Page 3 of Shadow

Perfect plan.

Except Asher had been doing this long enough to know perfect plans had a nasty habit of falling apart right around the time people started shooting.

He splashed cold water on his face. The ancient faucet sputtered.

Focus.

He could do this. Walk the line. Save the witness. Keep his cover.

Easy.

Asher returned to the lobby.

Hank was talking into his radio, face scrunched in confusion. He gestured vaguely toward the west hallway—the wrong hallway, nowhere near Courtroom 3B.

Oh, for crying out loud.

Another guard responded, moving in the completely wrong direction.

Hank had sent them to the wrong location.

Asher’s anonymous tip—his one attempt to stop this without blowing everything—had just been sabotaged by a man who probably couldn’t find his own mailbox without GPS.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. But Carlo had his hand inside the messenger bag now. Waiting.

And Asher stood there, frozen.

This couldn’t happen.

The secure door near the holding area opened.

Two deputy US marshals emerged, flanking their charge, Martha Lintz. Late fifties. Dark navy suit that looked borrowed. Hands trembling despite her obvious attempt to appear calm. No handcuffs—she was cooperating, not coerced. But the sheer terror in her eyes said she understood exactly how dangerous this fifty-foot walk was.

Deputy Marshal Ethan Butler—solid, competent, probably had fifteen years of witness protection under his belt—moved without flinching. The second marshal flanked Martha’s other side, hand hovering near his weapon, eyes constantly scanning. He recognized this guy. Liam Roberts, he thought.

Twenty feet to the courtroom door. Maybe ten seconds.

Carlo shifted his weight.

Asher’s phone buzzed again. Patterson.

Patterson

Stand down. That’s an order.

Huh? He looked around, searching for Patterson. Early sixties, the man was a legend in the Renegade office. No sighting of him, but somehow Patterson knew.

Asher’s hand tightened on the phone.

Fifteen feet to the courtroom.

Carlo’s hand emerged from the messenger bag, and Asher spotted the suppressed pistol.

See?

Ten feet.

Asher moved.