Never Miss

by Melissa Koslin

  “Take another step and find out,” Kadance said.

  “You ain’t gonna do nothing here.” He motioned toward the building.

  “You think I can’t make it look like self-defense? I can see the story in tomorrow’s paper: Sweet young lady gets attacked by a junkie in our nation’s capital. In a brave stance, she kills her attacker.”

  He smirked again. “You ain’t no killer.”

  She shifted half a step closer, lowered her chin, and bore her gaze into him like a six-inch dagger through his eye.

  The smirk melted off his face. Lyndon wasn’t sure how he was still standing there, why he hadn’t run away or at least lost continence.

  Her voice barely made sound. “What do you want?”

  He shifted his focus to Lyndon. “Him. I got a message.”

  Lyndon crossed his arms. “What is it?”

  His gaze flickered to Kadance before returning to Lyndon. “Have fun in DC. Home of very strict weapon laws.”

  “That’s it?” Lyndon’s tone sounded bored.

  The man didn’t answer. Maybe he’d thought he was delivering a scarier message.

  “Thank you for that highly astute observation,” Lyndon said.

  The man shifted back a step.

  But then he lunged forward, knife in hand, toward Kadance.

  Lyndon shifted to cut off the attack, but Kadance had already stepped forward and grabbed the man’s right wrist in her left. She palm-struck him in the face, then reached over the top of his knife hand, gripped his hand, and twisted his arm, which caused his body to twist. Then she shoved him face first into the column.

  Lyndon took the knife out of his hand for her.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Have we learned a lesson?” she asked the man.

  He couldn’t speak clearly with his cheek smashed in the concrete of the column.

  She released his hand, grabbed him by the jacket, and slammed his back against the concrete. His breath expelled. Lyndon could smell the sourness of it.

  She ripped the black dot off his jacket. “Who gave this to you?”

  “Some guy.”

  “Description,” she demanded.

  “I don’t know. He was white, with brown hair. Said to take you down.”

  She shoved him away, and he almost fell to the sidewalk before catching himself. Lyndon moved so he was between the man and Kadance, and he kept the knife in an inverted grip, hidden behind his wrist but ready to strike.

  She held up the tiny black camera she’d ripped off his jacket at her eye level. That deadly glare of hers focused on the tiny lens, and she growled, “Who do you think’s been protecting him?”

  She dropped it to the sidewalk and ground it into the concrete with her heel.

  The junkie stumbled as he ran away.

  “Why did you do that?” Lyndon asked her. He’d worked to keep her out of the crosshairs, and she’d just put herself smack in the middle of it.

  She kept walking.

  He dropped the knife in a trash can as they passed. There was only one rivet, and it was loose. He was surprised it hadn’t fallen apart when he took it from the man.

  He spoke under his breath, almost a growl. “I’ve been trying to parry the mastermind’s attention, confuse her.”

  She stopped and faced him. “You’ve been trying to protect me. I don’t need protection, or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “Do you think I don’t understand how capable you are?”

  She crossed her arms.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? I know you’re insanely capable of handling yourself, more than I will ever be.” He shifted closer, just inches from her. “But there is nothing you can do that will make me stop trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “That fact isn’t going to stop me.”

  “What happened to all your logic?”

  “I don’t care about logic. Not this time.” He turned and continued walking around the corner.

  She grabbed his arm and made him stop. “What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded. “You’re holding something back.”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Lyndon.”

  “Just let me have this one thing.”

  “I’ve shared more with you than anyone I’ve ever known. All for the sake of working together, building trust, so we can stop this crazy person. All I ask from you is honesty.”

  “I haven’t been dishonest.”

  “You’re hiding something.”

  “Something that won’t matter to you. But to me . . .” He shook his head in frustration.

  “I need to know where your head is.”

  He glanced up at a camera on the side of the building. “Not here.” And he’d do his best to continue diverting her so he didn’t have to talk about this. He started to turn.

  She grabbed his hand. Her contact was getting more difficult with each day, almost torture at this point. “I’m not letting you go in there,” she said, “until I understand what’s going on.”

  “With this—” he waved toward the FBI building—“you know exactly what’s going on. You have my word on that.”

  “Why’re you fighting me so hard? What’s wrong?”

  He saw more than just frustration in her eyes, but concern. For him.

  No one could break down his barriers like she could.

  He glanced up at the camera, and then leaned closer to her, his lips at her ear, blocked from the camera’s view. Her scent filled his head—more than just the simple scents of her soap and shampoo. She didn’t wear flowery aromas. She didn’t need them. Her natural scent was so much more, something just as sweet as perfume but uniquely her.

  He paused, maybe to enjoy her closeness, maybe out of concern. Would she run from him?

  He whispered, barely a sound, “I’m in love with you, Kadance.”

  He drew back.

  He couldn’t read her expression, had no idea if she was angry or annoyed. He turned and continued walking toward the door to the building.

