Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  I shouldn’t doubt the abilities of a man who survived five years as a prisoner of war, but I’m not convinced Alec could put together a case to prosecute US politicians. He’s clever, but as I’ve seen with Senator Robertson, forming a bullet proof case takes a hell of a lot of evidence.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” Alec asks. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you. Just remember, you may not like what you hear.”

  “I’ve liked very little of what I’ve heard today. But you’ve earned my trust. You can tell me.”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  He says it calmly and nonchalantly, as if he’s just proposed getting takeout or going to watch a movie.

  I force a quick laugh, even though it isn’t funny.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. This man doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “You can’t just go around killing people because they made bad decisions.”

  “He didn’t make a mistake,” Alec protests. “He deliberately gave the contract to a friend of his to line his own pocket. That’s corruption, and his corruption cost my friends their lives. Can you honestly say he deserves to live?”

  “No, but that’s not how it works. Anyway, if he’s a politician he’ll have plenty of security, and…”

  I trail off as I notice Alec looking at me guiltily. Senator Robertson is on the Appropriations Committee. In fact, he’s the chair of the Appropriations Committee. Alec is in Chicago to fulfill his mission. He’s going to kill Senator Robertson, the man I’ve been assigned to protect.

  “Senator Robertson,” I mutter. “You’re going to kill him.”

  “Yes. He deserves it. The man has been corrupt his entire political career. I guarantee you he has plenty of blood on his hands, not just that of my friends. Don’t worry, I’m going to do it while you’re off-duty.”

  “No you’re not. You’re not going to do it ever. Alec, you can’t be serious. You can’t go through with this. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  “Only if I’m caught. And I don’t intend to get caught. The way I see it, the only way I end up in prison is if you report me. That’s your decision to make.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I plead. “It’s my job to keep him alive. I can hardly just walk around knowing that you’re going to kill him. I can’t let you do that.”

  “Why not? Do you really like the guy? Do you want to see him do more dodgy deals at the expense of others lives?”

  “Of course not. But I’m a police officer. I can’t just let you take justice on your own terms.”

  “You’d be saving lives. The longer Robertson stays alive, the more people he will lead to their deaths.”

  Not necessarily. What happened to Alec and his friends was awful, but what are the chances of that happening again? Those aren’t the only deaths the senator is responsible for. I think back to the picture of the young girl who committed suicide after the senator sexually assaulted her and then destroyed her life after she had the courage to go to the police. He has blood on his hands all right. Plenty of it. That’s why I want to see him brought down, but not like this.

  “I know the senator is a bad person,” I say, my voice shaking with the realization that I’m discussing the matter with an assassin. “But I’m going to bring him down. I’ve been gathering evidence against him and taking it to a contact in the police force who deals with white-collar crime. Soon we’ll have enough for an indictment and he’ll go to prison.”

  “No,” Alec replies immediately. “That doesn’t change anything. He might go to prison—although it wouldn’t surprise me if he got off—but even if he does, prison is too good for him. I spent five years in some of the worst conditions imaginable, spending every minute of every hour of every day thinking about my dead friends. The senator will end up in a minimum-security prison that has more in common with a hotel than a real prison. He’ll have visitors, and be able to read books and watch television. And then he will be out in a couple of years. You know it’s true.”

  “That’s better than you going to prison,” I plead.

  “No, it’s not. I’m going to do this, Piper, whether you like it or not.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “Okay then, arrest me.”

  I don’t have any handcuffs on me, but I probably wouldn’t need them. Alec won’t fight me. If I choose to arrest him, he’ll come quietly. It would be so easy in theory.

  It would also be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’d be giving up the only man I’ve ever really cared for to save a man I despise. It doesn’t really seem like a fair exchange.

  “It’s hard to arrest a dead man,” I reply. It’s a weak excuse and we both know it.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” Alec says. “You won’t even be on duty at the time.”

  “I can’t listen to any more of this.”

  I head towards the door. I should’ve left ages ago. I’m probably a co-conspirator now. I open the door and turn back to face Alec, determined to plead with him one more time. There’s no point. I can see from the look in his eyes that he’s going to do it, even if he destroys his life in the process.

  “Piper?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay out of my way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Alec

  No one’s ever accused me of being a coward, but right now I’m scared.

  I’m not scared of being caught—if it happens, it happens. I’m not scared of missing the shot—that definitely won’t happen. I’m not scared of killing a man—I’ve done that more times than I can count.

  I’m scared of losing the only woman who’s ever meant anything to me.

  There’s an easy solution. All I have to do is not kill Robertson. That should be enough to win Piper back and keep her in my life. Unfortunately, I don’t think I could live with myself. I’d be choosing my own happiness over revenge for my fallen comrades, and potentially putting other people’s lives at risk.

  I spent the last two days in my apartment, mostly staring at the door and waiting for her to knock. When she didn’t, I went downstairs and stood in front of her door. I must’ve been there for fifteen minutes. My fist got so close to banging on the door, but I held off and went back upstairs.

