Plain Jane and the Hitman

by Tmonique Stephens

  Emmet had never been a fan, and the feeling was mutual. He needed to die.

  The rustle of sheets drew his attention away from his thoughts and the scenery to drink in something more beautiful than the Swiss Alps draped in pristine snow.

  On her side, one toned leg peeked from under the down comforter. That’s all she gave him, the tease. The rest of her remained hidden. He’d spent all afternoon and a good portion of the night enjoying all her delights, it wasn’t enough. He still hungered.

  On a primitive level, he accepted the constant craving she’d unexpectedly aroused within him. The rational, self-serving level he usually operated on, waited to be sated. None of his other conquests had lasted longer than a weekend. He was a loner. Bred by a loner, raised by a loner. He didn’t need anyone. Not even Hank, to whom he owed his life to.

  But Bailey… Man, she was different. Made him feel different. Could be because she was a loner too. Two kindred souls.

  Whatever the reason, she woke something in him and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Wasn’t sure at all.

  “Emmet?” Her muffled voice came from beneath the comforter, then her head poked out and her midnight gaze found him. Sitting up, she murmured, “What’s wrong?”

  Hovering over her like a damned ghost, what else could he say? He sat and smoothed her hair away from her face. “Go back to sleep. It’s early.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Without further resistance, she settled back and yawned. “Come back to bed.”

  Shit. Warmth curled around the center of his chest causing an unfamiliar ache. “I will in a bit. Going to make sure everything is secure.”

  A sleepy curl of her lips was her response and damn he wished he could strip and climb in next to her. That wouldn’t keep her safe. Another kiss to her forehead and he forced himself away.

  He paused at the top of the stairs and absorbed the quiet, though he wasn’t alone. Whiskey made himself comfortable in front of a crackling fire in the brick fireplace. Emmet joined him, choosing to stand opposite Whiskey with his back to the flames.

  Whiskey picked up a tumbler full of an amber liquid, his namesake would be Emmet’s guess. “Sam’s out front patrolling. Tex got recalled. I cleared everyone out once we heard the shower come on.”

  Emmet’s hackles rose. “How did you hear the shower?”

  “Old pipes.”

  “Bullshit.” He had an image of Whiskey’s ear pressed to the bedroom door and fisted his hands to keep from reaching for his gun.

  “It’s true, and I’m not that much of a pervert. I don’t rain on another man’s happy happy joy joy.” Whiskey drained his glass and rose. “Besides, I don’t have to rain on your parade when the Hurricane Hank is waiting for you. By now, he should be a Cat 5.”

  Emmet’s gut clenched, an automatic response. “Where?”

  Whiskey tipped his empty glass to the window. “The barn. Been there about three hours now.” He headed for the bar.

  “Are you drunk?”

  Whiskey snorted. “Not even close, unfortunately.”

  Emmet grabbed his coat off a peg by the back door and was striding across the snow before he had it zipped up. He yanked open the barn door and stepped inside.

  Sitting on a stool at the work table, Hank tapped away on a laptop. A single light barely illuminated the area. He didn’t turn around when Emmet entered or closed the door behind him. “Have a nice nap?” he asked in a tone that would’ve rattled a rattlesnake.

  No use avoiding the inevitable. “I did.”

  Hank spun on the stool to face Emmet. “I told you to protect her. Not fuck her!”

  That he did, and a tad bit of guilt stabbed Emmet which he promptly shoved away. “Say her name.”

  Hank's eyes narrowed. "I trusted you with her life, and you used her—"

  “Say her name, Hank.”

  Hank slammed his fist onto the work table. “Why her? Why her when you could’ve had any other wom—”

  “Do you even remember her name, or have you said her for so long that’s all you know her by?”

  Hank stood. Emmet had an inch on him, but it didn't matter, and they both knew it. "Bailey Michela Murray."

  Wrong. “You mean Monroe, not Murray.”

  “She was born Murray. I had it changed after her mother died.” The last sentence seemed to take the wind out of Hank’s sails. He looked away, his chin dipping into his chest.