  They’d agreed he would go in alone and she would wait outside. He glanced back as he walked in the door, looked at her standing there, not sure if she would wait for him, if this was the last time he’d ever see her.

  twenty-eight

  LYNDON HAD FIGURED this would be a waste of time. The agent across the desk had started taking notes, but now, he was just looking at Lyndon.

  “So,” the agent said, “someone you don’t know, you think, is going to attack the State of the Union with a weapon that doesn’t yet exist.”

  Lyndon tried yet again to explain his background, his research— tried again to clarify he wasn’t some nut. But the agent’s expression didn’t change. Lyndon had wanted Kadance to help with this part—she was better with people.

  And again, he tried to push her out of his head. The whole time in this building, he was mentally preparing for her to be gone when he walked back out. It was a very real possibility.

  Another corner of his mind continued to pray she would be there.

  He’d been alone a long time. He thought he’d grown used to it, even preferred it. No one to distract him from his work, to get on his case when he worked twenty-four hours straight, to complain that he could be making so much more money than he did. In a few short days, she shattered all of that.

  But he kept trying to prepare himself. If she was gone, he knew it would hurt. He wouldn’t allow himself to fathom how much it would hurt. But he had to keep going, stay focused.

  Lyndon tried to pay attention to what the agent was saying, something about thanking him for the tip and they’d look into it.

  Sure they would.

  Lyndon stood and turned to leave. He noticed a man walk by. The same man had passed a few times. Perhaps his desk was close by.

  Lyndon walked back through the building, toward the main door. He took a breath to prepare himself as he headed outside. On the
sidewalk, he looked all around.

  Kadance wasn’t there.

  KADANCE HAD JUST LOOKED AT HIM. What was he talking about? Before she could formulate a reaction, he walked away and into the FBI building.

  She stepped back and stood next to a column, out of view of any cameras.

  Leave.

  That was her first instinct. Leave.

  But why was that her first instinct? She had never been one to run away. She’d run from her family, but that was to make sure they didn’t succeed in turning her into a killer. Again. And whenever she found out about another hit they were planning, she raced to stop them. She never hesitated. She’d never, not once, run away during her service. She didn’t let fear control her.

  Was that what she was feeling now? Fear?

  Confusion—she hated confusion. Passionately.

  Especially after last night’s conversation in the church. She didn’t want to handle more emotion. Her life wasn’t usually so confusing. Life wasn’t enjoyable most of the time, but she always knew what to do. Don’t let people die if she could do anything about it. It wasn’t complicated.

  It was Lyndon. All of her confusion stemmed from Lyndon.

  Anger started to burn up her neck.

  But just as quickly as the anger flared, it subsided. She wasn’t angry at Lyndon. He was honest. That was something to be respected, not faulted.

  The question was, could she stay with him?

  She didn’t want a relationship. But he wasn’t trying to create one. She went back through all their interactions. He’d been trying to keep her at a distance for a while—he didn’t want her to wear her hair down, to wear her tank top, and he didn’t touch her, didn’t flirt. Not that Lyndon was capable of flirting—it was too subtle and usually not entirely honest. She’d known he was attracted, but that was nothing. And maybe this was just as much a nothing. He obviously wasn’t planning on acting on it, so what did it matter?

  Why did she feel so confused?

  She heard footsteps and looked up. Lyndon stopped at the sight of her.

  “We should keep moving.” She started walking back toward the car.

  He hesitated, but then stayed by her side.

  They didn’t speak.

  Back in the car, she pulled out of the parking space. “What did they say?” she asked.

  “It was a waste, just like we thought it would be.”

  “We had to try. Maybe they’ll be just a little more on alert.”

  He nodded.

  They turned the next corner.

  “I understand you don’t want me like that,” he said. “I’m not asking anything of you.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “I thought this might upset you,” he continued. “Even anger you. That’s why I kept it to myself.”

  Finally, she spoke. “Is that the only reason you kept it to yourself?”

  He paused. “All of this is difficult for me.”

  She didn’t ask anything more.

  Mac climbed from the back seat onto Lyndon’s lap.

  A few minutes later, Lyndon asked, “Where are we headed?”

  “I haven’t spent a ton of time in DC. I want to understand the layout better before we hatch any more drastic plans.”

  “And you have ideas for drastic plans,” he said.

  She nodded. “I’m sure you have some thoughts as well.” And she was sure they would balance each other—his scientific skills and her tactical.

  Lyndon leaned to look more closely at the side mirror.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re being followed.”

  “I don’t think so.” She checked her mirrors again.

  “Beige sedan just pulled into traffic two cars back.”

  “If they just pulled in, why do you think they’re following us?”

  “The driver is an agent I saw inside the FBI building. He walked by a few times while I spoke to another agent. I figured his desk was nearby and perhaps he didn’t much care for sitting at it. But the probability he’d randomly be in traffic behind us is—”

  “Remote,” she finished. She continued to drive normally. “What else did you notice about him?”

