His pursuer was standing in plain sight on the sidewalk, not three steps behind him. Nondescript eyes stared at him from a face that needed more time in the sun. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.
"Do I know you?" Luc asked.
"Just call me K-J," she said. "My employer has a message for you."
"Your employer?" He studied her for another moment. Her clothes could have been found in any store; they didn't do anything to give away her line of work. She could have fit in at any casual locale.
K-J nodded. "My employer is very unhappy with how her business has been handled, Mister Bertrand. I, and she, were under the impression your people were far more capable of completing the tasks assigned. Instead, she continues to have her requests returned incomplete. She is not pleased with the way you do business, Mister Bertrand."
Luc's stomach dropped. "How many--"
"Eleven," she interrupted. "Eleven requests made to your organization, and eleven requests have been returned to us with little more than a vague apology. It is unacceptable."
"I agree," Luc said quickly. "It is not our standard prac--"
"Your reputation alone is what has kept me coming back to your organization, but your continued failures have my employer questioning my judgment now. That is something I cannot have. How do you plan to rectify these failures, Mister Bertrand?"
Luc was suddenly quite aware that they were having this conversation on a public sidewalk. Even with lowered voices, anyone could be listening in. "Please, allow me to host you and your employer at my club. I can explain everyth--"
"That would take time my employer does not have. For the sake of the reputation I thought you had, I'm offering one last chance to redeem yourself and keep my employer's custom. If you are, once again, unable to deliver, I'm afraid we will have to take our business elsewhere. I believe there is another order of your kind. The Order of Hell?"
A chill worked its way through Luc's blood. He hadn't thought of the Order of Hell in years. Did they have a presence here in Virginia Beach?
"That won't be necessary," he said, hating how the chill made his voice tremble. "If you'll contact my administrators again, we will get the information we need on this target, and I'll take care of it personally. At reduced charge, of course, for the trouble--"
"At no charge. And why bother with your administrators when I'm already speaking with you? You have twenty-four hours to remove one Shay Brodbeck from the world, Mister Bertrand. My employer and I will be watching."
The chill concentrated itself between Luc's shoulder blades as K-J stepped past him and strode away down the sidewalk. She wasn't even out of sight yet when Luc turned and dashed back to Umbra Motus.
5
"Shay Brodbeck," Luc panted to Betty and Scout. "I need everything on Shay Brodbeck, as soon as possible."
The two administrators sprang into action, diving onto their computers and typing furiously. "What's wrong?" Betty asked.
"Urgent contract. You have an hour." He paused and decided it best to offer full disclosure. "I don't know how much you have on the requestor for those eleven incomplete contracts we refunded. But they should all be from the same person. I have something resembling a name. K-J. Find out as much as you can about her and her employer. But after I have enough on Shay Brodbeck to make the release."
At the nods from his administrators, Luc retreated to his quarters. He spent a full ten minutes in the shower with the water as hot as he could stand it. His mind raced despite his attempts to quiet it and let it work without guidance. What was the connection? What about these targets made them "innocent" and therefore out of his reach?
Was there an Order of Hell presence here in Virginia Beach?
Worry continued to intrude on his shower, and he left it clean but just as frustrated as he had entered it. Methodically, he dressed and armed himself. Of course, all the tools and weapons in the world wouldn't do him a bit of good if Brodbeck was another "innocent."
Statford had tricked Luc into vowing to a goddess named Insidia that he wouldn't kill another innocent. That was all after some mess where Luc's target had been an infant. That sort of innocence made sense. But Statford had changed the game.
No. Insidia had.
As much as Luc hated it, he couldn't ignore what he'd experienced after making that vow. He'd had a legitimate vision, a true incident that he couldn't explain. He'd envisioned an incorporeal being accepting his vow. And along with that, he'd "seen" the five founders of the Assassin's Guild. Those ancient people who had created the orders and given them their names and tenets.