  Emmet took a moment allowing Hank to breathe, but only a moment. “Car bomb.” Hank’s head jerked up, surprise on his face. “Bailey told me. That’s what you told her on her eighteenth birthday.”

  Hank moved away to grab a thermos off the work table. He screwed off the cap and took a swig of what smelled like strong black coffee. “Constance had a doctor’s appointment with her OB. Prenatal care. She was seven months pregnant with our sons. Twins.”

  Oh, Jesus. Now Emmet had to look away. The pain on Hank’s face was too raw, too fresh, too real.

  "I had bought her a minivan, and she hated it. Took my Porsche Turbo, probably to spite me because I joked she was too big to fit behind the wheel. I’d gone to all her appointments, but I was on a mission. Diplomat's kid went hiking in Turkey too close to the Iraqi border and got kidnapped. Once the CIA was called in, they sent in the Seals. We got the kid out cleanly. Third extraction in a year. The team was on a high. I came back home to SoCal to find the police, firefighters, and an ambulance in my driveway."

  Emmet knew about Hank’s time as a Seal, but staring at the man in front of him, the man who’d raised him to be ruthless, efficient, and emotionless, Emmet had difficulty reconciling the image of Hank at an obstetric appointment with the killer he’d become.

  "Constance and her sister, who helped out when I was gone, both were dead, and Bailey was missing. The guy was sloppy. Radical wannabe recruited by Jihadists learned how to make a bomb off the internet. Son of captain on base, you believe that shit. That's how the fucker knew who we were and how to find us."

  “I didn’t wait for the investigation. I tracked down the piece of shit and tortured the information about Bailey’s whereabouts out of him, then peeled the skin off his hide. I arrived in Nebraska before the traffickers handed her off to the buyer and I took my child back.”

  “You didn’t take her back. You let her go.” Easy to understand now that Hank had explained it. “And stayed on the periphery of her life.”

  “I got her to safety.” He continued as if Emmet hadn’t said a word. “And prepared to face a court-martial until the agency made me an offer I accepted. I handed her over to Theresa, an operative who needed an out outside of the USA, and I spent the next four years in moving between Syria, Iran, and Iraq.”

  Honing his skills, Emmet added.

  "I made sure Bailey was safe, and all these years she was safe until Rogers broke into my house and stole her file."

  Emmet had heard parts of the story before, but not the entirety. It explained a lot. “Did he know it was there? Someone tip him off?”

  Hank sighed. “I tipped him off.” He threw the thermos against the opposite wall. “On our last mission, I had a top secret file on Delgado I needed in the safe. I went up to get it and didn’t realize he was behind me. A slip that shouldn’t have happened.”

  "Damn right, it shouldn't have." Emmet rubbed the back of his neck and circled the room. He needed to move, do something, kill something. Stagnant water soon became polluted, and that's what was happening to him, to them. This waiting would be the death of them. If this didn't work, they'd have to go on the offensive, only do it better than Rogers, but how? What hadn't they thought of?

  “You know why there are no old hitmen? Because they’re all dead. One mistake is all it takes, Rogers and Veronica, that was mine.”

  Hank’s cryptic tone had Emmet jerking around to study his mentor.

  “What are you glaring at?” Hank grumbled and picked up a flask.

  “Just checking if there was a shovel near you.”

  He g
runted, his version of a laugh. “Not ready to dig my grave.”

  “So why can’t you see her now? Why haven’t you talked to her? Hell, why are you here in the barn and not in the house talking to your kid?” Emmet demanded.

  Hank opened his mouth, and nothing came out. For the first time, Hank had nothing to say. It was painful to see his mentor flounder.

  “She thinks you don’t love her. I know that’s not true, but me telling her doesn’t matter. She has to hear it from you.”

  Hank sighed and shook his head. “Too little. Too late. It’s best she hates me. Hating me has kept her safe.” He inhaled a sharp breath and refocused. “Back to what you’re doing with my daughter.”

  Emmet dragged his hand down his face. He’d let him change the subject…for now. “What we’re doing is none of your business. She’s a grown woman, not a child.”

