Montez fought back the onset of new panic. What had started as an inconvenient burning had expanded into a nasty blowtorch wound. And the dripping blood, which hadn’t decreased in volume, created an easy trail to follow. He knew McBride would be expecting an ambush, but wouldn’t know from where. Would he get more than one shot? Probably not. He’d better make it count. And there’d be no taking prisoners at this point. He needed to kill or disable McBride and clear the area. Time wasn’t on his side, but even with ample time, where could he go? He didn’t know how far he’d make it on foot with a wound like this. Half a mile? Less?

He looked down at the small pool of blood forming under his pant leg. Even if he used his shirt as a tourniquet, there was enough blood soaking his pants to keep dripping for awhile. How long before the blood worked its way down and pooled in his shoes?

Knowing McBride had to slow his pace, Montez moved to the south, hobbling down the main path of the park. Fortunately, he’d scouted this escape route a week ago and thought it unlikely his pursuer knew the layout of Belmont Park as well he did. He had a variety of pre-scouted ambush spots at his disposal, he just had to pick the right one.

That’s when a brilliant idea came. He’d turn his disadvantage into an advantage.

He looked over his shoulder and worked his way deeper into the park.

Chapter 43

Chapter  43

If I can hear them, he can hear them.

Approaching sirens. At least three, probably four. Nathan considered removing the suppressor and popping off a shot to draw the police in here. No, not yet. Involving the police ran the risk of a friendly fire situation. At this point Montez had to be hurting as badly as he was. Probably worse. And weakening from blood loss.

Time to relocate again. Watching for shadows or movement behind the carousel, he advanced to some steps and crouched behind a concrete trash container. He peered around the corner to the south. No sign of Montez or any security guards. Or anyone. The park was deserted. A spinning-type ride occupied the left side, with an arcade, retail shops, and food vendors on the right. Ten feet away, he saw two more blood droplets in the middle of the walkway. And something more.

A lot more.

A partial bloody footprint.

Outstanding.

Montez’s leg wound had soaked his pants down to his shoe. He’d definitely gone this way. But how far?

Old-fashioned streetlamps provided plenty of light toward the interior, but the perimeter storefronts allowed deep shadows in their darkened alcoves. A bullet could come from any one of them. No wonder Montez had chosen this place.