At the time, he'd dismissed it as the result of stress and physical trauma. He had been in a knife fight with Statford at the time, after all. He'd been unconscious for quite some time afterwards. If that didn't scream trauma, he didn't know what did.
Yet there were things happening that he couldn't explain by any means he understood. Statford was just a man. He couldn't be doing this.
Luc paused with his hand on the doorknob before leaving his rooms. He let his eyes go out of focus and instead looked inward. Could there be any harm in praying that this contract would be completable? Did he dare go against nearly twenty years of being staunchly atheist? Luc was his own man. He'd taken his life and fate into his own hands back in 1991. The god he'd believed in as a child had sat by and let his family be slaughtered. Where were the unconditional love and protection in that? How was a god who could allow such a thing happen supposed to save his soul? If anything, the trauma had warped it, and what god would do that or want such a soul afterwards?
Not that Luc really believed in souls any more, either.
No. Even if his vision had been real, what would praying do? If Insidia was in the aether somewhere, odds were that she wouldn't be listening for his pleas. And on the slimmer chance that she did exist and was listening, she'd have no reason to actually do anything to help him. None of the gods Luc had ever heard of cared a whit for anyone but themselves. Prayer did nothing.
Luc turned the knob and went to get his information from Scout and Betty.
Whatever happened after tonight, he was going to have to make sure his administrators were commended and rewarded. He'd expected maybe a piece or two of information on Brodbeck. What he received was at least a third of what he was accustomed to with contracts. She was nineteen years old, a freshman in college working on a degree in massage therapy--although in this year, she'd already changed her declared major twice--and, most importantly, on weekend nights, she delivered pizzas to help pay for her schooling.
Luc had skipped dinner. He also hated pizza.
He called and ordered one anyway, giving the delivery address as one of the multitude of small hotels on Atlantic Avenue. Luc didn't bother with a taxi, instead driving his own car to the hotel to wait. It was one of those situations he almost wished he smoked cigarettes. It could have given him an excuse to be loitering outside the hotel. Despite all his training in concealment and the fact that the front entrance to the hotel was almost constantly opening for people to come in or leave, Luc felt conspicuous.
Five minutes after parking at the hotel and claiming a bench near the entrance, he placed another call to the same pizza place and ordered a pie to be delivered to another hotel not much further down the street. By then, nearly twenty minutes had passed since he placed the first order. That should give him time to see who delivered the first one. If it was Brodbeck, no worries. But if it was another delivery driver, he'd have time to pay, send the wrong person on their way, and drive to the next hotel.
He'd keep this up all night if he had to, until Brodbeck was the one delivering to him. Thanks to Scout and Betty's prowess at information gathering, he had photos of Brodbeck's car and what she usually looked like in her work uniform. He'd know right away if it was her or not.
The first driver wasn't Brodbeck. Neither was the second, third, or even fourth. It was nearly 9 P.M. when he placed his sixth call. The fifth pizza should be on its way to hi
s current location soon, and he was getting tired of using different voices to call and making up different names for the orders. He'd only barely missed an awkward situation his last delivery, as it was a repeat driver who had already delivered to him once before. He'd hurriedly ducked into the hotel under the premise of needing a public restroom and had to ignore multiple calls wondering where he was and why he wasn't there to collect the pizza. He didn't have any idea how the Guild's switchboard worked with mobile phones, but at least he didn't have to worry about his number being recognized, since it changed every time he called out. One less thing to fret over. But if he was already cycling through the drivers with no sign of Brodbeck, that would give him a long night, trying to find out why she wasn't working and where she was instead.
The fifth driver wasn't her, either, but it was another different delivery boy, so there was still some hope. He just had to keep trying.
The sixth delivery was another repeat, though. He held out hope for lucky seven.
Luck won out. Miles upon miles away from Umbra Motus now, and with more of his cash gone than he liked--and more pizzas thrown away than he cared to acknowledge--Luc watched as Brodbeck's car pulled into the parking lot.
He wished he could say that the difficult part of this contract was over, but the real trial was ahead.
He still had to kill her.
