Evan Arden 04 Isolated (9 page)

I decide to check out the office space instead.

The building looks like an ideal spot, and roof access isn’t difficult. There are security cameras, but those are easily dealt with from my end. There’s no outside fire escape from the roof, though. I’d have to make my way down from the inside.

I watch the building for the next two days. There aren’t any security guards, and the cameras are easy to locate. The main breaker is just inside the gated parking garage, and I see no signs of a backup generator.

Getting to the roof isn’t challenging. The back stairway leads to a service elevator, and there aren’t any cameras in that area. The service elevator requires a key code, which is laughably hackable—15951. I barely have to put any effort into it.

In the center, there’s a small rooftop park—trees and flowering plants are everywhere. People from the ad agency inside seem to like it as a place to eat their lunches. They don’t even make eye contact with me as I walk around carrying a watering hose and tend to the plants.

When the area empties, I discard the hose and head up a ladder to the very top of the building. There is a lot of wind coming off the sound, but I’m going to have that issue anywhere.

The stairway at the top of the building is locked but uses the same code as the elevator. Where the stairway exits is slightly higher than the rest of the roof and easily scaled. I climb up and sit there, watching the ferries come and go.

This is definitely my spot.

I watch the sun set over the water. The traffic noise keeps the area from being as peaceful as the scene implies, but it’s still nice. Shortly after the sun goes down, it starts to rain, and I make my way down the stairs and out of the building without running into a single soul, and it’s only just past six o’clock on a weeknight.

Perfect.

When the day arrives, I’m set up early in the morning. I’ve spent the past two days sitting up here and haven’t been noticed by anyone at all. I’m not sure if that’s a west coast mentality or what, but no one seems to care who I am. I disabled two cameras yesterday—the only ones that will have a view of my escape route—and no one has noticed that either.

I take out a dowel rod with a bit of cloth tied to it and place it at the corner of the rooftop. The little flag waves around, indicating wind speed and direction. From my duffel bag, I pull out the pieces of my rifle and start assembling it. Running my fingers over my Barrett is comforting. I know every inch of the metal. Every scratch on the surface is a memory. I feel at home and alive with the weapon in my hands.

She will never leave me.

I shake the thought away. I’m not going there, and I’m not thinking about that—about
her
. It’s done. It’s for the best. I don’t need anyone.

I position the Barrett’s bipod on the left side of the air intake unit on top of the stairwell and lay down on my stomach behind it. Taking out my binoculars, I scan the Puget Sound and the docks, taking it all in. It will be hours before Joseph Franks takes his final dinner cruise, but I have patience.

I watch some of the other dinner tours through my binoculars. It isn’t that far to the ship—only about four hundred meters at the optimum position—but the wind, sporadic rain, and the need for precision still make for a difficult shot. I wish I could shoot off a couple of practice rounds, but that obviously isn’t going to happen.

A black SUV pulls up to the pier, and two large men exit the vehicle. One of them opens the back door, shields the area with a large black umbrella, and Joseph Franks steps out under its cover.

I can feel the adrenalin pumping through me. With a bodyguard on either side of him, Franks putters around the pier, chatting and laughing into his phone. A shot now would be easy, but I don’t consider it. His bodyguards would be on me before I could get out of the building. For a while, he disappears into the shops around the pier, returning to the street. There’s a large shopping bag in his bodyguard’s hand.

I glance at my watch. It’s exactly five thirty-nine and time for Franks to board the ship for his six o’clock sunset cruise.

For the next thirty minutes, I see no sign of him. As the light rain diminishes to barely a mist, the ship fills up, but I can’t locate him on the deck. The passengers begin to take their seats inside, and I finally catch a glimpse of him at his usual table.

I switch from the binoculars to the scope of my Barrett. Twisting the knob at the side, I focus and aim. He’s standing sideways, and I don’t have a clear shot. The window will impact my aim if I go for his head, and I don’t want to risk him surviving a body shot.

He starts to sit, then stands again quickly. With purpose, he marches toward the back of the ship and out to the deck with both guards in tow. He grips the phone tightly in his hand, and his mouth moves quickly. He stalks the aft deck for a moment, then leans and grips the handrail.

The light from the setting sun flashes off the metal of his phone.

I set the crosshairs at his cheek as I take slow, steady breaths. I check the flag at the edge of the roof, adjust the scope a click, then aim again.

