Unstable Target: Six Assassins Book 3

by Heskett, Jim

  There, she paused at the edge of the brick house next door and waited for movement. Nothing happened for several seconds.

  This current yard had a six-foot privacy fence, and she walked its length until she found a small hole in the wood to survey through. The safe house was directly on the other side.

  One man stood in the backyard, sunglasses on, arms crossed, hovering on the porch while looking down at his phone. She spied the man as he stood as still as a statue. Because of the sunglasses, she had a hard time predicting the focus of his gaze.

  The trellis was on her side of the house, away from him, but if she hopped the fence, she’d be detected right away. He still had a line of sight to the side yard from his spot on the back porch.

  She pulled back from the fence and pressed her body against this side of it, trying to think. There had to be a way to draw his attention to the other side of the yard.

  Her eyes landed on a bird feeder hanging off the back porch of her current hiding spot, and an idea took shape. The bird feeder was a cylinder with little sticks hanging from the bottom for the birds to land. These sticks had been secured to the feeder with rubber bands.

  Ember watched the house's back door for activity. That door led into the kitchen. She could see lights reflected on a television screen, but it appeared no one was in the kitchen leading in from the back door.

  Ember hunkered down and approached the bird feeder, then took one of the rubber bands out of the birdhouse. She also removed a bobby pin from her hair. Staying hunkered down, she gingerly pulled the bobby pin open, stretching the metal until it resembled a narrow V. She inserted the V into the rubber band strung between her fingers, like a miniature slingshot.

  From out of the corner of her eye, Ember spied a plane lumbering across the sky, in this direction. If she hurried, she could use some of that noise to mask her approach.

  The assassin pointed her bobby pin slingshot toward a set of wind chimes on the other side of the back yard cop. She had to guess on the trajectory. Ember hadn’t operated a slingshot since she was ten years old, shooting at squirrels in San Diego with her friends from their Schwinn bicycles in the parking lot of the out-of-business Ralph’s grocery store on Mission Boulevard.

  She drew back the bobby pin and let it fly. The little black thing sailed through the air, wobbling in the slight breeze. It missed the wind chimes completely, but it plinked against the back window. Close enough.

  The cop kept his feet planted, but he swung his upper torso around in the direction. Neck craned, checking out the window.

  Ember grabbed the top of the fence and pushed herself up. She made every effort to land with light feet, then she tumbled over to the right, out of sight of the cop.

  Wasting no time, she rushed for the trellis and began to climb. It wasn’t meant to support a person’s weight, and it groaned as soon as she had all four limbs on it. She hung there for a moment, waiting to see if the cop had heard her. The plane was now directly overhead.

  After a few seconds of silence, she continued onward and upward. Each time she moved a limb, the trellis leaned away from the house and then made a soft whack against the house’s blue siding as it settled back into place.

  There wasn’t much wind, but she figured the plane noise plus whatever breeze was currently blowing might be enough to sell the ruse. She hoped the cop assumed the slight tapping sound was just the wind, banging the trellis against the patio’s roof.

  Still, she had to make it quick. Ember practically sprinted up the creaking trellis, until she reached the lip of the small balcony on the second floor. She swung her feet up and peeked into the window. It was a bedroom, dark and unoccupied. A set of locked French doors lead into the house interior.

  Ember used her lockpicking kit to open it, then she padded across the room to the closed door. A healthy gap between the bottom of the door and the floor allowed her to see out into the hall. She held up her pocket mirror in the gap, spying around the hall. A man stood outside a door fifteen feet down the hall, hands folded over his waist, eyes forward. There were three other doors on this floor, none of them guarded aside from that one. Clearly, that was the room where Ember would find the woman.

  For five whole minutes, Ember rested prone on the floor, staring at the mirror. Slow and muted breaths in her nose, out her mouth, waiting for something to happen.

  Then, finally, the man tapped on his earpiece and said, “Gotta take a crap. Be back in about ninety seconds.”

  He strutted away from the door into the bathroom on the opposite side of the hall. Maybe someone else would come to take his place, or maybe they would leave the door unguarded.

  Either way, Ember had to move.

  She jumped to her feet and slipped out into the hall as she set a timer on her watch. Quick steps took her to the door. The man had turned on the bathroom vent, a soft whirring sound.

  Ember tossed one last look at the closed bathroom door, then she opened the bedroom door on the other side of it. She slipped into the room and shut the door behind her. It clicked into place.

  Ember whirled to see the same blond woman from the shipping facility, in bed, up on her elbows. A blanket covered her from the chest down. Horror on her face as she stared at Ember. She said nothing, mouth open, breathing shallow breaths in a state of paralysis.

  A flash of Ember's mentor Fagan appeared in front of her face, stern and full of conviction. Fagan would say that this woman needed to die because she could expose the DAC. She had seen too much, and after spending time in the clutches of that sociopath, maybe death would be a relief.

  Ember raised her hands and put a finger to her lips. “I am not going to hurt you,” she whispered as she padded across the room. “We have a common enemy. Quinn.”

