Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin)

by Gena Showalter

  He hugged her, but he never lowered the barrel of his pyre-gun.

  Pyre. Something only AIR agents carried. And Kitten had said she was an agent, hadn’t she. And yet, Jecis had enslaved her. Well, he had signed his death certificate the moment he’d done so. If Audra hadn’t shot him, AIR would have eventually found him. Everyone knew they never gave up.

  “What are you doing here?” Kitten demanded. “This isn’t New Chicago . . . I don’t think. Unless we’re in a contaminated section I’ve never visited.”

  “No. Not New Chicago,” the blue-eyed agent said. “Word got out that a certain circus had a Teran in a cage. We hoped it was you, but didn’t really think it was. Still, we kept out feelers, and the moment we heard the circus had landed in the flatlands last night, I hopped a plane.”

  Oh yes. Jecis’s downfall would have happened one way or another.

  “A family reunion. How sweet.” The Targon chuckled, and in the next moment, the entire world stilled. The flames stopped crackling, the smoke stopped wafting. “Come on, little Vika. I told your man I would take care of you. Vowed it, in fact.”

  How like Solo. “What did you demand from him in return?” She doubted the creature had been willing to help out of the goodness of his heart. Daddy Spanky wasn’t the type.

  He tugged her to her feet. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t really want what he was offering, just wanted to see how much he was willing to give up. By the way, he was willing to give up everything for you.”

  Just like that, tears burned the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away—they were silly. X would bring him back, Solo would insist on it, if Solo wasn’t at the farm already, and she would have the opportunity to say thank you, to tell him of her love.

  “Now, come on. I’m weak, and I know that’s not saying much. My weakness is actually the strength of ten men, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold such a big group of people with the magnificent power of my mind. If we stay, they’ll question us. If they question us, they might decide to keep you. I don’t relish the thought of springing you from prison.”

  “Yes. Let’s leave.”

  They wound around the now-blackened tents, darted around the frozen bodies, the flickering fires, the wafts of smoke. “In case you’re wondering, I’m going to do you another solid,” the Targon said. “I’m going to take you anywhere you want to go. Anywhere in the world. I can’t open solar flares like your father, but I can drive and I can keep the cops off your tail. I doubt you’ll receive a better offer.”

  “The farm,” she rushed out. “I want to go to Solo’s farm.” She rattled off the address Solo had forced her to memorize.

  “That’s a few states away. If I buy a car, give you time to clean up and rest, I can have you there in three days. If I steal a police cruiser, I can have you there in two. If you ask me to drive all night, I can have you there in one.”

  “Steal and drive all night,” she said. “You can mail the local PD a check.”

  “Thought you’d say that,” he grumbled.

  • • •

  “There it is,” he said. The Targon stopped the car, put it in park, and emerged.

  Vika opened the passenger door, warm air bathing her, amazingly fresh and clean, layered with scents she remembered from long ago. Animals. Fur, hay, pine.

  The sun beat down on a white, two-story house, a picket fence around it. Beyond that, mountains formed the perfect backdrop. Trees stretched in every direction.

  Her knees nearly buckled, but she managed to race forward, calling, “Solo! Solo!”

  An older man with silver hair stepped out from behind the house. He wore dirt-stained gloves. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for Solo.” She pounded up the porch steps, heart galloping in her chest. The front door was unlocked and she soared inside, leaving the Targon to handle the human. A lovely little living room greeted her.

  A soft leather couch. A well-worn love seat. An oblong coffee table, with books scattered across. An unlit fireplace, a plain but soft-looking rug. The kitchen reminded her of the one in the log cabin, with an island counter and pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, only these were a lot higher up. She would never be able to reach them without a ladder—or Solo.

  Two bedrooms were upstairs, and she had no trouble picking out Solo’s. It smelled like him, with a subtle hint of peat smoke. The bed was huge, the biggest she’d ever seen, and there were no covers, only a sheet. A sheet without a single wrinkle. The closet was filled with shirts, pants, and shoes, all black. But there was no sign of Solo.

  And the other bedroom was empty.

  He wasn’t here, she realized.

  Shoulders slumped, she made her way down the stairs. The Targon leaned against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his middle.

  “Didn’t find what you were looking for, I take it,” he said.

  This was Solo’s farm. His home. But he wasn’t here.

  She burst into tears.

  Thirty-four

  The path of life leads upward for the prudent to keep them from going down to the realm of the dead.

  —PROVERBS 15:24

  DR. E IS DECEASED. I killed him.” X leaned against a column, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still tall, still muscled.

  Solo could hear him, but his voice—and all sounds, really—had been turned to a lower volume. “I wish you had done it sooner.”

  “Had you told me to do so sooner, I would have. You had accepted him into your life, and I was never to interfere with your free will. But the moment you rejected him, I was able to act.”

  All these years . . . all the torment . . . and the fault was all his own.

  He was outside, lying atop an alabaster dais. A sheet was draped over his lower body, but the rest of him was bare, allowing rays from the three suns glowing in the white sky to stroke over him. Rays that were actually healing him. The cuffs were gone, thank the Lord.

