Unstable Target: Six Assassins Book 3

by Heskett, Jim

  Unstable Target

  Six Assassins Book 3

  Jim Heskett

  Nick Thacker

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Notes for “A History of the Denver Assassins Club”

  Get the Next Book Now

  A NOTE TO READERS

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Disclaimer

  The Six Assassins hexalogy needs to be read in order. If you have not read PRIMARY TARGET, please start there.

  Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  EMBER

  Week Three

  Day One

  Ember smiled at the floating sun as she strolled down Pearl Street. At this early hour, dozens were already out on the brick-paved pedestrian mall, checking shops and carrying breakfast burritos. The suits and the hippies alike meandered from here to there in the chilly, late-October air.

  Behind her, Zach Bennett toted her three bags’ worth of clothes from the yoga place. Ember wasn’t into yoga, but she had promised herself that if she survived the next three weeks, she would try it. Might as well buy the clothes now, though. Maybe a little extra motivation not to die from an assassin’s bullet to the head or piano wire around the neck.

  She spun as she walked, with Zach struggling to balance the bags. “You okay back there, my porter?”

  “I’m managing,” he said as he shifted the bags from one hand to the other. He didn’t look like he was managing, which made Ember giggle. So adorable. She might make him walk another twenty paces before she let him off the hook and took a couple of those bags for herself.

  She slowed so he could catch up with her, then she planted a kiss on his lips. “You’re chivalrous.”

  “How are these bags so heavy when yoga pants are as thin as paper?”

  Ember shrugged. “I liked everything I tried on. Didn’t think that was going to happen. Let me tell you something about girl-clothes-shopping: if it makes your butt look good, you have a legal obligation to take it home with you.”

  "Your butt looks great in everything, but I take your point." He nodded over toward a street artist, painting a picture of the mountains on canvas. A small crowd had gathered around to watch this man, who shuffled from foot to foot, dancing as he painted. "Want to check out this guy for a minute?"

  “Sure,” Ember said, and took Zach’s free hand to walk him over to a spot on a bench to sit.

  Today felt good. For twenty-four solid hours, no one had tried to shoot, or stab, or strangle, or poison her. She had to take the little victories where she could. But, she was also on the lookout. The next contract had technically already started, so she was currently under threat—the morning of day one.

  Most assassins wouldn’t be so brazen and careless as to make an attempt on her life in a crowded area, but some were more brazen and careless than others.

  Zach didn’t seem to have the same carefree feeling as she did, though. This was their third official date, a morning stroll down the Pearl Street walking mall, with the intention of doubling back for breakfast at Snooze after one full lap. As they watched the artist fling his brush across the canvas, Zach wore a slight frown on his lips. His eyes were unfocused, his face blank. He sighed every few seconds, but he didn’t seem to be aware he was doing it.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You don’t look good.”

  He let out a labored sigh without taking his eyes off the artist. "It's been a stressful last few days. I've got a lot going on."

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  He now glanced at her, and his lips parted as if he was about to speak, but he closed them and swallowed. Even looking troubled, he was still so damn cute.

  His eyes unfocused again for a few seconds, then he snapped back into attention. “Not right now. I have some things I need to figure out. Things about my future.”

  “Right,” Ember said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a growing boy. Your body is changing, and you’re probably noticing the opposite sex in a way you haven’t before.”

  “Very funny. I don’t know why I have to keep reminding you that I’m not that much younger than you.”

  “As far as you know. I could be forty-five years old.”

  He eyed her for a second, almost spoke, but then seemed to think better of it.

  “I’m not forty-five.”

  “Yeah, totally. I knew that.”

  “Work okay?” she asked. “Classes?”

  "Classes are kicking my butt. When I was a freshman, and they told me I would take 'fifteen hours' of classes, I was amazed, thinking about how much free time I would have. But then, nobody tells you you're going to spend twice as long studying for each hour in class."

  “Damn them. What a scam.”

  He smiled and nodded, and she noticed he’d avoided the first part of the question about how he was doing at work.

  “You can talk to me,” she said.

  "I know, but I'm not ready. I'm glad we're spending time together today, and it has nothing to do with you. I'm happy to be here, hanging out with you. I've been thinking about seeing you again since we went hiking. There are just these things I need to… think through."

  “Fair enough, young Zachary. I’ve been around, though. You might be surprised how incredibly wise I am.”