  “She’s my child.” His tone nothing but menace.

  Emmet cocked his head to the side and sneered. “A little late to start parenting especially since you ignored her for the last seven years.”

  “You know that’s not true. I didn’t ignore her.” He gritted out through clenched teeth.

  “You neglected her, which is as bad as ignoring her.”

  Hank got in his face. “I kept her safe!”

  Emmet didn’t back down. “From a distance! Someone could’ve stolen her, again.”

  “Not possible when I’ve erased all traces of Bailey Murray. She is Bailey Monroe. Mother: Theresa Monroe. Father: unknown.”

  Emmet threw up his hands. “Yet here we are.”

  Hank moved away, putting much-needed space between them. "You're not good enough for her, as I wasn't good enough for Constance."

  Bullshit on the comparison. They were nothing like Hank and Constance.

  Hank flipped open the laptop and tapped in his password. “I love you like a son, Streets. You hurt her, say goodbye to your nuts.” He cranked his head around and gave Emmet a bared teeth smile colder than the artic. “I’m fucking serious. I’ll cut them off and burn them in front of you. Like I did Tex.”

  Emmet’s only reaction was a sharp intake of breath that caused a humorless grin to stretch across Hank’s face. “Exactly where is Tex?”

  Hank tipped his head to the shuttered window on the side of the barn. “He’s enjoying the view, permanently. I told him to plant extra cameras. Not plant them in her bedroom, and definitely not in her fucking bathroom, which he admitted to after we had an intimate conversation.”

  One less thing Emmet had to take care of, but he couldn’t let it go. “Whiskey had no right to tell you. That was my kill.” Because she’s my woman.

  Hank spun on the stool and raised a single brow. They stared each other down. No need to threaten when the unspoken was sufficient. His laptop chimed, and slowly Hank shifted to the computer. "When this is all over, I'm gonna ask you a question, and you better have the right answer."

  Emmet didn’t need a crystal ball to guess at the question. He didn’t need a crystal ball to see what his answer would be either. Walking out of Bailey’s life had to be the result because in the end, after Rogers was dead and buried, she would return to her world, safe and sound, and he would return to his. They would never meet again. It’s what was best, regardless of how his body clenched at the thought.

  “The decoy site is set up. Once Rogers enters the building, it will blow, taking him with it,” Hank said. Emmet squinted over Hank’s shoulder to the laptop screen showing the chalet a half a mile away. The house was similar in design to their current location with no surrounding neighbors. Wired with cameras and for sound, Hank and Co. had laid enough explosives to make sure Rogers would leave in pieces.

  Hank pressed a button, and the lights and tv came on. They even fitted the fireplace with timed smoke canisters, to appear to be in use. It didn't take much arm-twisting to agree to the alternate play and fortify their current location. In fact, Hank seemed relieved at an alternate location. So much so, Emmet wondered why Hank hadn't thought of it on his own.

  “We’ll know soon enough if it worked,” Hank muttered.

  True enough.

  Emmet spotted Tex’s phone on the workbench and picked it up. A swipe of his thumb activated the screen but didn’t unlock the device. That wasn’t what gave Emmet pause. The Wi-Fi signal had his balls drawing up. “Any chance you had Tex unlock his phone before burying him?”

  Hank spun on the stool. “Why?”

  Emmet pointed at Hank’s laptop. “Tap your Wi-Fi icon,” he ordered and didn’t need to explain. Hank dragged the cursor over to the icon and tapped. Two networks were available. The laptop was already connected to one, their secure network. Hank clicked on the other network. It should’ve asked for a password.

  It didn’t.

  Tex’s network was open and traceable. He was more than a perve. He was a traitor. And he was lucky he was already dead.

  An alert chimed on Hank’s laptop. “He’s here, Emmet.” The cryptic tone returned to Hank’s voice, this time mixed with anticipation.

  “What do you mean ‘He’s here’?”

  Hank pointed to the translated police alert flashing on the screen. “Three border guards were found dead. One at Tägerwilen, Switzerland, the other two at Margrethen, Switzerland. The border of Germany and Austria. Fifty-one miles apart.”

