Paul climbed out of his car and softly closed the door. He jogged down the sidewalk, inhaling sulfur-scented air, and stopped at the corner of Morton’s property. He turned into the neighbor’s yard and ran along the hedge, looking for a break in the foliage. In the dark, it was hard to tell. He glanced at the neighbor’s house but didn’t see anyone rousing to check on him. The temperature seemed to drop by a degree with each step.

Paul found a low spot in the hedge and scrambled over, something he wouldn’t have had the agility to do six months ago. The landscaping was minimal, so he hurried across the grass toward a lighted room at the back of the house. As he neared, he hugged up against the brick wall and sidestepped to the window, grateful the exterior wasn’t surrounded with shrubs.