Kill Shot

KILL SHOT

by J.D. Faver

AMAZON EDITION

Amazon Editions, License Notes

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CHAPTER ONE

Facts of life...Not all babies are cute. Not all elderly people are sweet. And not all brides are beautiful.

Micki Vermillion winced as the bride-to-be and her mother climbed out of their car.

This bride was a big girl with a big attitude. The crystal and pearl encrusted bodice of her white satin Vera Wang gown struggled to contain her proud bosom. The white illusion veil floated behind her like a ten foot vapor trail as she stomped angrily across the manicured grass while simultaneously demonstrating her impressive knowledge of profanities.

Train wreck! This is going to be a train wreck.
Micki envisioned her carefully choreographed event dissolving before her eyes. A state of paralysis crept over her but she shook it off, sucked in a deep breath and plastered a determinedly cheery smile in place. “Zondra! Mrs. Sebastian! Over here. This is the first spot I wanted to use.”

A large oak in Central Park had leaned so far over as to form a seat with sufficient strength to hold more than one member of the bridal party. The lighting under the canopy of trees was perfect on a sunny day, providing just the right amount of indirect light to flatter most any subject. Micki spread a piece of white fleece over the branch to protect the fragile satin dress and seated Zondra as on a horse, sidesaddle. Keeping up a barrage of bright chatter, she arranged the dress and train to best advantage.

A cardinal lit in a branch over Zondra’s head, chirping like a squeaky toy. She glowered at it. “If that frickin’ bird craps on my dress, I’m gonna’ climb this tree and rip its little heart out.”

Micki did a mental eye-roll, hoping that Zondra’s irritable mood didn’t show up in the photographs. “All righty then.” She gave an encouraging smile. “Let’s try a profile first. Now, look over your shoulder at me.” Micki cooed at her as though she was a supermodel on a photo shoot for Elle.

Zondra heaved a sigh. “Sorry. This day has been so stressful.” She shrugged, her bodice straining with the effort. “I’ll be glad when it’s all over.” Her pout disappeared, replaced by her wide infectious grin and a flash of dimples.

Micki relaxed, glad Zondra was making an effort; glad she had been selected to photograph the elaborate wedding and determined to please her subject. With every satisfied customer, referrals would be forthcoming. Micki Vermillion was building a name for herself. Her father would have been proud...if he had lived to see her revive the business he had poured his heart into.

The shoot took the better part of an hour. Micki pulled the filled memory card from her camera and tucked it into the breast pocket of her faded blue work shirt. It had been Oz’ favorite shirt until she took it over. It was the only thing of his she had kept. A surge of longing flooded her chest. She took a breath and swallowed hard.
Best not to dwell on the past.

She popped in a fresh memory card and took a series of casual shots of the bride and her mother. Afterwards, Micki gathered her equipment and loaded it into a rolling duffle. She walked along side Zondra and her mother, escorting them on their return to their car.

“I’ll get the proofs to you soon, maybe by tomorrow. I can send them by messenger, if you’d like.”

Zondra clapped her hands, her bad mood forgotten; all at once, childlike and adorable. “That would be fabulous, Micki. I’d love to see them before the wedding so I can pick one for the newspaper announcement.” Zondra’s beautiful dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “I want all the girls I hated in school to be jealous because I’m honeymooning in Barbados with my new husband, the lawyer.”

Micki experienced an excited tingle of big money coming her way. “I’ll make sure you have them before you leave.” She leaned in to exchange air kisses with both women and turned toward the place where her small black SUV sat parked in the shade.

A trickle of sweat ran down her neck and between her breasts. Micki swept the mass of honey blond curls off her neck, allowing a slight breeze to cool her as she admired the tree-lined drive. Her photographer’s eye lined up a shot for the coffee-table book she planned to create. Central Park was her favorite portrait studio, feeding her need to see blue sky and hear birds sing as she worked. She loved the park, even on a day this warm.

Opening the back of her car, she carefully placed the duffle on the rear deck before slamming the tailgate.

Micki started the motor with one leg still outside the vehicle, switching the A/C to high. She turned all the vents to blow in her face, then tucked in her leg and leaned out to close the door.

As she touched the handle, the driver’s side window shattered with a loud pop, raining small shards of splintered safety glass down her arm. Her ears rang, like she’d zoomed to a high altitude.

Stunned, Micki stared at her hand, covered with a fine mist of glass. She raised her eyes to the gaping hole in her side window. Prickles of fear swept across her flesh, sent a spiral of panic to constrict her airway and clutch her insides.

Micki looked back over her shoulder just as her rear window imploded. A scream raged in her throat, but came out as a whimper.