  He wanted to rise, but he didn’t yet have the energy. The three gaping holes in his chest were still in the process of closing.

  “How are you so big?” he asked.

  “In this realm, I am big. In your realm, I am small.”

  “You were big in my realm, too. For a little while.”

  “No. You saw into my realm.”

  “Why haven’t I changed, then, now that I’m in yours?”

  “You are not like me. And besides, this might be my realm, but it is not my world. It is yours. Alloris.”

  He looked around with new eyes. Fresh green grass surrounded him. Flowers of every color bloomed in lush gardens, sweetly scenting the air. Men and women just like him strolled down a cobbled road. Each wore white. Each was smiling.

  And behind every person was an even taller being with translucent skin.

  No one seemed to care that Solo was out in the open, half-covered.

  X grinned. “You will love it here, I promise you.”

  “Not without Vika.” His sweet, darling Vika. With every second that passed, he was more determined to return to her.

  Where was she? Not on the farm; he’d given that to the Targon. Or maybe she was there. The Targon had vowed to protect her, and the male would not renege. Not just because doing so would cause him pain but because he had the heart of a guardian underneath that irreverent exterior.

  Did she think Solo was dead?

  Had she cried?

  He hated the thought of her tears. He wanted her happy. Only ever happy.

  “Why did you never tell me you could bring me here?” Solo asked.

  “Because you would have wanted to return,” X said, “and you would not have been welcome.”

  “Why?”

  “Your temper. Your job. Dr. E. Many other reasons.”

  “Am I the reason my parents left and went to earth?”

  “No. That was your father’s doing. He took your mother from another man and hid with her so that she could not be taken away.”

  “So the hu
sband traveled to earth and shot them?”

  “No! Of course not.” X spun around and faced him. He closed the distance and eased down at the edge of the dais. “Your father got into trouble while on earth. He . . . Are you sure you want these details?”

  “Yes.”

  “He again stole another man’s wife, a man of the worst sort. Your mother didn’t know he was planning to leave her.”

  And me, Solo realized. He thought back, and realized he mostly only remembered his mother standing over his crib, singing to him. He didn’t have many mental pictures of his father. “You were there the night they were shot. Why didn’t you save them?” There wasn’t an ounce of accusation in his tone. He was simply curious.

  “Everything happened so quickly. The next thing I knew, you were terribly injured, and I had to use my energy to save you.”

  “Is that why I didn’t see you until years later? You were healing?”

  “That, and you somehow blocked me. But I was always there, always doing my best to protect, whispering suggestions for better choices into your ear, suggestions you always assumed stemmed from your own mind. But then you fought that child at school and you were so upset. The intensity of your emotions must have broken through whatever barriers you had built.”

  “I’m glad I was able to see you.”

  “Me too.”

  “But . . .”

  “But you want to go back.”

  “Yes.”

  There was sadness in X’s eyes as he said, “I do not travel by solar flare. I was merely tugged between this world—and you. I could bring you here, because I’m still bound here, but I can’t take you back to Earth.”

  “No,” Solo said, shaking his head.

  “You were the only thing that bound me, and you are no longer there. I . . . hoped you would be pleased, despite losing Vika. It was the only way to save you.”

  Losing Vika. Losing. Vika. No. Never. He needed her. Had to have her. “I have nothing without her. I’m bound to her, to Earth. I should be able to travel to her.”

  X’s shoulders drooped. “You can’t. I’m sorry, Solo. I really am.”

  Thirty-five

  I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.

  —2 TIMOTHY 4:7

  THE TARGON REMAINED AT the farm for several days. He helped Vika pay and dismiss the ranch hands Solo had hired, and finally left her with a promise to return in a few weeks to check on her. She liked him, appreciated his help, but she was glad for the solitude.

  She didn’t want an audience when Solo returned. She wanted to run into his arms, kiss him, hug him, strip him, and tumble to the floor and make love to him. And she would. One day.

  Yes, one day.

  But a few more days passed, and Solo never appeared. Her hope began to wane.

  A few more weeks passed, and Solo never appeared. Her hope crashed and burned.

  He was never coming back, was he? Her one day wasn’t ever going to come.

  The horror of it hit her while she was inside the kitchen, peering out the window and remembering their time in Siberia, and she collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, sobbing until her tear ducts swelled shut, sobbed until she was choking, barely able to breathe. What was she supposed to do without him?

  What are you doing, feeling sorry for yourself? He’s not dead.

  But if he were alive, he would be here.

  What of the knowing?

  That’s right. Before, while she’d held his bleeding body in her arms, she’d had a knowing that he would survive. She couldn’t allow noise to fill up her head and distract her from the truth.

  She closed her eyes and focused on Solo’s image. So tall and strong and beautiful. So perfect. Deep inside her, where instinct swirled, was a bouquet of hope that had managed to withstand the flames, the petals blooming . . . opening . . . and knowledge rising.

  Oh, yes. She still had the knowing. He was alive.

  Relief rolled through her, and she laughed. Laughed! He was alive, and he would come back. Whenever he was able, he would come back. For her, or for the farm, or both, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he would come back.

