I heard the chatter in the department about Atticus missing the shot. Montgomery senior wasn’t killed last night and I’m fuming from the fuckup. That motherfucker was supposed to be dead. Why isn’t he dead? I throw the car into park and get out, my boots thudding across the concrete floors as I make my way to the wall of monitors. I scan each one, but it’s useless. There is no mention of Atticus or his father. “What the fuck happened last night?” I turn to Sheila, who is hovering in the middle of the room looking like she’s in the middle of a shrug. “Everything was going according to plan. Atticus got out of the car, I tracked him inside Blue Corp, everything looked fine. He went behind the closed-circuit cameras where I have no access so I assumed—” Her words are cut off by my phone. I take it out, recognizing Case’s tone, and say, “Yeah.” “What the fuck, dude?” “I don’t know, man, he missed or something.” “Missed? How the fuck can he miss? If he was in the office like we planned it, then that bastard was less than twenty feet away.
