Page 108 of Shadow

Dmitri followed.

If he saw the footage, the game would be over.

Asher pushed himself to his feet, bit back a groan. Pain flashed through him. “Hey,” he called. His voice was casual. “Let me see that footage too.”

Dmitri glanced back. Their eyes met.

Dmitri’s hand moved fast, toward his jacket.

Asher started into a run. He hit Dmitri before the gun cleared his pocket.

Dmitri was good. Trained. But his knee was damaged from last night. Buckled when he tried to pivot.

Asher used that. Drove his weight into Dmitri’s injured side. Felt him gasp.

But Dmitri still had the gun. Still had his hand wrapped around the grip, trying to bring it to bear. His finger searching for the trigger.

Asher took him to the ground. They rolled across gravel. Rocks bit into Asher’s back, his shoulders, his arms as they grappled for the gun.

“Hey! Hey!” The witness’s voice cut through the struggle. Panicked. “What are you doing? Stop! I’m calling 911!”

Asher got his hand on Dmitri’s wrist. Slammed it against a rock. The impact made a dull crack. Once. Twice.

Dmitri’s grip didn’t loosen.

They rolled again. Closer to the cliff edge, where smoke from the burning Tahoe drifted up. The smell of burning plastic and gasoline mixed with pine smoke.

Somehow, Asher got his hand wrapped around the barrel. Pushed it away from himself. Away from the witness. Down and toward Dmitri.

The man’s finger was already on the trigger. Then the gun went off.

The report cracked across the mountainside.

Dmitri went still. Completely still. No breath. No movement.

What? Asher froze. Heart pounding. Breath coming fast. The smell of gunpowder sharp in his nose.

Then he felt the warm wetness spreading across Dmitri’s chest. Soaking into the fabric. Sticky and hot against Asher’s hands.

Dmitri’s body went slack.

Asher pushed himself off, his hands shaking. Blood saturated his palms.

The gun had been pointed at Dmitri when it fired. Point-blank range. Center mass.

Asher looked at the witness. The man stood frozen by his Honda. Face pale. Phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the body. At the blood spreading across gravel.

“FBI,” Asher said as he got up. He pulled his badge from his pocket. Held it up so the sun caught the metal. “I’m FBI. That man”—he gestured to Dmitri’s body—“he was going to kill you. For your dash cam.”

The witness stared. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “He was—what?”

“Organized crime. He’s wanted for multiple murders. I’ve been tracking him for months. Your dash cam has evidence he needs destroyed.” Asher took a step toward the man. Kept his hands visible. “Are you okay?”

The witness nodded. Jerky. Stunned. His whole body was trembling. “I’m—yeah. I’m okay. I just—that man tried to—” His voice broke.

“He tried to kill you. I stopped him. You’re safe now.” Asher reached the Honda. Close enough to see the man’s hands shaking. Close enough to smell his fear sweat. “Can I get the dash cam? It’s evidence.”

Then he stepped past the man and leaned into the car. The interior smelled of coffee and air freshener. He pulled the small camera from its mount—a black plastic rectangle about the size of a deck of cards.