6
Brodbeck's blonde ponytail stuck out the back of her baseball cap and made her look markedly younger than her 19 years. Luc hated it when marks were so young. At least he was bound to refuse killing minors, ever since Statford came flying recklessly into his life. Legally—in the States, anyway—Brodbeck was only a year into her adulthood, but it was enough time to get into trouble. Hopefully, she wouldn't be the innocent Luc feared she would be.
"Mister Truman?" Brodbeck asked, approaching him with the bag containing his seventh pizza.
Luc let her get within a few steps before shaking his head no and stepping aside so she could walk past him toward the hotel's entrance. Once she was past, he internally clung to the hope in his gut and flicked a dart at the back of her neck.
It tumbled from his fingers as if he'd just lessened his grip. Then, despite the shatter-resistant glass the dart was made of, it smashed to pieces when it hit the sidewalk. The few drops of clear poison it contained darkened the concrete for just a moment, like spilled water. A second later, they evaporated despite the cold night.
An unnatural chill played across Luc's shoulders.
Brodbeck entered the hotel and went to the front desk. Through the glass of the doors, Luc watched as the young woman spoke with the concierge. The woman at the desk checked her computer, shook her head, gestured, shook her head again, and then went so far as to flick her hand dismissively. Brodbeck huffed but stepped away from the desk.
A moment later, Luc's phone vibrated with a call, no doubt from Brodbeck, asking where he was to pick up his pizza. Luc didn't answer it; he was too busy trying to decide what to do next.
Brodbeck finally gave up and emerged from the hotel a few minutes later.
"You look frustrated," Luc said as she passed him.
Brodbeck whirled on him. "You want to know frustrated? First, some asses have been ordering pizzas and not being there to pick them up. This is the sixth one tonight."
Luc suddenly felt bad for the one he'd had to avoid paying for.
"Second, tips have been crap, so I don't even know if I'll be able to pay my phone and internet bills. I need one for work and the other for school, so I'm screwed either way. Third, I'm supposed to be off work in like twenty minutes, but as busy as we've been with all these ridiculous orders close together that are timed juuuuust right to not go out on the same delivery have us going out and back and out and back and keep taking up staffing, so we're all just stretched so damned thin that I'll probably end up working late, and I'm supposed to be meeting up with my boyfriend for..." she trailed off and stared at Luc. "Sorry. It's been a rough night."
Luc shrugged and then nodded to her bag, which clearly still contained a pizza. "So that is unclaimed?"
Brodbeck rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Want it?"
"How much?" he asked, though he already knew exactly what it cost.
"I can only take cash," Brodbeck said, opening her bag. "Twelve eighteen."
Luc handed her a fifty. "Keep the change."
She gaped at the bill. "You don't have to do that."
Luc shrugged again as he accepted the fragrant, warm box. "You need it more than I do. It's small help for your phone or internet. Work and school are important. But I do have another question for you, Miss Brodbeck."
Her mouth opened, but she stopped herself before answering and looked at the name tag clipped to her jacket. It read "SHAY."
"How did you--"
"I am afraid your night is about to get a bit worse, Miss Brodbeck. My name is Luc. I was hired to kill you."
She gasped and took a trio of shuffling steps backwards.
"I'm not going to," Luc said. "I promise that." He decided it would be better not to tell her it was because he'd already tried and failed. "But I want to ask, do you have any idea who or why someone would want you killed?"
She was still backing away, fear making her eyes wide and watery. The pizza bag she'd tucked under her arm fell to the pavement.
"Miss Brodbeck, I know this is abrupt and shocking. I won't do anything to harm you. But if you can help me figure out why someone would want you dead, I can stop it from happening to you or to anyone else."
Her eyes darted over the deserted parking lot. "I don't... I need to get back to work."
"Please, just another moment. If you want, I can pay extra for your time. I want to help. Something is odd here, and you may be my last chance to find out what."
"Okay..." She stopped backing away, but she didn't come any closer. "What do you want to know then?"
