Dead Shot by Jack Patterson (adventure books to read .TXT) 📕

the past six months: Did he have the nerve to walk away from the game that had consumed his entire life? But there was no going back now. Ellen had likely already committed to memory their entre conversation, word for word. And Noah knew she would make sure he kept his word. It was one of the best things he liked about being married to Ellen. It was also one of the worst.

***

Carlos Rivera nursed the cup of coffee in his right hand. It wasn’t cold yet but it was getting there quickly. Another minute or two and it would be undrinkable. Not that he minded. He thought the claim that Seattle was home to the best coffee in the United States was a chiste. In the week he’d be in Seattle, this was the fifth different brand of coffee he had tried and none of them impressed him.

But the fame of Seattle’s coffee was the only reason Rivera wanted to come on this trip. Not that he had a choice. When Mr. Hernandez said, “Go to Seattle,” he went. No questions, no protests. Yet this job made Rivera sick. He told himself he was a professional and that he could do this. It’s what he told himself every time that Mr. Hernandez required him to do something distasteful. Rivera hated dipping a rival gang member’s hand in acid. Neither did he care for shooting a man’s beloved dog just to make a point. But this assignment? This one was cruel. It was so monstrous in its nature that Rivera wondered if Mr. Hernandez even had a conscience any more – or a heart. Of course, Rivera could refuse. But he loved his family too much. He preferred ever so slightly this sordid existence over death itself, even if it was a meager half-step above. Choosing one over the other was about a 50-50 proposition. Rivera chose to live.

Rivera shook his partner, Juan Morales, who had just dozed off in the passenger’s seat.

“It’s time. Wake up.”

Morales rubbed his face and looked through the rain-speckled windshield and at their target meandering down the sidewalk. The wipers methodically swept away a handful of raindrops, gliding across the glass to create a clean space for more raindrops to gather.

“That’s him,” Rivera said.

He eased the car forward and moved about 10 feet past the target walking on the sidewalk. He stopped the car.

With great precision and efficiency, Rivera and Morales grabbed the confused boy who resisted the abduction with shrill calls for help. Rivera secured the boy’s arms; Morales snatched his legs. The boy squirmed and tried to kick free, but in less than two seconds, he was in the backseat of the Town Car wedged between the seat and Morale’s left knee. It was a fight the boy would never win. He never even had a chance to be heard.

Morales grinned and patted Rivera on the back as they pulled out of their parking spot and headed down the street.

“We got him!” Morales said.

Rivera said nothing. He adjusted the mirror so he could see the boy. Seeing the terror in the boy’s eyes was too intensely personal for Rivera, who had a six-year-old son of his own. But he couldn’t let this get personal. This was business, a business he had to conduct professionally and efficiently or his own family might end up another victim of Mr. Hernandez.

Morales couldn’t stop grinning, basking in his moment of triumph. A sick one of a 28-year-old man overpowering a six-year-old boy 180 pounds his junior. He looked down at his catch, brooding over him with a frightening voice.

“Hola, Jake.”

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Acknowledgements

We write in community and there have been plenty of people who have contributed to this project in one form or another.

Many thanks must first go to my dad, who taught me how to tell a good story, leaving me on the edge of my bed wanting the next snippet of his creative bedtime stories, and my mom, who instilled in me the importance of good grammar to accentuate good written stories.

I also want to acknowledge Joy Pilkington, the woman who taught me how to write and that writing is more than a natural talent – it’s an acquired skill.

I appreciate the editorial assistance of Jennifer Wolf and her keen eye in making this book better than it was.

I also appreciate Hangman Books for giving this book the opportunity to find an audience that enjoys good storytelling and loves a tight thriller.

And last but not least, I appreciate my wife for giving me the time to help make this book a reality and for indulging me in hours of conversation about this story and finding ways to make it better.

About the Author

Jack Patterson is an award-winning journalist and novelist living in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and three children. He has written for a number of newspapers including The New York Times, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Palm Beach Post, San Diego Union-Tribune, and many others. Patterson enjoys the great outdoors of the Northwest and following sports. He also loves connecting with readers and would love to hear from you. To stay updated about future projects, connect with him over Facebook (facebook.com/JackPattersonAuthor) or Twitter (@MrJackPatterson) or via email by emailing him at: [email protected]

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Electronic Edition Copyright 2011 Jack Patterson

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First eBook Edition 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Published in the United States of America