Enter Today for achance to win autographed copies of all three Lazarus Novels
The city was quiet, quieter than usual it seemed. Traffic was so light as to be nonexistent. It was if the night was patiently waiting for the first light of dawn. A lone couple walked hand in hand, a striking pair. She was every bit of five-ten, with silky black hair catching the cool night breeze. Her eyes of blue seemed luminescent in the moonless night. She walked with effortless grace, gliding more-so than walking. To say she was stunning in a white summer dress was too simple.
She rested her head on the right shoulder of the man she strolled with. Her black hair set-off against the blond highlights of his shoulder-length light brown. His hazel eyes seemed always moving, a man cognizant of his surroundings. They never stopped tracking as he swept the area around them. There was no sign of fear or indecisiveness. Even to the untrained eye he had the demeanor of a man who was always on guard yet seemed never a bit concerned. The couple leisurely angled towards a sidewalk café, having decided a warm cup of tea would cut the morning-chill.
Approximately sixty yards to the south, glimmering eyes tracked the meandering couple from within the shadows thrown by the streetlight. If you knew where to look, you’d be hard pressed to see the owner of those eyes. A man, six feet tall, medium build – trim and muscular, though you couldn’t tell by looking. Dressed head to toe in black, standing motionless made him virtually invisible – not the same thing as truly.
The brown-haired man spotted his observer with a glance over his left shoulder in the general direction of the stalker. He was able to pick the man out by not looking directly at him. Looking straight at the man in black would have made him impossible to see. It was the difference in shades of black that the brown-haired man saw the shadow within the shadows. A flicker of a smile danced across his face, gone almost before it started.
He kissed his female companion on the forehead and pulled a burner cellphone from his pocket.
In the shadows, another phone began to vibrate. The watcher retrieved it from his inner jacket pocket; an old flip-phone with no screen to light up when opened. He placed the phone to his ear, not speaking and waited.
“You answered,” said the brown-haired man. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Silence greeted him.
“Now, now,” he said, “don’t be a spoil-sport just because I spotted you. You are quite good at your craft. I am simply better.”
Still no answer from the shadows.
“You have two options. Speak to me as you step out into the light or die where you stand.” A silenced Beretta 92 FS had appeared in his right hand as he turned away from his female companion.
She glanced at the weapon as he turned to his left, back the way they’d come. With a half-smile she whispered, “Lazarus, my love, you look as though you were born with a gun in your hand.” Kissing his cheek, she released his arm, stepping out of sight behind a tree.
“Well?” asked Lazarus..
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the shadow began to move. He stopped at the edge of the light cast by the streetlamp.
He finally spoke. “Do you truly believe you can hit me from that distance?” It was at least sixty if not seventy yards, no easy shot with a rifle in this light, let alone a handgun.
The man in black suddenly doubled over as though he’d been kicked in the solar plexus. Dropping the phone, he cursed softly to himself. “Fuck, I didn’t think he could do it.”
He slid down the brick wall until seated in the damp alleyway. His body felt as on fire, then the shock began to take over, slowly dulling the pain. “I just don’t fucking believe it,” he whispered as he slid over onto his right side, closing his eyes as his life-force ran out into the alley.
His last words, mumbled through the rattle of death; “I never should have come after him alone.”
Lazarus was gone before he drew his last breath. Having gently pulled the trigger from hip-level, he rejoined his lady as he slid the silenced 9 mm into a shoulder holster; never looking back; knowing his aim was true. His suit, an Armani was well-tailored. There was no indication a weapon hung beneath his right shoulder.
He held out his left elbow and Angelique slipped a delicate hand into the crook. Together, they resumed their stroll through the quiet streets of the European city. A city which held over a decade of memories for Lazarus. He spent much of his youth in Châteaurenard, in the South of France.
For Additional Information or Questions; Call (715)972-4321
Powered by GoDaddy Website Builder