"Can you think of anyone, anywhere, who for any reason might want you dead? Rivals, enemies? jealous peers?"
Shay legitimately seemed to be thinking about it. "Chrissy Jones might...no. No, she wouldn't. Um...maybe Melanie...no. Daniel..." She trailed off. "I can't think of anyone. I mean, people joke and say, 'I'll kill you,' all the time. But no one's really serious. I don't really have any enemies. I try to get along with everyone." Her eyes went even wider. "You mean you don't know who hired you?"
"Not their real name," Luc admitted. "No ex-lovers?"
Her cheeks pinkened. "I haven't... I mean. That's what I've been so antsy about getting off work for. My boyfriend and I were planning... It's kind of a special night. Or was supposed to be."
"No former teachers, current professors, classmates? Sports rivals? Anything?"
Shay shook her head.
Luc sighed and closed his eyes. Of course, there was nothing. He produced another fifty-dollar bill from his pocket. "For your time. Get off work, go spend tonight with your boyfriend. Make it special. But don't just give it away for no reason," he said.
She hesitated before approaching to take the money from him, as if worried he'd go back on his word and stab her if she got too close. She stumbled in reclaiming her fallen pizza bag and dashed back to her car. The tires squealed as she pulled away.
Luc watched her go, even more frustrated than he'd been when the night began. Tossing the full pizza box in the trash, he climbed into his Audi and sat for a long time. What connected Brodbeck to the other eleven failed contracts? Why were she and the others "innocent?"
The same questions whirled in his head long after he finally started the engine and began the drive back to Umbra Motus. By the time he got back, he could only hope Brodbeck had done what he'd suggested. That she'd gotten back to work, ended her shift, and was making the night special with her boyfriend, like she was supposed to. No worrying about being killed, about money--at least for a few days--or anything except being with the man who held her heart.
He blinked.
That couldn't be it. Could it?
&
nbsp; He'd barely turned his car off before he was out and hurrying back through the club, downstairs to the ECAA, and into his office. The files were still atop his desk, sitting in a neat stack.
Ages ranging from thirteen to seventy-one. Eight females and four males. Six Caucasians, three Hispanics, two African-Americans, one Asian-American. Careers and school records all over the field.
There was one thing they did all have in common. Something he had completely overlooked.
Tanya Spackman, unmarried. Childless.
Joseph Malone, unmarried. Childless.
Declan Elliott, unmarried. Childless.
Marquise Kirkland, unmarried. Childless.
Song Wen, unmarried.
Ella Jenkins, unmarried.
Harvey Clark, unmarried.
Unmarried, unmarried, unmarried.
Shay Brodbeck.
Unmarried. And, by her own blushing admission, a virgin.
Innocent.
Just because the others were unmarried and childless didn't mean they were untouched, but it was the only link Luc could find.
K-J and her employer were after virgins. He was all but certain of it, as flimsy of an assumption as it was.
Who would want to kill virgins, and why?
7
The more Luc thought about his hypothesis, the more he was sure he had to be right. There was no other explanation he could conceive of that made a single iota of sense. He thought back to the first of the dozen. Tracy Spackman. She was a career woman. Young, successful, in a technological field. When he'd gone to release her, he'd noticed her bedroom. The woman had been practically glued to her computer, playing a game. It was unfair of him, but Luc couldn't help but be reminded of the stereotypical idea of what nerds were like. Living in their parents' basements, playing computer games, getting fat off their pizza bagels made by their mother and carbonated drinks. Of course, that was normally geared towards men, but he couldn't help but notice how Spackman fit a few of those specifications. She didn't live with her parents or in a basement, but she'd been deeply immersed in a computer game. He thought he recalled a canned beverage on the desk next to her. Out of curiosity, he'd done a search of the artwork on the box he'd seen and recognized the game as a new release from a rather successful and popular massively multiplayer online role-playing game. A new release. She followed that sort of hobby.
Luc Bertrand- American Assassin Page 12