  She leaned over to kiss him again, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. So, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek and then checked her phone. A call from an unknown number flashed on the screen. Ember had long ago installed an app that filtered out telemarketers, so she already had a feeling who she might find on the other end of this call. Or, at least, the intentions of whoever it was.

  “One second,” Ember said to Zach as she pressed the green button to accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Ember Clarke,” said a voice she did not recognize. Sounded male, Caucasian, thirties or forties. A raspy tone, a little sultry. Whoever it was held his mouth too close to the receiver, and she could hear each breath out of his mouth.

  “Speaking.”

  “My name is Quinn. I’m from Highlands Branch. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of speaking before, but we’re going to get to know each other intimately this week.”

  Ember held up a finger to Zach as she stood and wandered a few steps away. She mixed into the crowd. “I’m listening.”

  “You beat Xavier from Westminster and Lydia from Parker. Congratulations. They were both worthy opponents, but nothing like me.”

&n
bsp; “Are you telling me you have my contract this week?”

  "That's right, Ember Clarke. Sometime in the next seven days, I'm going to kill you. And I'm going to enjoy it."

  She noticed his tone was growing a little more heated, as if his heart were pounding on the other end.

  His breaths sped up, louder and louder. "You think so, huh?"

  “Oh, most definitely. I’m going to take great pleasure in lashing you to the ceiling like a cut of meat and gutting you from side to side with a machete. I have the one I want to use picked out already.”

  Now, his heavy breathing turned into grunts. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. Her creep-meter was off the charts.

  “The last two people who came at me thought the same thing,” she said. “They’re both ash and bone in a crematorium now. What makes you think you’re going to do any better?”

  She looked back at Zach, still sitting fifty feet away, giving her a puzzled expression. With the buzz of all the people out and about, no way could he hear this conversation.

  Ember gave Zach a little wave and a smile, then mouthed the word work at him as she pointed at her phone.

  “I know you’re one of the best in the Denver Assassins Club,” Quinn said. “And I know you don’t like the cat and mouse of it all. So, I want to make you an offer.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You know in Broomfield, where Highway 36 meets 287?”

  “I know the area.”

  “Good, good. Right off the highway, there’s a little building. It used to be a bar named Night Owl. Now, it’s nothing but the empty husk of a place where people used to drown their sorrows.”

  Ember rolled her eyes. This guy seemed to have a flair for the dramatics.

  “The sun should set at about six o’clock tonight,” Quinn said. "Meet me there at 6:15, and we can talk about the terms."

  “What terms?”

  “You kill me first, and this is over. That’s obvious. So, let’s see what you’re made of. I’ll be at the Night Owl at 6:15. Come and get me if you think you can, Ember Clarke. I’m looking forward to it.”

  For a few seconds, he breathed, a wet rasp in her ear. The call ended, and she stared at her phone as the screen darkened, her own face looking back at her. A chill ran up her spine.

  Chapter Two

  EMBER

  The assassin parked at the Boulder Post Office, the supposedly-sacred meeting spot where members of the Boulder Branch could congregate in peace. But, there wasn’t a lot of peace to be found here over the last week. Not since there had been an attack on the whole Branch by someone looking to harm Ember. Poison, by way of potato salad.

  It still made her sick to think about it, but in the end, she had prevailed — and she had killed the woman responsible for it—a small victory.

  Her Branch colleagues had gone out of their way to ensure she knew they didn’t blame her. But, Ember had a hard time believing them. If not for this black spot trial by combat, they wouldn’t have had to bury two members last week.

  Still, business at the Boulder Post Office continued as usual. Mentors trained recruits and recently-registered members; instructors taught classes on Branch bylaws. Senior members worked out of their offices, handling the Branch message board to assign contracts that came in from the Club central switchboard. On any given day, every room in this building hummed with activity. It didn't matter that at least a half dozen members were still sick from the poisoning. The machine didn't stop grinding the gears.

  Ember stashed her twin Nighthawk Custom Enforcer pistols under the front seat and checked her face in the mirror. The bags under her eyes had abated somewhat, since last night she'd slept better for the first time in a couple of weeks. Not great, but better than in recent memory.

  She crossed the gravel lot as a stray dog eyed her from the tall grass beyond the property. The mutt's black eyes tracked her steps, looking hungry and pitiful. "I'll see if there are any scraps in the kitchen," she said, to which the dog replied with a tilt of its head.

  She checked her watch and was at three thousand steps for the day. A good start. Her exercise patterns over the last few days had been underwhelming, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d set foot in the gym. Constantly being on the lookout due to trained killers coming after her consecutively had put a dent in her day-to-day habits.

