by Berkom, DV
Well, part of her statement was true. Roberto and Vincent were both taking the big dirt nap which precluded them from contracting a hit on me, but Chacon was a new threat altogether. One that I needed to put an end to, and soon.
“Yeah, I don’t think so, Angie. Thanks for the invite, though.” Did she seriously think I was interested in breaking bread with the woman who was hired to kill me on at least two different occasions? Who had, in fact, shot two of my lovers? Thank goodness she’d been distracted, or both Sam’s and Cole’s deaths would have been on my conscience, too.
A look of supreme annoyance crossed her features. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. You’re the one who put out the call for help. I came all this way for nothing? I don’t think so. It’s the least you could do.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket and lit one.
“What do you mean, the ‘least I could do’?”
Angie snorted. White smoke streamed out of her nostrils. “Remember the ninety-nine percent success rate I quoted in the message?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re the one percent.”
“Really. I find that hard to believe.” I couldn’t have been the only target she didn’t kill. I wasn’t that good at escape.
She dropped her partially smoked cigarette and mashed it into the ground with the toe of her sensible shoe. “Shit. I’d kill you now if it would make a difference.” She sighed dramatically. “But it wouldn’t.”
“What, assassins have a code or something?”
She gave me a sharp glance. “Of course, darlin’. We have our pride.”
“So, correct me if I’m wrong. You’re pissed off because I’m the one hit you were unable to complete, but you can’t kill me now because of professional pride?” This conversation was getting bizarro.
“Exactly.”
Really? Huh.
“Okay. Let me put this another way. Unless someone contracts with you to kill me, either now or in the future, I don’t have to worry that you’re going to tie up loose ends?” I used finger quotes around the words loose ends.
“Correct. Why on God’s green earth would I do a job with no remuneration at the end of it? That would be like asking a lawyer to represent you in court for free. It’s not like I enjoy killing people. I’m just good at it.”
I shook my head to clear it, but the gesture didn’t help.
“Darlin’, I can see that the concept is evadin’ you. How about you let me buy you a drink and we can talk about it?” She smiled brightly. “I assume you were going to pay ol’ Ron for whatever expertise you needed, right?”
“Maybe.” I hated to commit to anything. Not with Angie, anyway.
“Well, then. Let’s be civilized and discuss business over drinks.” She put her hands in the air, palms out. “No expectations. No obligation. What d’y’all say?”
***
My good girl was in full attendance at this point, asking what the hell I was doing, and prodding me to turn back at every corner as I followed Angie to a small bistro nearby that she assured me had a rockin’ wine list. I could just hear Sam telling me that consorting with known assassins was a boneheaded move.
Okay, he would probably use a stronger word, but it still didn’t stop me.
She doesn’t have a contract to kill me, and could have done so many times over. Why not hear her out? I decided to blame Sam for not giving me the training I needed. I wouldn’t have gone looking.
But that dog didn’t hunt, and I knew it.
We settled into a booth at the back of the restaurant, far from the other customers. Dim lighting combined with the subtle wall color and antiqued wood floors elicited a sense of calm and suggested low conversations. At this time of day only a few of the tables were occupied, and no one paid any attention to two women enjoying a late lunch. A waiter came by to take our orders and then disappeared into the kitchen. Taking advantage of Sam’s non-presence I ordered a hamburger. He would have frowned on my adding cheddar cheese, fried onions, and French fries.
“I’d have pegged you as a lettuce-wrap kind of girl.” Angie took a sip of her Campari and soda and set it back on the table. She’d ordered the tri-tip, rare, and a green salad.
I shrugged. “Sometimes you just gotta have a burger.”
She gave me a smile. “I suppose living with a health-nut will do that to you.”
“Sam’s not—wait a minute. How do you know who I live with?”
She gave me a look. “Give me a little credit, darlin’. Just because you were difficult to find once doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job.”
“That brings up a great point.” I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “How did you find me this time?”
“I have my ways, darlin’. It helped that I was in the area. Portland, to be exact.” She studied her nails. “And next time? You might want to access the deep web from software on a thumb drive and make sure to close your browsers.”
Apparently Angie had been able to track my IP address. Had I left a different browser open when I was accessing the deep web that night? If so, there might have been some bleed-through of information. Obviously, I needed to do more research on anonymous web browsing.
“I’ll be sure to take your advice.”
“So. Why were you trying to contact Ron?” Her sharp gaze caught and held mine.
“It’s nothing. Just something having to do with a case I’m working on.”
“Anything to do with that warehouse?”
“Maybe.” I took a sip of my iced tea and watched her for a moment. She returned the stare.
The first to break eye contact, she shifted in her chair and said, “You know, Kate. No hard feelings. Being the one I missed gives you some distinction in my circle.” She smiled and shook her head. “I should have dropped you back at your house, just to keep up my stats.”
“Wait a minute. What was all that back there about professional pride?” I reached for my purse, feeling distinctly like a mouse having lunch with a cat.
She burst out laughing. “Oh, shoot. Don’t worry. The look on your face—” She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “I was just havin’ a little fun.”