  “Where we had connections,” Emmet murmured.

  “The bodies were found an hour ago but were missing for two days. Fuck!" Hank leaped to his feet. "He could be—"

  An explosion rocked the barn.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emmet told her to go back to sleep, but the bed was cold without him warming her back. Soon after he left, she shoved the comforter off and propped herself up. The clock read one a.m. Wide awake with a stomach that rumbled for nourishment, she headed for the bathroom first. One whiff and anyone could tell what she’d been doing all evening. She smelled like him, not that she minded, but what was the point of advertising when it wasn’t a secret anymore.

  Dressed in her last pair of yoga pants and Henley with no panties, she reused her bra and socks and laced up her boots. She pulled her phone out from between the mattress and surprise! Surprise! She had a Wi-Fi signal. And a response from Daisy.

  Finally getting you some dick! Sweeet! Shower or grower?! I want deets when you get stateside. In London w Mom. Be back in the ATL in a week. TTYS.

  A week. Hopefully, all this would be wrapped up by then. She missed her friend. She missed her life. Wonder if Emmet would like Atlanta? “Horse before the cart, Bailey.”

  A lot to tell you. Have fun in London.

  A quiet house greeted her. Carefully, she eased to the staircase and peered over the railing into the open living room. No one was there. She jogged down the stairs, wondering where Emmet and everyone else had gone. So much for protecting her.

  She rounded the corner to the kitchen and bumped into Whiskey. “So sorry.” He steadied her with a hand to her shoulder.

  “No harm done.” He stepped aside and let her enter. He had bread and slices of carved turkey and some other meat she couldn’t readily name on the counter. “Late night snack. Care for some?” He asked layering mustard on the bread.

  She wasn’t sure about that.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. “It wasn’t me placing cameras in your bedroom. That was Tex. I’m a freak, but I’m not a pervert.” He winked at her.

  This was the most time she’d spent in his presence and wasn’t quite comfortable around him, another killer, though he was charming. “Okay. Where’s he at?” ’Cause she had a chunk of her mind to give him with her fist.

  “Oh…” He waved vaguely at nothing and in no particular direction. “He’s around here, somewhere.”

  “Where’s Emmet?”

  “In the barn going over last minute details. Mustard? The mayo is strange, not Hellmann’s at all.” He screwed up his face.

  "A little bit of mustard, please." She went to the refrigerat
or for bottled water and pulled up a chair while he served up the food. “How long have you known Emmet?”

  “Oh, about ten years. I’ve been in the game longer than that though, if that’s what you wanted to know.” He took a large bite of his sandwich.

  She nibbled on hers. “Thanks for the intel.”

  “You two got cozy quite fast.”

  Under his speculative gaze, she took her time chewing. “Protecting his virtue or mine, are you?”

  “Both, actually. Don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

  “That’s…sweet of you. I didn’t get the impression you two were friends.”

  “We are not friendly, but there aren’t a lot of us in this field, so we are friends when it necessitates.”

  “And it necessitates now?” She didn’t hide her skepticism.

  “Things could get messy and bloody, and I'm not talking about the tiff with Rogers. You understand me. You are the boss's daughter. Even the most pacifist of men would have a problem with his employee having carnal relations with their kid? Hank's never been a pacifist if you had any doubt."

  She didn't. "Hank's temperament would concern me if he were the typical father, but he's not. He doesn't give a damn about me. He never did.”

  His head sliced left, then right. “You’re wrong about that. Completely wrong. He’s…” Whiskey’s brow furrowed, and his voice lowered as a whistling noise filled the air. “Run!”

  She hesitated, a natural response until the house rocked and a ball of fire rolled down the staircase. Her feet took flight, she ran straight out the back door as the blast lifted her off her feet and pitched her into a snowbank.

  Muffled voices reached her as if her ears were stuffed with cotton. Heat baked her back. She pushed up, and the house exploded behind her, raining chunks of debris. Something flattened her, a body she realized through a haze of pain. “Stay down.” She deciphered and couldn’t agree more.