Right now, she didn’t need his approval.
She pulled out one of the bottles, a green one full of gin, and worked open the lid using one of the tools inside her rucksack. Next, she ripped a wide strand of the now-ragged curtain hanging close by, and stuffed it into the bottle. After turning it upside-down to make sure the rag was soaked, she propped it up next to the window and waited.
As suspected, the shooter paused again. She wasn’t fooled. There was no way he’d fired enough rounds to have an empty magazine. She knew that was what the attacker was hoping she’d think. Clever, but not clever enough. The ruse didn’t stop her from poking her weapon’s black barrel out through a busted windowpane and squeezing off a few rounds.
The bullets bounced harmlessly off the road, ricocheting off the building on the other side of the street and disappearing into the ether. They had the desired effect, though. She peeked through the crack and saw the shooter’s barrel retract for a moment. The next second, he was firing again, this time in earnest. The tattered curtains whipped into a frenzy as hot metal cut through them and pounded the far wall. Vases, picture frames, and upholstery were all victims of the onslaught. The previously clean room now resembled a war zone.
Adriana waited a second and then popped back up again. Her finger tugged the trigger four times, unleashing another reply to the attacker’s volley. One of her rounds found its way into the rear door of the BMW. A lucky shot but one that was certainly due. The barrel disappeared through the tinted window again, and this time she seized the moment. Grabbing the bottle of gin and her bag, she took off toward the mansion's rear exit, careful to stay low as she moved.
Outside the room, she turned right into the adjacent corridor and followed the direction she’d seen the others take. No sooner had she stood up a little straighter to gain speed than she heard the sound of more bullets thumping into the wall in the other room. Adriana took no chances and increased her pace to a near sprint until she reached an open door at the back. Her right hand grabbed the door’s edge as she hurried through, pulling it shut behind. A two-story carriage house, designed to match the main living quarters, was situated just twenty feet away. As she neared it, a black Bentley pulled out of the first of three garage doors. Allyson was behind the wheel and motioned for her to hurry. As if Adriana needed the encouragement!
The front door swung open, and she jumped inside. The two men were hunched down in the back seat, still leery of stray bullets.
“Hit it,” Adriana ordered. “And drive by the shooter on the way out.”
Allyson stepped on the gas before she asked, “Shouldn’t we go the other way? That will put us within point-blank range.”
“Yep.”
Adriana searched one of the front pockets of her rucksack until she found what she was looking for: a small butane lighter. Then Allyson connected the dots: the gin bottle with the rag on top and the smell of piney liquor soaking the fabric.
“I thought you didn’t want a drink?” Lester said, noticing the bottle. Then he, too, realized what she was about to do.
“You’re not going to light that in here, are you?” Harry asked. “This isn’t a cheap car, you know.”
Her response was curt. “I’ll be careful.”
Allyson whipped the car around the semicircular driveway that wrapped around the house and extended out to the main street. Around the northeastern corner of the house, the BMW appeared in their view. Being a quiet residential neighborhood, there was no one on the sidewalk right now, and the road was empty save for a few parked cars. The shooter, emboldened by the vacant street, stepped out of his car and readied his weapon, bracing it against his shoulder. Allyson’s eyes widened at the sight of the shooter. He was tall with dark, short hair and striking, chiseled features. He wore a black compression long-sleeve shirt and matching pants. The eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, but she knew who he was. It was Evan. And there were only two possibilities as to why he would be shooting at them right now. Either he’d decided to take matters into his own hands, or Frank sold her out.
She mashed her foot down on the gas pedal, and the Bentley lurched forward on a direct path with the shooter. Evan remained cool, raising his weapon and drawing a bead on the driver. Adriana rolled down her window as she pressed the button on her lighter and held the blue jet flame to the alcohol-soaked rag. It flamed to life, and she gripped it loosely in her right hand.
Allyson saw Evan taking aim and jerked the wheel to the left. His first shot pierced the windshield on the passenger side, narrowly missing Adriana’s head. It went harmlessly out the back window, but neither she nor Adriana intended to let him fire again. With the broad side exposed to the shooter at a range of less than twenty-five feet, Adriana flung the bottle at the man in black. Instinctively, he took a step back toward his open car door — the worst mistake he could have made.
The bottle smashed against the pavement and erupted into a bright orange flame, engulfing him in the burning liquid. Immediately, his arms flailed as he tried to beat out the flames. His clothes caught fire within half a second, searing his skin underneath. In his battle with the flames, he slammed backward into the driver’s seat. The burning polyester stuck to his skin, and he screamed out in agony as the Bentley disappeared around a corner at the next intersection.
Evan struggled to grip the side of the door and pull himself out. The fire had burned through three layers of his skin. His nostrils filled with black smoke from the alcohol and the burning fabric of his clothes. He coughed hard as his fingers wrapped around the doorframe in an attempt to pull himself out onto the ground. The flames had reached his neck and face, sending a fresh surge of frying pain through his nerves. It was more than he could bear. Even if he survived the burns, his life would be lived out in agony and disfigurement.
The flames began to die down as they ran out of fuel, his clothes completely burned in less than ninety seconds. He collapsed to the street, his energy sapped from his body. His burning muscles twitched. He could think of nothing other than ending this agony. A few feet away, his gun lay on the pavement near the front tire. He mustered every bit of strength he had left and reached out for it, clutching it desperately with gnarled fingers.
He coughed again as his lungs tried to evacuate the smoke.
Evan dragged the weapon close to him and pressed the barrel to the side of his head. No need to chamber a round. He knew there was one already there. He closed his eyes and winced as his finger pulled the trigger and sent the street into macabre silence.
Allyson kept the Bentley moving fast through the side streets of Montparnasse. She’d watched Adriana’s Molotov cocktail explode at Evan’s feet and consume him in fire. She’d seen him fall backward into his car, but other than that she had no way of knowing whether he survived the innovative attack. And she did not intend to let him catch up.
Questions flew around in her head. Why was Evan shooting at me? Did Frank give the order or was he out on his own now? If Frank gave the order, why? And what will he do when he finds out Evan is dead?
None of these questions had immediate answers. One thing was certain: Allyson had to treat the situation as if Frank had been the one to order the kill. The man she’d grown up with and learned to trust as a teenager was not what he’d seemed long ago. She knew that before this whole game began, but she wanted the money. She needed the money.
Her mind snapped back to the moment as she noticed a red light up ahead with a line of pedestrians strolling through the crosswalk. She slammed on the brakes, and the Bentley came to a stop behind a nondescript Japanese car. Allyson thought quickly, knowing that Adriana was already trying to piece together what had just happened.