  The front of the building was boarded up to help sell the abandoned building mystique. She rounded the back and used her keycard on the panel buried in the side of the building. The door drifted open, and she smiled at the rush of warm air when it hit her face. She didn't remember previous Octobers being so cold in Colorado, but there wasn't any such thing as normal weather here. She knew that much.

  Ember waltzed inside and continued down the first hall, listening to people chatting in side rooms. Then she stopped short when she passed the open door of a conference room, where she saw her mentor Fagan all alone, hunched over a laptop at the conference table.

  “Oh,” Ember said. “Just the woman I was looking for. I figured you’d be upstairs in your office.”

  “Morning, Ember. Conner brought in doughnuts.”

  She patted her flat belly. “Already ate. What are you doing in there?”

  Fagan sat back and dabbed a napkin to her lips on the burned half of her face. “Wifi’s better in here, for some reason. I was trying upstairs, and I kept getting that spinny cursor thing trying to load webpages.”

  Fagan waved her forward. When Ember entered, her mentor spun the laptop around, showing Ember a screen full of text with a headshot up at the top. “I’ve made progress.”

  “That him?” Ember asked as she took a seat at the table.

  “Quinn Voeller. He’s thirty-six years old, a member of Highlands Branch. He’s been in the DAC for about ten years, but he doesn’t take on many contracts. Highlands doesn't have a quota like some of the other Branches.”

  “Does he have a day job or something?”

  “Evidence says he’s independently wealthy, father was a Wall Street big-shot who died in an airplane crash eleven years ago.”

  “That must be nice. Not the dead dad part, but not having to work much.” Ember squinted to study the headshot. He was white, with a full and rounded face covered in patchy stubble. Acne scars across his cheeks. He had his hair pulled tight into a ponytail, with a few flyaways near the ears. But what stuck out to her most were the dilated pupils of his dead eyes. He looked medicated.

  “You have a home address?”

  Fagan shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve got some people working on it, but it’s not looking promising.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?”

  Fagan reached around the laptop and tapped on the screen. “It’s all right there.”

  “Could you, like, summarize it for me, boss lady?”

  Fagan sighed. “Fine. Diagnosed schizophrenic at age twenty-two. At twenty-three, he was committed to long-term psychiatric care, and then he stabbed his therapist in the neck with a pencil.”

  “Yikes.”

  "His lawyers managed to get him off with a slap on the wrist for that incident, but he's been in and out of mental institutions since then. Lots of trouble with the law. Nothing Club-related. He's been on his own since his parents died, traveling under a few different passports, but the international travel stopped a couple of years ago. There is a rumor he's wanted in connection with the murder of a police officer in Italy, but the records are patchy and not helpful."

  “What about his Branch record?”

  "That's the interesting part. He's brutal. He prefers close weapons like pistols and knives, and some say he likes to torture his victims. Someone in his Branch reported him about four years ago as a potential security risk, related to keeping hostages inappropriately. There was an investigation, but they didn't find anything, and he received no discipline."

  “And he’s in the Highlands Branch? I thought they were all a bunch of buttoned-up obsessiv
e-compulsives? I mean, you’d think the long hair and scruffy face would disqualify him. They practically have a dress code.”

  “Yes,” Fagan said, nodding. “He does seem more fit to be a member of those savages in Five Points Branch. Maybe he bought his way in. Maybe he likes the neighborhood or the prestige of being one of them.”

  Ember flicked along the laptop’s trackpad to skim the text. “He’s got multiple complaints against him from other Branch members, but nothing seems to stick. That’s interesting.”

  “What’s your take on this meeting tonight at the Night Owl?”

  “Oh, it’s a trap. Obviously. He says he wants to meet to discuss 'terms,' but I’m pretty sure I’m going to walk in there to find him hiding behind the bar. He’ll pop out with a big knife and try to take my head off.”

  “Want to take some Boulder people with you?”

  Ember shrugged. “Naw, I’ll take Gabe. Anything else is overkill. I at least want Quinn to think I believe it’s not a trap. A guy like this, it wouldn’t make sense to give him a reason to be on edge.”

  “Fair enough. How is Gabe? He’s hasn’t been around the last couple days.”

  “He’s doing well. Seems much better since getting out of the hospital last week.”

  Fagan cleared her throat and dabbed at her lips again. Her one good eye focused on Ember. “I think he might be ready to take the membership test soon. Do you agree?”