Page 5 of Marked By the Devil

I’d ducked and worried that a second gunman was firing at the elite politicians, business owners, and wealthy entrepreneurs who were scheduled to meet there tonight. I’d been posed, ready to listen in from that fire escape nook. But that hadn’t lasted.

I checked again for the man following me.

He was still there, closer now.

Dammit!

I picked up my pace, desperate to get away.

The first night on the job as a federal agent and I’d been shot at—maybe—and someone from the Mob was stalking me.

If it made any sense, I couldn’t get away with being so frantic about how quickly it had all spun out of control. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever been in any control. I’d come just to watch a politician who was on the agency’s radar. Rico Johnson, an ass-kisser of an up-and-coming wannabe lawman. A classic nepo baby, wanting to campaign on his daddy’s dollar and swear to the citizens of the city that he’d serve them well.

That was what Agent Smithson told me.

To come and watch.

Get a feel for the situation.

Let me get my feet wet on what they were working on.

I’d worked for another department in the agency, but this was my first time in the field as a full-fledged agent just recently promoted to field work.

A full-fledged solo agent.

I cringed at the reminder that I was out here on my own. As a rookie, almost. Without any guidance or backup. Smithson’s explanation to his protégé, Brayden Hunton, a junior agent assistant who’d asked if anyone would come with me, was that I didn’t need backup for just watching a politician who had ties with the Cartel. A stakeout was supposed to be a passive activity to investigate Rico Johnson after the agency’s suspicions that he was paying the Cartel for dirty deeds.

That wasn’t what happened, though. It wasn’t just a stakeout. I was actively running for my life, determined not to be caught by whoever was chasing me.

I looked again. The glow of his phone screen didn’t illuminate his face, but I caught a glimpse of a dark beard. Maybe a ponytail as he looked down. A suit. And the glint of metal in his hand that wasn’t holding the phone.

A gun.

Fear kicked in hotter and urged me to run.

I’ve got to get out of here.

I can’t let this be the end.

This isn’t how I’m supposed to die.

Chased down a dirty, grimy alley. Alone.

You’ve done this.

You’ve survived this shit before.

While I’d never been pursued by a criminal mobster, I did have experience with the grimier side of life. I knew what it was like to hide in alleys, hanging out by the “good” dumpsters near restaurants that would put out “good” scraps.

When my mother was killed and I was left with no one at the ripe age of sixteen, I made it work. I survived.

This wasn’t the first time I’d run down an alley like this, but it was the first time I’d done so with a killer chasing me.

If that’s what he is.

Darting my gaze around and seeking a hiding spot, I dismissed that curiosity again.

If he was?