Sam rechecked her review mirror. The grey sedan was still there.
"Again," she muttered, "day four in a row."
"What is day four in a row?" her colleague asked as they pulled into a parking bay near a local lunch spot.
"Hmm ... what?" Sam murmured, watching the sedan move further down the road and park, "I was wondering when we were going to try something new or if it would be day four in a row."
"I like our lunch spot," her colleague said, leaving the car, "it has everything anyone needs."
"Like what? Sun, Sea and Sand?" Sam asked, glancing a few cars down and meeting the eyes of two men watching them walk toward the coffee shop, "we have one out of three. Besides, wouldn't you like to eat something different at least two out of four days."
"I guess you're right," she smiled, "but for today can we go to the same place. Tomorrow we can try something new."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Sam grinned, "now wrap or burger?"
"Choices ..." her colleague moaned, "what to eat? What to drink?"
Grinning, Sam opened the coffee shop door. The sudden din of voices and orders being called felt like a gut punch. A table near the window was quickly taken by her colleague. Glancing at the two men leaning against the car's bonnet, Sam went inside.
"Maintain normalcy," she whispered, "lose them after you've eaten."
Needing to wait for a group leaving to pass by, Sam noticed one of the wait staff already at their table. A frown settled between her brows; why was she being ordered for? Focussing on her colleague's lips, Sam lip-read her, fury unfurled. Detaining the waitress as she made her way to the table.
"I'm headed for that table," Sam said, "I have food allergies; I just want to make sure my colleague hasn't ordered me something I can't eat."
"Sure," the waitress smiled and went through the order, "anything you want to change."
"Everything that was ordered for me, please don't," Sam said, "I've had one of those days where food has been plentiful throughout the day."
"No problem," the waitress smiled, altering the order, "can I get you anything else?"
"I'll just get myself something to drink," Sam smiled, "thank you."
Sam moved toward the beverage counter as the waitress attended another table, "A large coffee to go."
Leaning on the counter, Sam watched the clientele in the coffee shop. A booth facing the windows at the back of the coffee shop drew her attention. Everyone else was clearly from a corporate environment except the three men in the back booth wearing long leather jackets and loose-fitting shirts. Nothing about them was business ... glancing at the table again, Sam noticed her colleague waving at her to join her at the table. Sam put up a finger indicating she would be there in a moment. Paying for the coffee, she turned, preparing to move as one of the men looked up. Recognition sparked in his gaze, and a smile began to spread as he glanced from her to the shop window. Frowning, his eyes widened, shouting a single word that sent the place into instant panic.
"Gun," the word boomed around the space.
People instantly tried to leave or take cover, bumping into Sam as she turned toward the window seeing an automatic rifle aimed into the coffee shop window. Hoods pulled up and covered the faces of the attackers obscured their faces, but Sam knew them as the men following her for the past four days.
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"Everyone down," she yelled, crouching where she stood, coffee still in hand.
The sound of gunfire shattering the glass window drew screams, and people ran away from the threat. The men moved through the window, locking onto her position and firing. Sam gasped as the wood above her head sprayed around her. She had to move. Abandoning her coffee, she dove behind the metal coffee counter, hoping it would give her some shelter. A single shot rang out before the automatic gunfire started again. Peaking around the counter, Sam noticed the booth of men being fired on. Looking around, she found a letter opener.
"Who has a letter opener in a coffee shop?" she murmured, frowning.
Grasping the handle, she weighed it, "This will work," standing she sized up the gunman, "hey ...yeah you."
He turned toward her, a cold smile on his lips as he raised his weapon. Sam let the knife fly as he opened fire again. Ducking behind the counter as a few short bursts happened before silence followed. Slowly rising into the silence, Sam watched the man sink to his knees, crumpling sideways. Sam counted to twenty, thirty, forty, fifty and finally reached sixty. Still, he remained motionless. Coming out from behind the counter, Sam made her way toward her intended table, stopping and looking down at her colleague's body. Lifeless eyes and a single gunshot to the centre of her forehead stared back at her.
"Are you okay?" the mellow voice brought Sam's angry gaze to the waiting expression.
"I'm okay," she whispered, "thanks, Stan. Are you okay?"
"Sure, we're all okay," he nodded, "thanks for the assist."
"Could say the same thing," Sam sighed, "I think she was in on the hit."
"You think this is a hit?" Stan looked around at the dead and injured, "there are a lot of casualties for a hit."
"Makes it look random," Sam murmured, "those men have been following me for four days. She insisted we come to this coffee shop for lunch ... for the past four days."
"Why did you go along with it?" Stan asked.
"I had a gut feeling there was more to everything about her befriending me than appeared," Sam said, "I started a new job ... one that I should never have landed. I wasn't in the building two hours when she made contact and insisted we have lunch together."
"Like one of those over-friendly office colleagues who only want you around to get the latest happenings of your life and turn it into gossip," Stan nodded, "I know the kind."
"She gave the waitress an order for me that would have incapacitated me," Sam sighed, "why were you here?"
"We decided to try something new," Stan grinned, "we've been trying out the various lunch places around town."
"Hmmm," Sam nodded, "I'm grateful you were in this one today."
"Something tells me it will be closed for a while," Stan said, looking around, "where is the owner?"
"No idea," Sam said, "in the past four days, I haven't seen anyone who looks like an owner."
"Stan, over here," one of the men bending over a dead gunman's body waved him over, "look at this."
Sam followed Stan looking down at the small folder pulled from the man's pocket. Stan flipped through it. Sam felt it hard to breathe.
"Cherry," she whispered, "Cherry was the hit, but ... wait," flipping back to a photo, Sam looked from the image to Stan, "that was two days ago."
"Then who is the target of the hit?" Stan asked.
"According to what we found in the other man's pockets, all three of you," Stan's colleague said. "Without looking at other evidence, you have two options ... run or hide."
"Thanks, Mitchell," Stan nodded, "he may be right, but there was no way of knowing I'd be at this coffee shop today."
"Perhaps they are trying to take us out one at a time," Sam mused, frowning as her phone rang. Answering it, she paused halfway through the greeting. "Mrs Andrews slow down ... what are you talking about?" Sam felt her blood run to arctic ice through her veins, "Are you sure that is Cherry's apartment?" pausing once more, she nodded, "thank you for letting me know."
"What happened?" Stan asked, frowning.
"Do you know ..." Sam paused, looking around before pointing outside the store.
Silently they left, continuing to walk until they got to a small park. Stan remained silent, following Sam to the centre of an open patch of grass and sat on the wooden bench. After a minute or two, he glanced at her, scanning the area.
"What didn't you want to say there?" he asked.
"Have you been in contact with Charles?" Sam whispered.
"Ah no," Stan shook his head, "why?"
"Use this phone," Sam said, "phone him and find out if he is okay."
"What happened to Cherry?" Stan asked, frowning.
"After you call Charles," Sam said, continuing to take in the area and waiting for the outcome of the phone call.