  The woman recoiled from the mention of his name. Ember stopped next to the bed and knelt down, so she had to look up to meet her eyes. She put her hands on the bed itself but stopped short of touching the woman. "My name is Ember. What's your name?"

  The woman sputtered, her lips quivering. “Beta. He called me Beta.”

  “What’s your real name? What do you call yourself?”

  This question seemed to confuse the woman, so Ember continued. "What can you tell me about where he was holding you? Anything at all. It doesn't have to be about the house or building he kept you in. Did you hear any unusual sounds outside? Like trucks, or a strange-sounding bird? Anything that can help me narrow down where you were. It's going to help me catch him. You want me to catch him, don't you?"

  Beta only shook her head.

  “What about the tall and muscly guy who rescued you from the spike-coffin contraption. Can you tell me anything about him? What did he say to you as you left the shipping place?”

  Beta’s teeth clicked together a few times, and she stared at Ember as if she didn’t speak the language. Her eyes were as blank as her words. Shoulders still heaving up and down as she chugged shallow breaths.

  “I know you’ve been through the worst few days or weeks of your life. But you need to talk to me. You need to tell me what you can about Quinn so I can stop him from hurting anyone else. I don’t have time here. Seriously. If I’m not out that door in ten seconds, I could be in a world of trouble.”

  Beta shrugged. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

  Ember sighed as the hope drained out of her, then she patted Beta on the forearm, which made the woman recoil back under the covers.

  “I’m a witness,” she said in a dreamy voice, eyes closed. “Beta... witness. Important.”

  “Okay, Beta. It’s okay. I don’t want you to worry about what’s going to happen to you. These cops are good men. They will keep you safe. About Quinn, I can’t undo what he did to you, but I can tell you this: when I catch him, he’s going to die. I promise you that.”

  Beta had no reply. Ember checked her watch, then she hurried across the room to the window. As she opened it, she took one last look at the woman on the bed, bare, terrified, her head empty.
/>   Chapter Twenty-Five

  QUINN

  Quinn held the curtain next to the front door tight around his face. He’d wanted tinted windows for this house, but that hadn’t been an option. From the outside, it would have looked strange. Above all, his residence needed to seem like an all-American house with a wife and husband and 2.3 children on the inside. He didn’t interact with any of his neighbors, but he had seen them, cruising the sidewalks with their nosy dogs, looking up at his windows and his door.

  So, he clutched the curtain with one hand, and he held the Desert Eagle up to the door of his ultra-normal house with the other.

  The delivery driver in the brown truck parked four houses down and jumped out. He was wearing shorts. That, in itself, seemed suspicious. The evening weather was too cold for exposed legs. His eyes darted over some phone-like device in his hand, then he rounded the back of the truck and disappeared inside it for a few seconds.

  When the delivery driver vanished, Quinn’s heart rate skyrocketed. He didn’t like not knowing where the guy had gone. The street seemed bathed in a yellow hue, for some reason.

  But, a moment later, the driver reappeared with a single box in his hands. He walked the box up to the nearest house and set it on the porch, then took a picture. Ostensibly, the pictures were proof for the house resident that the package had been delivered. Quinn doubted it. The evidence that any package had been delivered would be realized when the owner of said package came home and saw it on the porch. There was no legit reason to take a picture. And, Quinn knew from experience, when the stated reason was suspect, there was another reason under the surface they didn’t want anyone to know about.

  But then, the driver returned to his vehicle and drove away. He hadn’t looked across the street to this house at all. Quinn was not convinced the driver wasn’t noting every little detail about the neighborhood, however.

  Quinn took his finger off the gun’s trigger and shoved it back into his waistband. He let out a massive sigh, then turned around to survey the living room. A part of him knew he was obsessing over the delivery driver because he didn’t want to think about Beta. He didn’t want to admit how wrong it had all gone last night.

  The best he could do in this situation now was damage control. Quinn had extensive experience in the area, but not by choice.

  Beta couldn’t identify him. She knew his first name, not his last, and she had been sedated during transport, always. She had seen the insides of basements with covered windows, never allowed to hear the outside, never given a chance to ever see a street sign or anything that could lead anyone here.

  Still, Quinn worried.

  He marched into the kitchen, where Alpha was asleep in the chair at the kitchen table. As per usual, she had both ankles duct-taped to the chair, and one arm restrained. The other arm hung free since she needed it to eat. Quinn used to feed them, but it turned out to be too much work, and he would feel paranoid sitting so close, worrying about his body odor or his breath, and he would eventually escalate to a panic attack and have to stand in the shower under the cold water to calm down.

  A plate of cooling spaghetti sat in front of Alpha, with plastic utensils on either side. Seven hundred calories, the perfect amount.

  “What did you say?” he asked her. He stared at her soft face, still and quiet. She hadn’t said anything.

  Now, Quinn only had to wait for her to wake up. He’d been a little too upset when he’d given her the injection to sedate her for the move up from the basement. Usually, he would give his guests 0.05 milliliters per pound, enough to knock them out for under ten minutes. But, he’d pressed on the plunger a little too hard. Alpha had been under for going on thirty minutes now.