  In the meantime, he would want her to stay and tend to the animals and the gardens. He would want her to take care of his things. That was what he’d tried to hire her to do, after all. Now she would do it. Free of charge.

  Vika stood to shaky legs and made her way to his bathroom to use the enzyme shower. She dressed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. She had already burned her clothing from the circus, so she had nothing of her own. And besides, she liked knowing she was wearing something that had been in contact with Solo’s strong, beautiful body.

  She marched outside. The sun shone brightly, warming her skin. She spent so much time outdoors, she had developed a tan. The cows, chickens, pigs, sheep, donkeys, and goats still wanted nothing to do with her, always shying away from her as she approached.

  “You’ll come to love me,” she told them. “I’ll make sure of it. And if not, I’ll go get my tiger from Siberia and he’ll teach you a few lessons.”

  One of the cows mooed. A few pigs snorted.

  “Fine. I want to go get him, but I would never use him against you.”

  No response.

  “I have experience with your kind, you know.”

  A donkey kicked at her, and she had to jump out of the way to avoid being pummeled.

  Wagging her finger at him, she said, “Do that again, and I’ll name you Princess Fluffy Cakes.”

  He put his nose in the air and pranced away.

  Midday, she began to pull weeds from the garden, pluck the vegetables that were mature enough, and pick fruit from the trees. There were acres and acres of land Solo hadn’t yet put to use, and there were countless women out there. Abused women. Women who thought they had nowhere to go. Women who assumed they were trapped by situation and circumstance just as she had. They didn’t yet know there was something better out there.

  But they would. Solo had taught Vika, and she would teach others.

  Yes. She would build cabins and create a place for women and their children to run and hide. A place of protection and safety. Perhaps her purpose would come out of her pain. The women could help her with the land and the animals and finally come to understand how valuable they really were.

  Solo would definitely approve.

  As the sun set on the horizon, casting a haze of purples and pinks through the sky, she carried a basket of edibles into the kitchen. The screen door squeaked as it shut behind her. She—

  Saw a strange man reclining behind the table, a gun resting just in front of him. Even as relaxed as he appeared, she had no doubt he could reach the trigger in plenty of time to put a hole in her chest if she made a single move in his direction. He had the same I’m prepared to do anything glaze in his eyes that Solo had had.

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” she asked with a weary sigh.

  “I’ll be asking the questions, girl. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he demanded. “And don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll know it, and I’ll get angry.”

  “Sir, there’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been done,” she said. More than that, the worst thing that could ever happen to her had already happened. “And to be honest, I’m too exhausted right now to care what you do.”

  He frowned. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “Who are you?” she repeated.

  “Someone who was invited.”

  “Well, so was I. I’m Vika Lukas.” If he tried to take the farm away from her, she would fight him. With everything she had, she would fight. “And I’m here waiting for someone.”

  A pause as he studied her. “My name is Michael, and I want to know where Solo Judah is.”

  “Michael. You’re Solo’s boss, aren’t you?” she asked, as a little bead of excitement formed.

  His eyes widened. “You’ve heard of me
?”

  “Yes. Solo mentioned you. Have you seen him? Heard from him?” Maybe Solo had contacted him. Maybe “home” was someplace Vika didn’t know about.

  “I haven’t, no.”

  Disappointment was a crushing weight on her shoulders, obliterating the excitement.

  “He would never mention me to a woman,” Michael said.

  “Because you forced him to kill people?”

  His jaw dropped. “I never forced him.”

  “Well, he’s not working for you anymore. He’s done with that way of life. He told me so, and as you know, he never breaks his word.”

  Dark eyes narrowed on her. “How long since you’ve seen or heard from him?”

  “Thirty-two days.” She set the basket on the table and flopped into the seat across from him, wiping sweat from her brow. “You need to eat.” His skin was pale and his cheeks hollowed out. He had scabs on his face and hands, and those scabs stretched all the way to the edges of his clothing; she would bet they even stretched underneath.

  Another pause. Another frown.

  “I want to know everything,” he said coldly.

  She sighed. “The last time I saw him, he was . . . he was . . .” Stupid chin, wobbling. “We were at the circus. He kissed me good night, and he . . . and he . . .”

  “Tell me.” A ragged command.

  “Vanished,” she whispered. “But he’s not dead, I assure you.”

  He demanded the details she had omitted, and she gave every single one, leaving nothing out. She told him how Solo was captured, how he was kept, what her father had done, what she had done, how they had escaped, the fight at the end, his final words to her.

  Michael did not react the way she’d expected. He rubbed two fingers over his chin. “Until I see a body, I won’t believe that he’s dead.”

  “That’s good, because like I said, he’s still alive,” she replied.

  “And you know this how?”

  “I just know.”

  A small smile greeted her words. “Years ago, Solo used to say the same thing to me. He stopped.” The smile faded and he scowled, tugged at his earlobe. “Had my assistant not betrayed me, there wouldn’t have been an explosion. And had there not been an explosion, my boys would be on a case right now.” His hands curled into fists. “Did Solo mention anything about Corbin Blue or John No Name?”