He turns toward me, and he moves his eyes in my direction. There is no way he could have sensed me, but it’s unnerving all the same. I inhale deeply, place the crosshairs at his left eye, and slowly breathe out.

As my lungs empty, I pull back on the trigger.

Franks drops.

His bodyguards begin to scramble, shouting loudly enough that I can almost make out their words. With weapons drawn, they look all around the deck, then rapidly around the docks. They have no idea where the shot originated.

With a slight smile, I push myself and my Barrett backwards along the rooftop until I’m completely concealed. Everything goes inside the duffel, and I jump off the far side of the staircase entrance, tap in the code, and make my way to the ground floor.

I leave the flag. Someone can find it later; I don’t care.

My rental car is parked just behind the building, and I slowly ease into traffic. I drive past Safeco Field, where the Mariner’s play, and park on the other side near the coast guard museum. I get out, light a cigarette, and take a short walk to the water.

The sun hasn’t completely disappeared yet, and the red and gold glow over the water is beautiful. I inhale deeply, blow out smoke, and pull a pre-paid cell phone out of my pocket. I tap in a memorized number.

“
It’s done,” I say.

“
Landon will be on the move,” Rinaldo replies.

“
Undoubtedly. Do I go after him?”

“
Not yet. Let Seattle flounder a while. That should help once Landon is out of the picture.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
They’ll fall apart quickly.” Rinaldo continues his prediction. “Even if it does come back to us, it won’t matter. There won’t be enough of them left.”

“
Agreed.”

“
I think that’s enough,” Rinaldo tells me. “It’s time for you to come home, son.”

“
Yes, sir.”

I end the call, rip the phone in half, and toss it into the water. I drive my rental car to Kings Street Station and buy a train ticket to San Francisco. I leave the station and walk several blocks to a limo service place I saw earlier in the week.

“
Can I help you?” the clerk asks.

“
Limo to Sea-Tac,” I respond.

“
When did you want to book it?”

“
Now.”

I lay a few hundreds on the counter, and after the clerk gets over his surprise, I’m escorted to a long, black limo and seated inside. I lean back in the seat and poke around at the contents of the bar. After selecting a whiskey, I put my feet up on the seat and look out the window.

It’s good to leave in style.

In a few hours, I will be back in my hometown—Chicago. Maybe I will even clean up my old apartment and live there again. It won’t be the same without a dog, but I’m hesitant to consider trying to replace Odin. Even Freyja, his offspring, was never quite the same. I’d be alone, but then again, I always am.

Always have been.

On my own.

Isolated.

It’s who I am.

It’s what I deserve.

THE END

Hey there! I hope you enjoyed Evan’s account of the tournament play in the arctic and his fulfilment of the deal he made with Bastian to escape. I actually wrote some of this while I was working on Bastian’s Storm, but ultimately decided it deserved its own novella. I know, I know—it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger and is definitely not HEA. This is for a lot of reasons, which I’m sure it will be the topic of many threads in my stories group on Facebook—come and join in the discussions!

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Please, please, please go leave your review on Amazon, Goodreads, etc.! I crave your feedback!

So, what’s next?

Yes, there will definitely be another Evan Arden book by summer of 2015. He’s in my head a lot, and there is more to be told. I can’t say for sure just yet if this will be one additional book or if there will be enough material for two, but there will be more. I have a lot of projects planned for this year, and I hope you will enjoy them all!

Until next time!

Shay Savage

Shay Savage lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her family and a variety of household pets. She is an accomplished public speaker, and holds the rank of Distinguished Toastmaster from Toastmasters International. When not writing, she enjoys science fiction movies, masquerading as a zombie, is a HUGE Star Wars fan, and member of the 501st Legion of Stormtroopers. When the geek fun runs out, she also and loves soccer in any and all forms - especially the Columbus Crew, Arsenal and Bayern Munich. Savage holds a degree in psychology, and she brings a lot of that knowledge into the characters within her stories.

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Surviving the Storm Series:

Surviving Raine

Bastian’s Storm

Evan Arden Series:

Otherwise Alone

Otherwise Occupied

Uncockblockable (a Nick Wolfe story)

Otherwise Unharmed

Stand Alone Novels:

Transcendence

Offside

Worth

Alarm

Anthologies

Bend (The Erotica Consortium)

Short Stories

Savaged