Stomping on the gas pedal, she slammed the door and veered out in front of another car, barely missing its front fender. Her tires squealed in protest as the driver swerved and braked.

Micki’s heart slammed against her ribs. She couldn’t catch her breath. With each thud of her heart, the need to escape the park escalated. She could feel the crosshairs trained on her neck.

Omygodomygodomygod!

Her tires squealed again as she cornered too fast, frightening a pedestrian back onto the curb.

Someone shot at me.
The reality hit her like a slap in the face.
Why shoot at a wedding photographer?
It had to be a mistake. Was she being used for target practice by gang-bangers? Her only thought was to get out of the park.
What if someone’s chasing me?

Micki groped for her cell phone, intending to punch in 911 but her fingers froze. What would she say?
I’m driving like a maniac. Come find me
. “Crapola!”

She punched number one on her speed dial instead, reaching out to the only person who’d ever made her feel completely safe. It wasn’t fair to call, but as she sped away from the park, she couldn’t think of a reasonable alternative. Both dread and longing rose up inside her chest. It rang three times before a breathy female voice answered. “Oz’ phone.”

Micki choked back a gasp. Her first instinct was to hang up, but she was too scared. She struggled to swallow the boulder-size lump in her throat. “Oz!...I need Oz.”

There was a long moment of silence. “May I tell him who’s calling?” The tone wasn’t breathy any more. Suspicion iced the words.

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her ears. “Micki.”

In the background, she heard Oz asking who was on the phone before the receiver was muffled and a brusque conversation took place.

“Micki?” He sounded tense. “What do you want?”

Her stomach clenched at the sound of his deep voice. She closed her eyes, wishing she hadn’t called
. Some things never change
. “I’m sorry to bother you, Oz. I don’t want to make things difficult.”

When she heard the concern in his voice, tears stung her eyes. “I--I did a bridal shoot in the park. Someone shot out my car windows.” The sound of gunfire shattering glass reverberated in her memory. “I got out of there as fast as I could. I was too scared to wait for the police.”

“You did the right thing, Micki. Are you being followed?”

She pulled up to a stoplight and peered at the driver in the car beside her. He stared in morbid fascination through the hole in her side window, his expression sending another jolt of fear to her gut. When the light changed, she pressed her foot on the accelerator to avoid his gawking.

“I don’t think so.”

“Where are you now?”

She glanced in her rear-view mirror at the mesh of glass surrounding the gaping hole behind her head. “About ten blocks from your new place.”

He sighed heavily. “I’ll meet you down in front.” The phone went dead.

She knew this was difficult for him, but it was difficult for her too, considering the last time they’d seen each other.

Oz was leaning up against the building as she pulled into the parking space. A familiar ache spread through her when she saw him. She could almost feel his arms holding her, his tall, lean body the perfect haven. Resting her head against his chest would make her feel safe and secure, but she’d given up the right to experience those things with him.

When he saw her, he ducked his head and raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair before pushing away from the wall.

He stepped into the street and surveyed her through the shattered window. His dark eyes assessed her. A half-smile quirked one side of his mouth. “What have you done now?” He opened her door and held up his hand. “Wait. Don’t scoot across the broken glass.” He brushed it off her seat with his hand.

She struggled to return his smile as he squatted beside her. A soft breeze ruffled his hair. She stifled the urge to stroke it into place. His gaze flicked over her, squeezed her heart as memories of their recent past crushed her.

He stood and extended his hand. “C’mon.”

Micki found herself deserted by the tiny shred of control with which she had driven here to face the man she’d turned her back on. She smiled, although tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes, Sir, Officer Osmond.” Her hand shook as she reached to take the one he offered.

“Don’t worry,” she said, sniffling against his shirt. “I won’t take this personally.” She tried to smile but her lips quivered and a fresh spate of tears shook her body.

Oz sighed and patted her shoulder while he rocked her in his arms.

As Micki clung to him, a war of emotions raged inside her. She couldn’t remember why she’d felt compelled to break up with him. Oh, yeah, she’d wanted to accomplish something more with her life than just being Oz’ wife. She owed it to her dad. At least he had always believed in her.

The siren abruptly quit screaming when a patrol car screeched to a stop beside them, blocking her car in and causing motorists to have to swerve around them.

“What’s up, Oz? Are you subduing a felon?” The young officer swung the passenger door open, eyed Micki appreciatively and flashed her a grin.

Micki turned to see a slim young woman with large breasts that strained at the confines of her knit tank top. Her very dark hair had been bleached to a flat, lusterless blond except for the two inches close to the roots. Her thin eyebrows registered anger quite eloquently. She shot a furious look at Oz before climbing into a Camaro parked at the curb. Her tires squealed on the pavement when she peeled out, a bizarre thing to do in front of so many policemen.