  He had to consider how all these recent changes were affecting her. She was probably lonely now, in the basement all by herself. No Beta and no Gamma to pass the time. He used to read to her, back when she was his only guest. Maybe it was time to start that practice again.

  He removed the pistol and placed it on the table as he sat opposite her. She was so peaceful, so quiet. Her head lolled to the side, a spot of drool shining on her lower lip. As beautiful now as the first day he had seen her on campus at Regis University.

  “What do I do with you, Alpha? None of this has gone the way I planned.”

  He looked down at the gun. This could all be over so quickly. One bullet to her head, then scrub down the house and head to the airport. A few months in Belize or the Caymans, then he could come back with a nice tan, a belly full of fresh fruit, and then start a new life somewhere.

  But, without the Club. They would kick him out, for sure. Quinn had been the one to raise his hand to volunteer for Ember Clarke’s contract. With the limited number of contracts he’d taken lately, this one felt perfect. Also, it seemed like great fun. To toy with Ember for a few days, to dangle Gamma and Beta in front of her, making her think she could save them, driving her crazy, making her sloppy. Then, on the last day, to catch her and kill her.

  But it had not turned out to be easy or simple. Ember had been smarter and more capable than he had anticipated. And now, both Beta and Gamma were gone, and Quinn was running out of games to play. It had not been nearly as much fun as he had hoped. Nothing but complications and disappointment had followed him since day one.

  He picked up the gun and pointed it at Alpha’s sleeping face. She gave no hint of fear or any recognition at all. Only a slow rise and fall of her chest, the occasional eyelid flutter. So beautiful. So pure.

  His finger laced around the trigger. His arm shook. Killing her now and fleeing would be the smart move. A clean slate. Kill the last person who could expose him, then escape.

  The trigger felt heavy. The gun made his wrist bow downward.

  “Damn it,” he said as he lowered the gun.

  There was no choice in this scenario. He had to see it through. He wasn’t the sort of person to cut and run, and he had to prove it.

  Quinn took his phone from his pocket and made the call.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  EMBER

  Ember laced her fingers inside Zach's as they strolled along the Boulder Creek path. In zipped-up jackets, they braved the chilly night air to walk and listen to the creek coming by at a trickle. Foot traffic from the summertime inner tube riders had thinned out to nothing weeks ago. Patchy snow now lined the banks on each side.

  She tugged him a little to the right as a trio of cyclists sped by them. The sun had set, and she'd seen their headlamps seconds before the sound of the wheels closed in. But, Zach hadn't seen them at all. He'd been like this since they'd met up half an hour ago for a walk. Distracted, quiet, speaking in single syllables whenever she posed a question to him. Also, he hadn't yet cracked a single joke, which was very un-Zach-y.

  Her thoughts drifted as they walked, hand in hand, their pace perfectly matched along the twisty paved trail.

  He caught her grinning and asked, “What’s that about?”

  “I was just thinking about something. My little brother had this birthmark under his left armpit. A little brown circle. When he was a toddler, I called it his tickle button, and he would go nuts whenever I touched it. I used to attack him all the time. Now, sometimes, I touch myself in that same spot, and it makes me think about him.”

  “I’ve never seen you do that.”

  “I know. I’m sneaky.”

  His face stayed neutral, his eyes forward. “I suppose so.”

  “You alright?” she asked. “You’re pretty quiet tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  She tugged on his hand to get him to stop, then she sent him into a dance-hall twirl so they were face to face. Hovering six inches from his eyes, she frowned at him. “Bullshit. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you? I want to help.”

  “I’m not… I’m not ready.”

  She nodded and bit her lower lip. She wanted to ask about Firedrake and Draconis, but she didn't want Zach to retreat into his shell, either.

&nb
sp; Best to change the subject. "There's a coffee place up there. We can go up to the bridge and cross the road. Want tea? I know you're a poor college student, so it's my treat."

  He shook his head. “No, we’re getting close to where my car is again, right?”

  “Yep. We’re almost back to the park.”

  "I think I probably need to head home. I've got a Poli-Sci quiz tomorrow, and I should at least look over my notes. I've been at the lab a lot the last couple weeks."

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It’s not like that. I’m really glad I got a chance to see you this week. I didn’t know if I would. Everything is so crazy right now.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” When his eyes drifted to the right, she bent down and tilted that way to catch his attention. “You know, you can talk to me. About whatever.”

  “Yeah,” Zach said, nodding. “There are just so many things I need to figure out right now. But, trust me when I say that you’re not one of them.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, do you?”

  “Oh, no, absolutely not. Ember, you are a puzzle wrapped inside a riddle wrapped inside one of those brain teaser games you find at the home cooking chain restaurants off the highway.”

  She giggled. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said about me.”

  “Don’t you forget it.”

  “When are you ready to talk, I hope you’ll come to me, okay? I know my stunning good looks make it seem like I’m not approachable, but I am.”

  Zach nodded. "I'll do my best to ignore your stunning good looks if you can attempt the same for me."

  “I’ll try. No promises.”

  He slipped one hand around her waist and eased the other around the back of her head to pull her close for a kiss. Her insides bubbled and vibrated from the sudden passion in his lips.