This was disgusting. Adair had never wanted to vomit this much before, with the churning liquid in her stomach. How was she expected to run now? It tasted awful, sweetened cream with a thick, fake pumpkin scent and flavoring.
Nevertheless she sipped the coffee anyway, struggling not to reflect her displeasure on her face. Any minute, now. C'mon. She gazed upward, looking at the top of a very tall hotel building. There her partner stood, watching over the city. He signaled with his arm, telling her to move into position.
"He's in the gray suit," Thatcher's voice came through her earpiece, ringing clear.
"There's a lot of gray suits." Adair retorted in annoyance.
"He's the brown haired man in the gray suit, with the blue folder in hand."
Adair scanned the crowd. "Where?!"
"Moving east."
East? She was facing west. "Behind me?"
"Where are you?"
"Facing Kennedy West like you told me to!"
"Well, he's behind you now. Get moving."
Adair turned and saw her target immediately. He was passing by seemingly casually, although he was flicking his eyes nervously. She advanced, positioning herself behind him, dumping the coffee into the nearest garbage bin. Keeping a steady pace was key now, and to slowly approach without arousing suspicion. All was going well, until just ahead of her from her left, a mob of people began to move in a most peculiar manner. But Adair had no time to ponder this, for her target had just bolted away. She hissed a curse under her breath and sprinted forward.
She stretched her legs out at their full capacity, loping elegantly as well as efficiently. Her overcoat billowing behind her, she felt like she was flying. Her steps were light and paced to her heartbeat, a rhythm she knew well. Adair was grinning now, the wind in her hair, muffling her hearing. Her vision blurred around the sides, but never lost her target. She was closing now, ready to tackle-and something flew past her, a brilliant flash of red- and tackled her target before she could even bat an eye.
Only then did Adair hear the screaming of Thatcher in her earpiece, colorful language and all. She planted her feet to the ground, halting herself. Her overcoat enveloped her, her eyes blazing, her teeth grit, face red, hands fisted - there was Bellona, planting her hidden blade in the target's back.