The Suppressor Erik Carter (books suggested by bill gates TXT) 📖

into a pool of light, waving his arms at Jake, who sprinted even faster now, if that was possible, his long legs pumping furiously.

The guard reached out for him, and with one easy, swift move, Jake stiff-armed him, sending the guard to his ass.

“Holy crap,” Tanner said as his eyes widened.

As big as Jake was, Tanner had never thought he was that strong. The guard wasn’t a small man, and Jake had taken him down like he was cardboard.

Jake vaulted over the boom arm.

Tanner smashed the gas pedal. And he grimaced.

Because if Martha was gonna be mad about the tires…

She was going to be livid about this.

Pace shielded himself. “What the hell are you doing?”

And Tanner drove right into the boom arm.

SMASH!

The Lincoln’s grill snapped the arm at the base. The big tube clunked over the hood, punched a crack in the windshield, and rolled off the trunk, clattering loudly on the pavement behind.

Tanner checked the rearview.

The guard was still on the ground, rubbing his head, but the arm had missed him entirely, rolling several feet away.

Steam trickled from the Lincoln’s hood.

Busted radiator. Cracked windshield. And the bumper and grille were surely destroyed.

Out of the port. Onto the street. Ahead, Jake sprinted hard. He’d gotten a couple blocks away from them, heading west toward Palafox Place.

Of course he was.

He was going for the anonymity of the crowd.

Damn, he was running fast. When the hell did he get in such good shape? He must have spent the entire time he vanished from Pensacola in the gym.

Out in the nighttime city light, Tanner could see now that Jake was wearing all black—jeans and a canvas jacket.

He shuddered at the preparations this guy had taken for his latest murder. Methodical.

Jake cut diagonally through a parking lot, weaving his way through the vehicles, shouldering past pods of laughing people coming and going from the festival.

Then he turned into an alley.

And was gone.

“Shit!” Tanner said.

They were back on Jefferson Street. Tanner hit the brakes, sending him and Pace jolting into their seatbelts.

Two cars in front of them, brake lights aglow. Parked cars lined the opposite side of the street too. Chortling pedestrians weaved, stumbled through the vehicles.

There would be no more driving.

Tanner jumped out. Pace followed.

A quick glance back at the Lincoln. The front end was a jagged, steaming nightmare. Martha’s impending wrath would be historic.

They ran into the crowd, heading for Palafox Place, one block over.

Down a side street lined with arts and crafts vendors. Paintings. Wire sculptures. Local honey. People turned to look at them. Some shocked faces, others drunken, laughing, pointing.

A mass of people had congealed at the corner, and Tanner shoved through a tangle of sweaty arms and onto Palafox.

Absolute pandemonium.

A giant, swarming mass of people, all shoulders and beer and sweat. Laughter. Joyful shouting.

Tanner wanted to go for his gun. He needed it in a situation like this, hunting down a murderer. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not with people bumping into him from all directions. Not with thumping music that cut into his skull and pissed him off.

So many people.

So many that even a six-foot-three man could blend in. Hundreds of people. Thousands? Several of them six-foot-three or taller.

It was a lost cause…

Wait.

No, it wasn’t.

There he was. Strolling away. Except…

He wasn’t dressed in all black. This man wore a white shirt.

Tanner squinted, studied.

The dark hair. Identical. And the frame, the stature—just like Jake’s, though harder, tauter, less gym-sculpted. Tanner’s mind flashed on how much stronger Jake had looked when he pushed the guard over at the port.

The man wore black jeans. He could have easily torn off the black jacket to reveal a white shirt.

It was him.

It was Jake.

Tanner shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Pace had fallen back. There were several people between them. Tanner gave a quick nod of the head—Follow me—which Pace acknowledged.

He kept his eyes locked on the tall figure as he pushed through the crowd.

With every step, with every drunk he pushed past, Tanner was more certain it was Jake. Why else would the man be by himself in this massive party, casually working his way through the revelry, unaffected, unimpressed?

Ten feet behind the man.

A giggling twenty-something woman in a bright red wig and a green tutu jumped in front of Tanner, said something silly. He shouldered past her.

Five feet away.

Tanner stepped onto the sidewalk to avoid a cluster of middle-aged men, laughing loudly.

Back onto the street. Jake was right in front of him, no one between them, a foot away.

Tanner clamped his hand down on Jake’s shoulder, yanked him around.

It wasn’t Jake.

The man had sharp features, dark and almost exotic looking, like a really tall, really big Johnny Depp staring down at him with a perplexed look on his face.

Tanner removed his hand. “So sorry. I … thought you were someone else.”

The man continued to give him a confused stare. But he said nothing. There was a small twinkle in his eye, almost a smile.

He just kept staring.

Screaming and laughter and music pounded through the walls surrounding them.

The little smile grew a bit bigger. And almost kindly. Tranquil.

How much had this guy had to drink?

Tanner inched back.

Finally the man nodded, turned around, and slipped into the crowd.

Someone bumped into Tanner, and he diverted his attention to look.

It was Pace, panting.

Tanner turned back around.

And the man was gone.

Just … vanished.

Tanner looked left, right.

Nothing.

Pace exhaled, catching his breath. “Wrong guy?”

“Obviously,” Tanner said. He thought of the bizarre smile the man had given him. “Just some weirdo.”

He scanned through the crowd, his focus bouncing from one tall man to the next. None of them looked remotely like Jake.

Tanner sighed.

“He’s gone.”

Chapter Seventy-Five

Laswell looked across the water at the police lights coming from the port. There were a half dozen cop cars, flapping yellow tape, and lots of milling personnel, but the energy was slow and methodical. It had been half an hour since the action had spiked.

“You’re damn right,” he said into his cellular phone. “Suppressor finished him off. Nakiri put around through his shoulder