Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,18

then walked up and down the sidewalk a few times, scanning his surroundings for anyone who might be interested in him. No one gave him a second look, so he went inside.

He’d long ago installed unobtrusive motion sensors at the facility’s entrances—the front and back gate, as well as each of the building’s access points. Once he was inside, he remotely activated all of them. Anyone came near the place now, he’d know about it.

Ricardo rode the elevator up to his second-floor storage unit and let himself in. There wasn’t much in here—mostly cases containing weapons he didn’t use often and didn’t want to be caught with if the feds ever busted down his door. In one of the cases was a sniper rifle that would match the ballistics profile on rounds used in several high-profile unsolved murders. Beside that, an old Kalashnikov that was similarly wanted dead or alive. Ricardo had used each gun exactly once, but they’d had colorful histories before he’d taken them from owners who wouldn’t need them anymore.

If law enforcement ever made it into this unit, they’d have a laundry list of weapons charges ready to roll, and they could take those up with Jerry Macomber, the man who’d been renting the unit for the past five years. By the time they realized they were chasing a ghost, Ricardo would be long gone and scot free.

Unless of course the law broke in while he was physically here, which meant Ricardo never stayed longer than he absolutely had to. As soon as he had the door open, he went to work, and he worked fast.

He grabbed the silver armored suitcase from the shelf where it had been sitting the last several days. He entered the code into its keypad, unsnapped the lid, and started pulling out the cash and stacking it to the side. The bills were legit—he’d checked them thoroughly when he’d received the payment.

Instead, he thumbed through stacks in search of anything that didn’t belong. Ran his fingers along the bands holding them together. Traced the insides of the empty case. Pulled out the liners and inspected them and the shell.

When that yielded nothing, he pulled out a set of tiny screwdrivers and undid the hinges on the case. They took a little work, but when the second hinge came apart, a small disc tumbled out with a tiny blinking green diode.

Ricardo picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, and he stared at it. A GPS tracker.

“Thought so,” he grumbled. His best guess? Whoever had paid him had every intention of coming to retrieve their money after Ricardo was either killed or arrested tonight. With two hitmen on the same job in a secure building crawling with armed security, he could only assume that was the intended outcome. His assumption: both assassins dead or in prison (so…dead) and no longer the problem of whomever had called in the hit. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

He looked over the money. Odds were, the serial numbers on the bills had been logged as well. If he tried to deposit them, even in an offshore account, they’d be flagged, and whoever was behind tonight’s job would be able to claw back the money electronically.

No one had ever intended for Ricardo or August to walk away with five million in cash. In hindsight, he should have known that price was a red flag. Should have investigated deeper. But he hadn’t, because it had made perfect sense for someone to pay top dollar for Lance Baldwin’s smug fucking head.

By now, someone had to know that the job hadn’t gone down the way it was intended, which meant they’d be coming for their money sooner than later.

Ricardo quickly shoved a few stacks into his jacket, then a few more into the case containing his sniper rifle. He tucked the GPS tracker into his back pocket, slung the sniper rifle case onto his back, stepped out of the unit, and locked the door.

He was halfway to the elevator when an alarm pinged on his phone.

The motion sensors had picked up movement.

Under these circumstances, he wasn’t going to take for granted it was another late-night visitor or a security guard.

He jogged toward the elevator. When it opened, he tossed in the GPS sensor, hit the button for the sixth floor, and then bolted for the stairwell as the doors shut.

As he backtracked toward the stairwell, he checked his phone. Both the front and back gates had been breached at the