Chapter 14 - The Sniper in the Shadows

"Where’s the shot coming from?" I yelled over the whining ricochet of another bullet chewing into the concrete wall behind us.

"The stairwell ventilation shaft on the upper deck," Vincent shouted back, pulling a heavy nickel-plated Beretta from a shoulder holster hidden beneath his tailored jacket. His hands didn't shake; he moved with the cold, practiced efficiency of a man who had fought in alleyways long before the internet or digital surveillance cameras existed. "Sterling didn't send enforcers this time. He sent a professional cleaner from the old Philadelphia crew."

"Vance and her team are still on the fourth floor of the hospital," I said, reaching for my Sig. "If we don't draw him out, he's going to walk right down that stairwell and finish the job in the lobby where the cameras can't see."

"We don't need Vance," Vincent snarled. "We need to clear the exit before the local cops arrive and lock down the perimeter. Give me your keys."

"What?"

"The Lincoln has a reinforced engine block. Give me the keys, Nate. I’m going to draw his fire while you circle around the back stairs and hit him from the blind spot."

"Vinny, you're out of your mind—"

"Do it!" he yelled, snatching the metal ring from my hand before I could argue.

Before I could blink, Vincent scrambled on his hands and knees around the rear fender of the Lincoln, jammed the key into the ignition, and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The supercharged V8 engine roared to life with a deafening, mechanical scream, spinning its rear tires against the oil-slicked concrete and smoking rubber into the stale air of the garage.

The Lincoln shot forward like a missile, directly toward the concrete ramp leading up to the upper deck.

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Crack! Another round from the sniper rifle blew out the rear windshield, raining tempered glass across the trunk, but Vincent didn't slow down. He ducked low behind the dashboard, steering with one hand while holding his Beretta out the passenger window, firing three rapid shots blindly toward the ventilation grates on the second-floor landing.

I didn't wait. I sprinted toward the side fire exit, slamming my shoulder into the heavy steel bar of the door and tumbling out into the cold Chicago night.