“Can you blame me? You tracked me for years.”
Angie took another sip of her drink, waving my concerns away. “And you gave me a bum foot for my trouble. Remember that day up there in that godforsaken, frigid Alaskan forest? You damn near shot my foot right off. Thing still throbs when it rains.” She winced at the memory. “I want to tell you, I was never so glad as when you popped up on my radar in Arizona, of all places. Much better than freezin’ my ass on the tundra, believe me.”
“Well, as long as there are no hard feelings.”
The waiter arrived with our orders. After making sure everything was all right, he left.
“So? Aren’t you going to tell me what you wanted ol’ Ron for?” she asked, reaching for the pepper. “I promise, I won’t kill you.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Kate, darlin’, there is something you need to know about me and about assassins in general.” She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper. “We really are in it for the money.” She leaned back and commenced to grinding pepper onto her perfectly grilled steak.
Huh. Learning how to kill from someone who tried to kill me. Oh, the irony.
You’re out of your mind, Kate. Back away from the assassin.
“Hypothetically speaking, how much would you charge to teach someone...offensive maneuvers?” Taking my hamburger in both hands, I sank my teeth into the juicy hunk of meat and waited for her reply.
She put down her knife. “You want me to teach you how to kill someone?”
My face heating, I scanned the room to make sure no one was near enough to have heard her.
“Keep your voice down,” I hissed. I envisioned some employee overhearing our conversation. Did I bring enough cash to pay for my meal? I didn’t want to use a credit card with my name on it, in case someone had.
Angie’
s eyes widened. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, well.” She frowned as she carved off another bite of steak and popped it into her mouth. “I’d have to think about that.” She cocked her head to the side as though she was sizing me up. “You know your way around a gun, at least.”
“And I’ve killed people before.”
“Did you like it?” she asked with a conspiratorial wink.
“Not particularly. My life was in danger.”
“Killing a person has to be learned. It’s not a natural act for most human beings.” She tapped the side of her head. “A lot of it is mental.” Then she placed a hand on her chest. “And emotional. You have to wall off those pesky feelings. Can you do that?”
“I have in the past.”
“But you had to in order to survive, right?” She flapped her hand at me. “That’s easy. I take it you’re asking me to show you how to do things real quiet-like. Cloak and dagger stuff, am I right?”
Now it was my turn to wince. “Not exactly, but yes, that’s the gist.” Maybe working with Angie wasn’t such a great idea. This lunch had already headed into surreal territory. But the pragmatic part of me thought, Why not? She hasn’t killed you and has said that she won’t. She’s in it for the money, which you have. She has the skills that you don’t. Why not give it a try?
“Let’s go at this another way.” Angie leaned forward. “How much are you prepared to pay me for my services? Give me a number and I’ll work up a plan to fit your budget.” She took the last bite of her salad and waited for me to answer.
“I hadn’t gotten that far yet. I assumed Ron would quote me a price.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “Okay. How about we start at twenty-five thousand? I know you got away with Salazar’s money, I just don’t know how much. I assume you have some of it left?”
I ignored her question. “What will that get me?”
“Let me work up a proposal and I’ll send it to you by tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. You can use this email address.” I pulled out a notepad and pen and scribbled a throwaway email address on it before sliding the piece of paper across the table. She picked it up and glanced at it before putting it into her purse.
“Perfect,” Angie said. “Now, if we’re done, would you mind picking up the check? I seem to have left my pocketbook in the car.”
Twenty-One
MY TRAINING WITH Angie McKenna, assassin, began the next afternoon in an abandoned warehouse south of the town of Lakewood. Her proposal gave me everything I was looking for and more. I couldn’t deny it, working with my former enemy was hard to wrap my mind around, but after a while it was almost normal.
Almost.
She was a good teacher, albeit a tad impatient. When I didn’t get something right away, she’d rant about how I could never learn to be a top-flight assassin. This would be followed with a string of expletive-laced insults the likes of which would have made a sailor blush. I reminded her that I wasn’t looking to become the next Jason Bourne, just that I’d like to know what I was doing in case things went south, but she ignored me, apparently wanting to believe that I was her protégé.
I didn’t bring it up again. Arguing with an assassin skirted bat-shit crazy territory. I didn’t want to remind myself training with an assassin was, in fact, bat-shit crazy.
The idea of taking on Chacon was, too, but I couldn’t come up with a better way to deal with my anger other than to exact revenge. Lisa’s coma had unearthed a part of me that I had no idea existed.
Except when I shot Salazar.
After Salazar’s death, I’d convinced myself that the incident was a one-off. I had to kill him or he would have killed me. A case of self-defense that could have happened to anyone.
What I hadn’t counted on was the power I’d experienced in the aftermath. The long-denied ability to direct my own life on my own terms had come roaring to the surface. The power to make my enemy pay. A thick, black vengeance coursing through my veins. Now I understood why the cartels struck back, hard, any time their right to exist was threatened. The fury with which rival cartels went after each other made a little more sense now. Not that it was right, or that I empathized. Just that I understood.
