She turned to face Matt. “I’ll remember everything you’ve said.”
Concern flickered in his eyes again. “Remember what I told you yesterday. You need to be careful with your stories. I don’t want to answer a call that you’ve been hurt.”
The warmth of his voice flowed over her and her breath caught in her throat. “I will be. But you’re the one out on the streets. You take care of yourself, too. Thanks for seeing me, Matt.”
He stared at her for a moment before he backed away. “Drop by anytime, Rachel.”
Rachel glanced at her watch. “I’ve gotta go. See you later.”
With a wave, she headed into the hallway. Before she exited the building, she looked over her shoulder. Matt stood in his office doorway watching her. She was relieved they had gotten on the subject of her volunteering at the Youth Center. At least he hadn’t seen how his warnings about the gangs scared her.
She wondered what he would say if he knew what she intended to do tonight. A chill raced up her spine at the thought. Dangerous or not, she had to find out if her source was telling the truth.
She glanced at her watch and swallowed. Rendezvous time was a little over twelve hours away. If she was lucky, she might have a good story. She chuckled and shook her head. No. In the words of her confidential source, she might have a story that would rock this city.
Matt’s words of warning rang in Rachel’s head as she pulled her car to the curb a little before midnight, turned off the motor and stared at the dark streets. Her skin prickled with fear. A city park one night and a slum the next. At least she was becoming familiar with new areas of the city.
She stepped from the car and started toward the meeting place two blocks away. In the glow from a streetlight, she glanced at her watch. Eleven forty-five—fifteen minutes until showtime. She’d have to hurry if she was going to find a vantage point for watching. She pulled her coat tighter and hurried through the night.
Rounding the corner at Walters and Branson, she looked around for a hiding place. The stores still in business on the street were deserted, having closed hours ago and pulled iron gates across their fronts. Others sat like ghosts in the darkness with their doors and windows covered with boards.
Pondering which side would afford the best view, she crossed the street and walked several feet to a narrow alley that ran between two of the deserted stores. She flattened herself in the shadows against the brick exterior of one of the buildings and hoped that she was hidden from sight.
Her heart beat in her ears with a deafening thud. She pressed her hands to her chest and breathed deeply. No matter what happened, she had to keep control of her senses and observe every detail accurately.
The thumping in her chest slowed and she relaxed. Careful not to make a sound, she scrunched against the wall and waited.
From his position at the second-floor window of an abandoned building, he watched her slip into the alley across the street. “Well, Rachel Long. What are you doing here? If you’re looking for a story, maybe I can oblige.”
He had to hand it to her—she had spunk. Not many women would put themselves in danger by coming into this neighborhood at night, not even for the promise of a sensational story.
He picked up the sniper rifle lying beside him and stroked the weapon. Never had he seen a better barrel contour than this masterpiece exhibited.
He raised the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope. Rachel’s image came into his sights. It would be so simple. The paper might offer a reward for information leading to the arrest of the gang member who killed a crusading reporter.
His index finger hovered over the trigger. So simple.
The roar of an engine shattered his focus. He watched as a black sedan with tinted windows pulled to a stop, just over ten feet from Rachel.
He frowned as he studied the vehicle. He knew the owner, Terrence Cooper, well. Tonight was shaping up to be a fun-filled outing. Terrence might not think so if he knew what was about to happen.
Within moments, another car drove up and parked behind the sedan. A man jumped out and hurried toward Terrence’s car. Even in the shadows he recognized Tom Carr.
A movement from the alley caught his attention and he swung the rifle to his shoulder. Evidently Rachel wanted a better view. He grasped the rifle tighter. The stock felt cool against his cheek and sent a thrill coursing through his body.
He peered through the scope at Rachel’s magnified figure and then focused on the man on the sidewalk. Terrence, who had an envelope in his hand, emerged from the car and appeared in the scope’s crosshairs. Three people who had no idea of the danger around them. He wavered back and forth. Who should be first? Tom reached for the envelope and stuffed it in his coat pocket.
There really was no choice. It was time for retribution. He held his breath and pulled the trigger.
THREE
The sharp crack of a rifle ricocheted off the brick buildings. Rachel slammed backward into the recesses of the alley. With the second shot, she fell to her knees and covered her head with her arms. Panting for breath, she waited for another report. When a third didn’t follow, she pushed to her feet and inched toward the sidewalk.
The black sedan, its motor idling and its windshield shattered, hadn’t moved. Beside it, a man with blood pouring from his head lay on the sidewalk. Another man sprawled next to him.
Afraid to expose her position, Rachel debated on whether or not to go to their aid. A third shot hit bricks on the front of the building. She screamed and jumped backward.
Yanking her cell phone from her pocket, she called 911.
The operator’s voice crackled in her ear. “What is your emergency?”
“There’s been a shooting at Walters and Branson. Two men are lying on the sidewalk and the shooter is firing at me.”
“Help is on the way, ma’am. What’s your position?”
“In an alley. Please tell them to hurry.” She flipped the phone closed before the woman could ask more questions.
Footsteps pounded on the asphalt street. Rachel peeked out. A man sprinted from the shadows of a building across from her. Zigzagging as he ran, the shadowy figure headed toward the two lying next to the car.
Rachel’s chest pounded with fear. Could he be the shooter? As if in answer to her question another shot rang out. The runner dived to the pavement behind the car as the bullet hit the back window.
Her chest heaved in panic as she looked around for an escape route. She took a step backward and her foot struck a tin can. As its clatter echoed in the alley, the man next to the bodies cocked his head to one side and pushed into a crouching position. His gaze locked on the alley.
Cold fear crept through Rachel’s body. She had to get out of there. A streetlight burned at the far end of the alley. Willing her unresponsive body to move, Rachel turned and ran toward it as fast as she could. Behind her, footfalls echoed on the concrete.
“Police! Stop!”
The words registered in her mind, but the voice from behind only served as a command for her feet to move faster. How could the police have gotten here so quickly? It had to be the shooter chasing her. If she could get to the next street, maybe she could find a place to hide from him.
“I