PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
Paul glanced over his shoulder, following the path of the older man into the hotel. He waited, listening to the crickets and feeling the evening warmth on his face.
Abruptly, he gulped down his iced water, stood, walked purposefully into the building and took the lift to the third floor. He tapped a pattern on door 370.
The look of surprise on the man’s face turned to horror as Paul thrust the gun in his chest and flashed his badge. There was nowhere to run, no way to escape or hide the evidence.
Paul watched him wilt with cold dispassion.
Word Count: 100
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.