When we’d first arrived that afternoon, Jack and Evelyn had done a full reconnaissance sweep, checking every street, alley and nook. With my extra setup work, I’d only had time to map out two escape routes from my building perch. That should have been enough. I just needed to know how to evacuate my perch in an emergency. They were supposed to be the ones luring Wilkes into an alley.

Those routes I’d investigated were across the road, and my chances of getting Wilkes there were slim to none. So I had to do something I hated—blindly walk into the first suitable-looking alley I crossed.

When I stepped into that alley, I looked toward the first intersection and thought of nothing but getting there…as fast as possible. For that thirty-second trip, Wilkes could come around the corner and shoot me from behind, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

I could argue that a gun hit made no sense. It was too risky this close to the sidewalk. Shooting someone in the back was a coward’s ploy, and unlikely to impress the Feds. Plus, considering he’d invited the police, he wouldn’t take the chance of walking around carrying a gun.

Dirt crunched as my pursuer rounded the corner behind me. I kept my pace fast but steady. Speed up and he’d know I heard him. Just a few more steps…

I hit the first corner and took a split second to look each way, searching for the nearest doorway or second corner, getting Wilkes far enough from the crowded street. The alley intersected with another about fifteen feet to my right, so I turned that way. I crossed the first half of the distance in a few long strides. From the occasional whisper of his shoes on the dirt, I knew my pursuer was still behind me. Yet he seemed to be moving slowly—slower than I expected. Being cautious? Or wasn’t it Wilkes?

I was convinced it was him, but I could leave no chance I would, in my eagerness, shoot an innocent man.

The man I’d seen could have been a random pervert or mugger, more than willing to follow a woman into an alley. It might not be the man I’d spotted, but Jack or Evelyn or a cop seeing me turn into the alley and following. Or it could be some drunken student who’d slipped from the parade for a piss break. And if it was the latter, then I sincerely apologized for what I was about to do, and hoped his full bladder could withstand it.

When I reached that next junction, I’d round the corner, then get up against the wall and wait, gun drawn. Wilkes would turn—