L. Sellers - The Gauntlet Assassin

“Shut up!” Paul didn’t want to hear it. Camille loved him. She just wasn’t as emotional as most women. She knew what she wanted and she went after it. He liked that about her. He’d become more like that too, and it had changed his life.

“Please don’t kill me. I can help you. Do you want a better job? I can make that happen. I have influence.”

“Not much longer.” Just shoot him, Paul thought. Just do it! But he wanted to know something. “Did Camille have an orgasm with you?”

Morton blinked. “Yes.”

Paul stepped forward. “What did it sound like?” He suspected Camille had been faking her pleasure with him.

“Oh please.” Morton shook his head.

“Tell me.” Paul raised the gun to the man’s face.

“She was a little loud and sounded kind of hiccuppy.” Morton made a half-assed attempt to demonstrate, then abruptly stopped. “I don’t believe you really want to do this. Put the gun down and we’ll talk.”

Just shoot him!

Paul squeezed the trigger, surprised by the kick. Morton staggered back and clutched at his chest as he went down. Paul stared, mesmerized by the blood pouring through the prone man’s fingers. He’d just shot a man and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was Morton dying?

Loud barking suddenly filled the back of the house. Paul jumped at the sound and started to run. As he left the bedroom, a giant black dog burst into the hallway and charged him. Instinctively, Paul ran for the exit, heart slamming like an overworked cylinder. He pushed out the front door and spotted a white medic van. No! Morton had made an emergency call before dropping his iCom, and the paramedic was standing there, staring at him like she was memorizing his face. Without thinking, Paul raised his gun and fired at her. She went down and he bolted for the rental car.

He cranked the engine and raced out the driveway, anxious to be away from the scene of the crime. Good lord, what had he just done? His heart didn’t stop pounding until he was on the freeway, headed to the Portland airport.

Sat., May 13, 6:07 a.m.

Caden tried to slip out of bed without waking her, but Lara was a light sleeper and today was incredibly important. Thousands of Oregon jobs were at stake. She reached for him. “Are you going to work?”

“Yes.” He rolled back and kissed her. “I have a meeting this morning with an FBI agent who might shed light on our assailant.”

“Will I see you after the marathon?”

“If I’m not making an arrest.”

“I’d sure like to get this ankle monitor off before the race.”

“I’ll call the DA again, but I’m not optimistic. Sorry, love.” Caden stroked her shoulder, then climbed out of bed.

He’d called her love . It didn’t mean anything, she told herself, just a speech pattern left over from his southern upbringing. Lara watched him dress, enjoying the sight of his thick muscled body. It was good she was leaving tomorrow. She’d become too attached for what was supposed to be a fling.

After he left, she dozed for a while, then got up and made coffee. The marathon started at nine-thirty, but she needed to look over the route again and get in a good warm-up. A knot of anxiety twisted in her gut. She could run twenty-six miles, no problem, and she could sprint short distances as fast as any other non-Olympian, but her marathon time was not good enough to beat Makil.

She currently had a small lead from winning the Obstacle, but the person who crossed the finish line first today would earn 50 points and likely win the Gauntlet. She could earn 25 points for finishing the run and additional points from the viewers, but she would need ninety percent of the final vote to earn all 25 extra points. That wasn’t possible. No competitor had ever received more than sixty-eight percent of the vote for any single event. She’d been lucky with the extra voter points so far, but the marathon wouldn’t give her a chance to excel.

As Lara showered and dressed, the knot grew tighter. The race took place out on the neighborhood streets. Except for the flight here, she hadn’t been out in public without her gun in more than a decade. The idea of running along public roads for more than two hours without a weapon filled her with dread. Knowing Blondie was still out there, gunning for her, heightened her fear. Lara didn’t know if she could do it. She made a protein and fruit drink, but couldn’t consume it yet. After a minute of pacing, she went next door to see Minda.

Lara knocked, remembering when the director tried to confiscate her Taser. She feared this would not go well. No sound came from inside so she called out, “It’s Lara Evans. I have to talk to you.”

A minute passed. Lara started to knock again, but the door came open. Minda was dressed in her usual black skirt, but her feet were bare. The director snapped, “Make it fast, I have a lot to do before the race starts in an hour.”

“Can I come in for a moment?”

Minda rolled her eyes but stepped back to let Lara come through, then took a seat behind her desk. “What is it?”

“I’m concerned about my safety today. I believe the man who killed Kirsten meant to kill me, and he’s still out there.”

“That sounds a little paranoid. I haven’t heard any police reports that support your theory.”

“Detective Harper will vouch for it.”

Minda furrowed her brow. “What do you want me to do? The marathon will be run today, with or without you. It’s only fair to the viewers and other contestants.”

“I want to carry a gun while I run.”

Minda started to interrupt but Lara talked over her. “The rules say no weapons in the arena, but I won’t be in the arena. I have a constitutional right to carry a firearm while I’m out on the streets.”

“You brought a gun to the contest?” Minda looked stunned.

“Contact the commissioner. I believe he’ll support my position.”

“No. Just no. You’ll have a cameraman with you during the whole race. I’ll alert him to watch out.”

“Will he be armed?”

The director pressed her red lips together. “No.”

“Then I have to be. Text the commissioner.” Lara stayed on her feet. She needed every advantage.

Minda shook her head. “If you choose not to compete under my terms, so be it. We’ll run the marathon with only two competitors.”

“The commissioner won’t allow that, the viewers will complain, and it will hurt the pay-per-views.”

Minda glared, then turned to her NetCom and keyed in a message. After a long moment of silence, the director’s tattooed eyebrows puckered. “He’s working at home today, but he’s granted your request.”

“Thank you.”

“You must keep the weapon concealed.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve been a royal pain in the ass, and I’ll be glad when this year’s Gauntlet is over.”

Lara bit her tongue and walked away.

Twenty minutes later, she hurried out of the hotel, ready to catch her last shuttle ride to the arena. Her competitors were nowhere in sight. The air was a little cooler today, maybe only eighty-five, and she heaved a sigh of relief. The first hurricane of the season had come ashore in Georgia that morning and was headed north. Clouds formed on the horizon and threatened rain. She hoped it did come down. The rain would feel like running at home in Oregon. She touched her 9-millimeter under her loose-fitting tank top and boarded the shuttle. She would be glad when this whole thing was over.

The driver dropped her off in the center of the main parking lot, where a crowd of media and race attendants had gathered. Lara participated in two brief interviews, then took her spot on the white line. Three cameramen, each in their own battery-operated cart, lined up behind the runners. In addition to filming, they would supply the contestants with sports drinks and keep them updated on their time and progress. Minda and her entourage were in a large golf-cart type vehicle. They would supply the viewers with streaming commentary, or babble, as Lara thought of it.