Well, I could play that game, too.
Angie’s training consisted of rigorous drills using knives, guns, and household items to dispatch a life-size dummy, along with a mind-blowing amount of online research-slash-homework—the use of poisons and their effects, the vulnerable points on the human body, especially those that were lethal, weapons characteristics, ammunition. The studying and skill-building kept my mind off of Lisa and how I’d failed the Whitmores, a miracle in itself. During the first week, I dutifully called my DEA contact and asked him how things were progressing but I could tell that he was only there to make me feel better about staying out of the way and letting the agents do their jobs.
I couldn’t blame them. They didn’t want some civilian with a personal stake in the case trying to help them out. They had a job to do.
So did I.
After the first week, I quit calling.
Underlying all of this were the lies I told Sam about where I was going when I left for “class.” I told myself they were only little white lies that wouldn’t hurt our relationship in the long run. That he’d ultimately understand. I hated deceiving him, knew he’d be hurt and angry if he found out what I’d been up to, but I couldn’t stop. The idea of meting out justice to whomever was responsible for distributing the deadly painkillers had begun to consume me. Let Sam and the Feds do their investigating by the book.
I was taking things in another direction.
When I stopped long enough to think about it, the idea was liberating. I convinced myself that I was only doing what law enforcement wanted done but was hamstrung from carrying out. They had to follow the law. I didn’t.
I just had to make sure I didn’t get caught.
One morning, Sam and I were having our usual breakfast of fruit, yogurt, and coffee. I could tell something was bothering him. He’d hardly said a word throughout the meal. Even though Sam’s a man of few words, this was unusual. He took our dishes and silverware to the sink and ran water into the basin. Shutting the water off, he turned to look at me.
“What?” I put down my coffee cup and tilted my head, giving him a little smile. He didn’t return the sentiment.
Clearing his throat, he glanced at the floor as if trying to formulate his thoughts. I waited for him to speak.
“Are you seeing someone else?” His voice was tight, as though taking a deep breath wasn’t possible. He raised his eyes to mine.
My heart melted at the raw emotion I saw in their depths. I reached across the counter for his hand. He didn’t move.
“No. A thousand times no. I would never do that to you. You know that.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“There isn’t anything going on. What do you mean?” The lie slipped out before I had a chance to think. His question caught me off guard and I needed time to formulate a response.
He frowned and shook his head. “I know when you’re lying, Kate.” He crossed his arms. “And you’re lying now.”
My mind raced for something to say to ease the worry on his face. I yearned to tell him everything but didn’t know if he’d understand. How could he? He was Sam Akiaq, ex-cop turned private eye. Righter of wrongs, seeker of justice, man of integrity. He’d never understand my need for revenge, for some sort of closure. I couldn’t let him know what I’d been doing. If I did, it might be the end of us.
I blew out a long sigh. Something. I had to tell him something.
“Okay. You’re right. But it’s intensely personal.” I ran my thumb along the back of his hand and looked him in the eyes. “I’m working through my feelings about Lisa the only way I know how, and I’m not ready to let you in yet.” I let go of his hand and walked around the counter to wrap him in a hug. His shoulders inched lower as he relaxed into the embrace and leaned his head a
gainst mine. “I love you, Sam. I would never hurt you like that.”
Sam sighed and pulled me closer.
“I don’t know what I’d do if you found someone else.”
“I won’t. We’re meant to be together. Just give me some time.” I pulled back to look into his eyes. “I’ll work through things and then we can talk, okay?”
Sam nodded and kissed me. The sweetness of the kiss nearly stole my breath, and I melted into his arms.
Maybe Angie can wait. I glanced at the clock on the stove. I was already fifteen minutes late. Knowing Sam, it would be another hour, which would probably piss off Angie so much she might not stick around. Already regretting my decision, I took a step backward, breaking off the embrace.
“Hold that thought until tonight, okay?” I gave him a lascivious grin and wiggled my eyebrows. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he dropped his hands to his sides.
“Sure. I’ll see you tonight.”
***
Angie’s Aston Martin was still parked at the warehouse. I skidded into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. A cloud of dust enveloped the Jeep as I shifted into park and jumped out.
Entering the cool, dark building, I waited until my eyes adjusted before spotting Angie. She sat on a folding chair, arms crossed, looking like she wanted to put me out of my misery. Her phone was in a docking station on an old card table, attached to two small speakers.
“What’s up?” I asked, peeling off my sweater to reveal a T-shirt. She glanced at the image of Kurt Cobain on the front and rolled her eyes.
“You’re half an hour late.”
“I got held up. Sam had something he wanted to talk to me about.”
Angie’s eyes glittered in the low light. “How is ol’ Sam, anyway? You never talk about him.”
“Fine.” I didn’t like where the conversation was headed and changed the subject. “So what are we working on today?” The drills had been relentless. To help me concentrate she’d added a noise component by streaming heavy metal through her phone combined with smashing garbage can lids together, and occasionally firing a gun. All while screaming at me.
