Trust No One by Diana Layne Page B

promised to be, without–
    A sound like glass shattering outside made all thoughts freeze. A brief pause and then her feet moved before she formed a conscious thought to go to the window. Automatically, she killed the living room lights, and habit had her slipping the bullet clip into her gun.
    No doubt there was a good explanation for the sound she heard. Something non-threatening. Ben’s presence in town had simply thrown all her alarm switches to sensitive hair trigger. The whole idea of going back to work may have made her jumpy. But there was an old saying that had saved many operative’s lives: Better safe than sorry.
    A look outside the window confirmed Ben’s red clunker truck still parked out front. But the street light revealed his once intact windshield was now riddled with a myriad of lines running through it, resembling something Angelina might have scribbled on paper. Chunks of glass, here and there, were totally missing. MJ dropped the curtain and pivoted away from the window, processing what she’d seen. Had some kid thrown a rock? Not likely. Then what would shatter his windshield like that? The answer seemed obvious, but why would someone shoot at Ben?
    Standing beside the window with her back to the wall, this time she inched the curtain away with her gun and peeked out to scan the street below.
    Where was Ben?
    She zeroed in on him, lying across the front seat, his gun out and aimed. . . at her! She dropped the curtain back in place. What was going on?
    MJ processed all she’d seen. Someone shot at Ben, and for some reason he thought the shooter was her. From his angle he’d be unlikely to hit her even if he fired, so MJ inched up and took another look. This time she swept a broader area with her gaze, and although rusty from years out of the business, her brain still managed to process the scene with practiced thoroughness. She took in the silent downtown of two and three story buildings, the parking spaces vacant in front of each business as her building was the only one used for apartments.
    All looked quiet and silent until...
    There. Across the street at the old State National Bank building. Movement at a second story window. A flash.
    Adrenaline spurting through her veins like hot motor oil, MJ dropped down to the floor again, flattened on the carpet. When no bullet came zinging through her living room window or wall, she peeked out once more and this time the truck was pitched off balance. The back tire once full of air was now slowly sinking into the ground.
    Shit, someone was really after him.
    He must’ve concluded the same thing and realized it wasn’t her. He clambered out of his truck, on the apartment building side and scrunched down, using the full sized F150 truck as a shield from the shooter with high ground advantage across the street.
    MJ knew the chances of a wild shot going through the apartment building and hurting someone innocent was remote. The shooter was obviously a professional. Still she was glad Angel was in the back bedroom in case the shooter turned his attention to her apartment.
    Damn Ben for bringing trouble to town. And damn Jeff for sending him. And damn Tasha for killing those old coot senators—whether they needed killing or not. Damn them all.
    Grimly, MJ held the curtain away just enough to peek out. Ben was safe...phone at his ear. “Texas When I Die” began to play from the diaper bag by the door. She dug out her phone, not even wondering how he had her unlisted number.
    “I need cover.”
    “Got it.” She cracked open the window enough to fit the gun barrel through.
    “You see the target?”
    “No one specific, just the direction.”
    “I’m gonna make a run for the front door. Don’t shoot unless you see someone moving on me, don’t want to attract attention.”
    “I need a high-powered rifle for that distance anyway. You okay?”
    “I’m hit, but I’ll live.”
    The situation was grim, deadly even, but calm slipped over her like old,