Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“You obviously have never met this kind of killer.” Translation: an assassin.
He snorts. “Are you serious? This barely qualifies as a job well done. Murphy was alone.”
“But the killer had to come up a public elevator to get to him.”
“I’ll guarantee you the cameras were off.”
The elevator behind us dings, and he grimaces before he steps aside. The doors open, and I exit the elevator with him closely following. “The biggest problem you have right now is Homeland Security,” he says, as two agents wearing Homeland jackets walk by us. “They kicked out everyone that wasn’t them but they’re all over you. Have you considered they think you did this and they’re playing a cat and mouse game with you?”
“Does everyone think I’m a killer?” I ponder. “Maybe. But no one believes I’d be as gentle as that killer was on Murphy.”
“How was that gentle? He took a bullet between the eyes.”
“The last guy I killed dismembered one of his victims with a chainsaw. In comparison, this was as gentle as a nun in a nursery with kids she actually likes.”
“I don’t think looking into the eyes of a killer and knowing there’s no escape is gentle at all.”
No one believes I killed Murphy, I think, but they clearly believe it’s an inside job. Kit’s right. There are absolutely no NYPD personnel aside from the ME or even an FBI presence when one of their own was murdered. I’m actually shocked Chief Houston hasn’t called me at this point, but he will. He absolutely will. Inside jobs get attention, and that hits a little too close to home when I think of Kane, off to kill his uncle.
We exit the building and despite the late hour, well past midnight, I’m certain, the exterior of the building is practically glowing. Law enforcement lights are virtually blow-torching the place, and I spy a wide line of yellow tape and barriers as well as way too many lookie-loos, for this time of night for comfort. I’d love it if I thought the killer was in the crowd, but assassins don’t hang out to enjoy the havoc they created. They move on to the next payday.
I cut right toward a sidewalk that’s had the crowd pushed back and a barrier installed when suddenly someone is standing in front of me. That someone is familiar—a skinny, brainy type, who’s appointed himself my assistant. “Agent.”
He’s geared up, wearing a jacket that reads “Forensics” and carrying a case. “What the fuck are you doing here, Jack? And how did you even get past the line?”
“I got in before they started pushing out the locals. I’ve been dodging them. If you tell them, you need me—”
“No.”
“I came to help.”
“No.”
“You know I’m good at this stuff. The buzz is out. We all know it’s Murphy and a professional hit.”
“Who are we?” I demand.
“Okay, I know. I picked up some electronic chatter.” He offers me a piece of paper. “Those are the top five assassins per the dark web.”
I accept the paper and forget what a pain in the ass Jack is as I read the top name: Ghost.
I immediately remind myself that Kane has a deal with Ghost. He’ll double any offer on the table to take him out. But is it enough to draw a line in the sand Ghost won’t cross? I show the name to Kit, and while he doesn’t outwardly react, I can feel the shift in his energy. He’s not sure it’s enough.
His eyes meet mine. “You told him there was a threat from a professional assassin?” he asks.
“Told who?” Jack asks.
Ignoring him, I answer Kit’s question. “I told him.”
“Then he’s ready.”
Unless we didn’t warn him in time. “Go home, Jack,” I say and since he’s perpetually scared of Kane, I add, “Or I’ll tell Kane to kill you, and he’ll enjoy it.” I eye Kit. “I’m going to Mexico. You can stay here or come. I don’t care which, but no now means yes.” I start walking and if Kit thinks he can stop me, he’ll be staring down the barrel of his gun.
He’s instantly by my side. “What if you’re next?”
“I’m not. Whoever this is wants me to hunt him.” I glance over at him. “It’s become a thing since Umbrella Man. Me against them. Where’s the car?”
He motions forward, the direction we’re traveling, which seems somewhat compliant, though he’s about as good at that particular quality as I am, so I doubt it. He most likely just wants me out of the open space, where bullets fly and land on bullseyes when wielded by a skilled marksman. And this assassin is, without question, a marksman.
I’ll deal with Kit, no matter what that means, but I never get the chance.
Suddenly there are black SUVs everywhere. One blasts onto the sidewalk in front of us. One is to our right, one to the left and one is behind us.