  Speaking to Piper would have been a bad idea. She has a worrying amount of control over me. I don’t think she realizes how much her words affect me. Probably for the best. If I gave her half an hour, she could probably talk me out of it. She nearly did the other day; for the first time since arriving back in the US, I seriously considered letting the senator live. It would be so easy to not kill him. Killing is always difficult, no matter how many times you do it or how much you hate the person you’re killing.

  I’ve killed more people than I can count, and some of them deserved to die much less than Robertson. Killing him would be a public service. I should get a medal, not a prison sentence.

  I almost talk myself out of it over the weekend. My brain replays the conversation with Piper over and over again on a loop. I start imagining how new conversations with her would go. I think of the arguments she would use to try and convince me. They’re not strong arguments, but when I imagine them coming from her, with her voice and her soft lips, I’m almost convinced.

  All that disappears in an instant when I take the trash out Sunday night and see the senator’s smug, grinning face on the front of an abandoned newspaper. It’s a puff piece about a new initiative for dealing with Chicago’s problem of gun violence. It’ll be about as successful as all the others. It doesn’t even sound like the senator has done anything—he’s just smiling for a photo and cutting a ribbon. He probably has the media in his pocket.

  One look at that photo and I realize that not even Piper can convince me to walk away now. Piper’s best argument is that she can put him in prison, but I don’t see it happening. She’s an incredible woman, and probably an even better police offic
er, but there’s only so much she can do. Senator Robertson isn’t a normal criminal, and he won’t be tried like one. Best case scenario, he spends a few years in a low-security prison. Most likely scenario, he gets away with it with nothing more than a few bad news stories that will be forgotten within a week.

  I have faith in Piper. I know she’ll do her best to find evidence on him, but I don’t have faith in the system. Even when all the rules are followed, things still get fucked up. That’s how me and my team ended up with a load of shitty weapons. The system is no good against those who know how to play it. Senator Robertson knows how to play it.

  On Monday afternoon, I give my gun one last look over and then pack it away in its case. I leave the apartment, but walk slowly and double back on myself a few times to make sure Piper hasn’t followed me. She’s had ample opportunity to arrest me and hasn’t done so. I’d like to think that’s because she’s going to let me do this, but my gut tells me she will try and stop me.

  No one’s following me. If they were, I’d know. I’ve got all the training, and I’ve spent countless hours watching my team tailing targets or watching them get tailed by men who didn’t realize they were being monitored through my sniper scope. I’m in the clear.

  The parking lot is deserted as always, and I instantly feel secure in my spot on the fourth floor. I’m a little more cautious this time, so I check around the area for sneaky detectives hiding in the cars, or possible surveillance equipment. Nothing.

  I unpack my gun, but keep it hidden out of sight for the time being. Using binoculars, I look at the people walking the streets, examining them closely for any signs that it might be windier down there than it is up here. I barely see a hair out of place. The conditions are perfect. Today’s the day; it’s really going to happen.

  At four o’clock, I get my gun in position and train my scope on the building’s exit. It’s harder to control my breathing this time. My heart rate refuses to slow down and without feeling my pulse, I know it’s somewhere between ninety to one hundred bpm. I’m usually around sixty bpm when I’m lining up a shot. It won’t make a huge difference; I can compensate for the added adrenaline. I’ve trained for this. I’ve taken long-range shots after five-mile runs carrying a full pack. This is nothing. In theory.

  Except my heart isn’t racing because I’m out of breath and exhausted. It’s racing because I’m worried. In an hour—two max—Senator Robertson will be dead, but so will my relationship with Piper. I might never see her again, and even if I do, she’ll likely be putting me in handcuffs. And not in the fun way.

  The prospect of losing Piper bothers me much more than I ever imagined.

  She’s just a woman.

  I tell myself that over and over again.

  She’s an attractive woman, admittedly, but you’ve messed around with plenty of attractive women before. Get your head in the game.

  That mental pep talk works about as well as you’d expect. I’m not sure the ‘plenty of fish in the sea’ rationale has ever helped anyone get over heartbreak. That’s what this is. That’s the reason my heart is racing right now. Heartbreak. Or the anticipation of inevitable heartbreak that will play out over the next couple of hours.

  Fucking hell, this sucks.

  I’m not concentrating. I’m looking at the exit, but I’m barely paying any attention. That never happens; when I’m on a job, that’s the only thing I’m thinking about. The kill. I need to get this over with.

  Fortunately, the senator is only too happy to oblige.

  He walks out casually, not a care in the world. This is the only drawback to being a sniper. It would be so much more satisfying to shove a gun in his face and look at the fear in his eyes as he realizes he’s about to die. My way grants instant death. He won’t even know it’s coming. He’s going to die smug and happy, but at least he’s going to die.

  I take my time to aim. He stops to talk to a man who appears to be his driver. Apparently he’s going to make this easy for me.

  Piper, on the other hand, isn’t.

  She walks calmly in front of the senator and does her best to block my shot.

