41I dove across the hood of the car, sliding to the ground on the other side. My left wrist couldn’t take the weight. I toppled, landing hard on my right elbow. The impact sent my revolver skittering over the cobblestones.
The glass of the windshield shattered, simultaneous with the report from the gun. The shooter must be Fraser, the hit man who had chased Andy to this spot. Had Fraser also killed Davey Chaka? Probably. He wanted to finish the job he’d started in Exeter. Finish me, finish Andy. Half under the car, I flattened myself against the pavement, my nose filled with the tarry odor of blood-hot macadam. Another bullet hit the car on the driver’s side. I shivered, wondering if Fraser was skilled enough to ignite the gas tank.
I braced myself, waiting for the next bullet. But secon
