When he hit the main intersection, Cole scanned all four corners, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand and then against his jeans. He turned right on a sidewalk congested with people. It was just after ten when he saw the lights from the casino and he knew the Marriott was close. He felt more secure on the busy street among the pedestrians and heavy traffic. No one seemed to notice the left side of his shirt was stained with blood.
As he walked, Cole processed. Whatever had just happened wasn’t good. It wasn’t a robbery—it was an attempted murder. Someone wanted him dead. Cole’s mind raced as he played scenarios in his head. Was it another cartel? Was it his cartel? Was it David? His first reaction was disbelief, but he shook that from his head and scolde