  She’s not supposed to be working today. What the fuck is she doing?

  That question’s easy to answer. She’s making one last effort to stop me going through with this. It’s not going to work.

  I’m aiming for the senator’s head, and she’d need to stand on a big box to block that.

  Then Piper turns and looks directly at me. There’s no doubt about it; she’s seen me. She knows I’m here ready to kill Robertson and she’s not going to stop me.

  I stare into her eyes through the scope. I know she can’t see mine, but it feels like she can. There’s the same connection I feel when I stare into her eyes during sex or when we’re snuggled up on the couch eating pizza and drinking wine.

  They are the eyes of the woman I love.

  Piper keeps staring directly at me, but she steps to the side and gives me a clean shot at the senator. I know what she’s doing. She’s giving me a choice. I can claim my revenge, or I can trust her to see that he ends up in prison.

  My heart rate slows down. It’s not a difficult decision. I’m ready.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Piper - Five Minutes Ago

  Alec told me his captors used to use sleep deprivation techniques as a form of torture. Apparently never knowing the time messes with your head. You might think it’s time to wake up when it’s time to go to bed.

  I’m sure someone’s messing with my sense of time as well, because I’ve never known it move so slowly. At one point, I swear the clock in the senator’s office moves backward.

  I’m waiting for four o’clock to roll around. That’s when it all happens. By 4:10, the senator could be dead at my feet, or alive and well. If the latter scenario plays out, I might have a future with Alec. If it’s the former… well, in that case, our relationship will be as dead as the senator.

  His meetings are running late, but I know he’ll still get out of here on time. The man has a basketball game to get to, and he isn’t about to let a small matter like helping run the country interfere with a game.

  The meeting finishes and the senator comes out a few minutes later.

  “Let’s go,” he says coolly to me. “Sabrina?”

  His assistant appears at his side, as if by magic, pen and paper in hand ready to take notes.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Add Mr. Evans and Mr. Ramos to my call list for tomorrow. Put them at the top. They’re a priority now.”

  I wonder how much that cost.

  Sabrina scurries off, but the senator calls her back. He looks around, checking to see if the coast is clear. He does that a lot. Apparently, I don’t count as someone he needs to worry about.

  The senator leans over Sabrina, on the pretext of looking at her notepad. He talks to her under his breath so I can’t hear what he’s saying. Instead, my attention is focused on his hands which are now full of Sabrina’s tiny ass. She stands there rigid as he touches her. I shiver, but I don’t do anything. I can’t change the course of what is about to happen; not now. He’s going to get his punishment, and then some.

  Sabrina eventually walks away, and I make a mental note to apologize to her later. She looks like a slightly younger version of myself. Clearly, the senator has a type.

  We step in the elevator and make the short—but nonetheless agonizing—trip down to the ground floor.

  “My wife’s away this weekend,” Senator Robertson says casually. “She’s taking the children to her sister’s, so the house will be empty.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to amuse yourself.”

  “You won’t be working with me forever. Once these death threats have died down, you’ll go back to the police station. Your boss will no doubt ask how you did. I can either be very flattering, or very critical. It all depends on what mood you leave me in.”

  This isn’t the first time the senator has threatened me like this. I usual
ly just ignore it, but not this time. This time I’m going to have some fun.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’m alone this weekend as well, so I’d like some company.”

  Any normal man would be suspicious at the sudden change of heart, but Senator Robertson is a man used to getting his own way. He takes it all in his stride.

  “Wear something sexy,” he growls. “I hope you’re not camera shy.”

  I smile and it’s not false. I’m thinking about the electronic mountain of evidence that must be on his hard drive if he likes to record his barely-consensual sexual encounters. Today might end up being so much fun it makes up for the last few weeks of hell.

  Or maybe not.

  He gives my ass a firm slap just before the elevator doors open.

  Maybe I should let Alec kill him after all. The thought only lasts for an instant before it’s gone. That’s not who I am, and I hope it’s not who Alec is either.

  We step out into a cold Chicago afternoon. The senator’s driver immediately comes over and distracts the senator as planned, weaving some lie about a problem with the car. I overhear the senator giving the driver a hard time, but I’m barely paying attention. Instead, I look towards the parking lot. I know that’s where he’ll be. I thought I saw someone out there a few weeks ago, and now I’m positive.

  The gleam of the sun shining off a scope is almost impossible to miss when you know what you’re looking for. I move in front of the senator and stare directly at Alec. I can’t see him, but I pretend I can. He’s just the other side of that magnified glass. There’s probably a little crosshair bobbing around, trying to remain steady over the senator’s head.

  My muscles are tense. I’m braced for the gunshot, but I know I’ll still jump when it happens. By the time I hear it, the bullet will already be in the senator’s brain, and it’ll be too late for me to do anything. I’m helpless.

  What’s Alec thinking right now? Is he going to change his mind? Or is he hoping I’ll step out of the way? He can still make the shot, but maybe I’m a little too close for comfort.