  “Light brown hair, standard cut, 5′11″, about 180 pounds. Minor girth at the waist, but generally in decent physical condition. Shoulders slightly stooped, probably from sitting at a desk most of his workday. Standard black slacks, white dress shirt, blue-and-black striped tie. Rubber-soled dress shoes. Long but crooked nose, probably broken in youth. I’d guess Russian and English descent.”

  “And you saw him just in passing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you get his birthday too?”

  He looked over at her with drawn brows.

  “You’re a police sketch artist’s dream.”

  He turned back to the side mirror. “And he’s likely given blood recently.”

  “Are you psychic?”

  “His sleeves were rolled up, and there was an almost-healed bruise on the inside of his elbow.”

  “Could be from drug use.”

  “He wouldn’t have had his sleeves rolled up. There was only the one mark, and it was faint. I think it was from something medical and not chronic.”

  And he’d noticed all that about some random guy walking by, surely one of many, while he was talking to someone else, trying to get that someone to take him seriously, all while in a new environment that would’ve intimidated anyone else. She wondered what else he noticed, how much he saw about everyone and everything.

  How much he saw about her.

  She pushed that thought away and focused. “Do you think he’s working for the mastermind?”

  “That’s my hypothesis.”

  “It’s a disturbing thought that she’s gotten to the FBI.”

  “I agree.” Then he added, “Do you think you can lose him?”

  “I’m not as familiar with the traffic patterns here as I’d like, but yes, I think I can lose him.”

  SHE TURNED at an ornate seven-story building with a Mexican café in the bottom floor.

  The beige sedan followed.

  Lyndon was quiet while she drove but watched their surroundings closely.

  They passed a park on the right and a red-brick Romanesque building on the left. She drove with the flow of traffic, surely waiting for an opportunity to present itself, all while distancing them from their tail where she could.

  At Columbus Circle, she turned off on a side street.

  When they came to a rare parking space on the side of the road, she pulled in.

  Lyndon waited for her next move.

  The beige sedan sped down the street and flew right by. Tires screeched a few seconds later, but Kadance had already backed out and maneuvered the car into the other direction. Then she punched the gas. The beige sedan had no room to turn around.

  After she put several turns and some distance between them, her demeanor relaxed back to normal. Though he noticed her checking the mirrors a few more times each minute than she usually did. She continued driving, learning the city.

  They were quiet while she drove. He was glad she didn’t bring up what he’d admitted earlier. He’d discussed it as much as he could tolerate for now. Maybe it would have been better for her to have simply left him there at the FBI building.

  They passed the Verizon Center on 7th Street NW, and Lyndon glanced up at one of the large digital signs on the building.

  The image flickered quickly, maybe a second, but he caught it all. Processed it.

  Understood.

  “What’s wrong?” Kadance asked.

  He paused. “The digital billboard flashed a message.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror at the sign. “What’d it say?”

  At least she believed him now. “It was a picture of a 1964 Chevy K10 truck with ‘SDT’ written across it.”

  “What could that mean?”

  “The truck is the same one my grandfather drove.”


  “The one you still have.”

  He nodded.

  “What could SDT mean?”

  “Self-Determination Theory.”

  She glanced over at him, obviously not understanding.

  “She’s saying my grandfather’s death was self-determined.”

  “Suicide?”

  “No. He was shot in a hunting accident. I never questioned it. No one did. There wasn’t even an investigation. The round was a standard caliber, and several hunters in the area were using it. It was the kind of area where hunting safety was taken seriously—there were rarely any accidents—but he was well into his seventies. I’d thought maybe his mind was finally starting to slow, or one of the hunters had been irresponsible and wouldn’t admit to it, or it was just bad luck.”

  She touched the back of his hand with her fingertips, and his mind slowed down enough for him to focus on her. “She had him killed. The mastermind, she killed my grandfather.”

  “Why?”

  Lyndon’s head seared with pain. He pressed his palms to his temples and closed his eyes.

  “Lyndon?”

  He could barely comprehend her gentle voice. Pain overwhelmed him. His mind raced through so many thoughts he couldn’t quite catch everything, couldn’t make sense of anything. All he could understand was pain.

  He faintly realized the car had stopped, but he couldn’t open his eyes.

  The car door next to him opened, and he registered Kadance’s scent as she reached around him to unbuckle his seat belt.

  Her hand on his arm, she guided him to standing. “Maybe some fresh air and movement will help,” she murmured.

  He tried opening his eyes. Everything around him was different, too much to try to comprehend. Usually, learning a new environment wasn’t difficult. He cataloged everything within view and noted anything of consequence. But right now, even that was too much.

  He collapsed to his knees, hands again at his temples and eyes closed.

  She knelt in front of him. He could feel her nearness and smell her subtle scent.

  “Lyndon,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

  He managed to open his eyes. She was right there in front of him. He focused on her. That was easier. He knew every angle of her face, every expression. And he’d accepted he didn’t have to understand her beauty intellectually. He didn’t have to think about her.