Plain Jane and the Hitman

by Tmonique Stephens

  “We have to find her, Emmet. I won’t lose my daughter.” Determination and fear, a father’s fear for his child, warped his words. A fear Emmet shared for the woman he loved. They’d underestimated her at every turn, treated her as if she were some fragile hothouse flower and not a tenacious weed that refused to be tamed. “If there is one thing I know, Bailey will be fine.”

  “What the fuck do you mean she’ll be fine?” Hank’s face beet red from his fury, his voice brittle. “Rogers could have her right now.”

  “No. Rogers doesn’t have her.” Of that Emmet was certain. “This wasn’t some harebrained scheme to hit the road and hope to get away. Bailey has a plan. We must figure out what that plan is.”

  Hank sat there. The gears in his brain churning so fast, any second smoke would curl from his ears. Emmet was already ahead of him.

  “Have Whiskey track down her friend, Daisy. See if she’s heard anything from her and have him stay with her in case Bailey shows up.” Emmet didn’t think that was likely. Bailey wasn’t the type to put another person in danger, but he had to cover that base.

  Hank whipped out his phone and started dialing.

  Emmet did the same with his phone, only he called a different person. “Dave, do not hang up.”

  "You are not supposed to be calling me, not until everything blows over," Dave whispered. In the background, Emmet heard the sounds of utensils hitting plates and the murmur of people ordering.

  It was evening back in the States. Dinnertime for Dave, probably at his favorite sushi spot. He had a taste for sashimi and kimchi and the oriental waitresses.

  “Don’t hand me that bullshit.” Dave was lucky Emmet couldn’t reach through the phone and strangle him. “Remember that scuffle you got into last March over bitcoin that I took care of? Wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl with a boyfriend connected to the mafia? I smoothed everything over so you didn’t dine with the fishes and end up fired, and homeless.”

  Dave groaned, and his voice dropped a few octaves. "Don't remind me. You said we'd never speak of that night again."

  "And we won't." Emmet's tone now conciliatory. "After I get what I need. So, put down your fork and head back to work. I need information, and you're gonna get it for me."

  “You’re gonna get me killed.” The background chatter receded, replaced with the sound of cars and horns. He was already heading back to the office. “What is it you need?”

  “Information. I need a person tracked.”

  “Easy enough,” he boasted.

  “She has four aliases.” Emmet rattled off the names. “I doubt she’ll use her real name, she’s too smart for that. But in case she did, it’s Bailey Michela Monroe.”

  “I know it.” Dave snickered. “So, you lost Hank’s daughter. Man is he gonna kill you.”

  "Glad you're concerned about my welfare. Now, use your hacking skills, and find her. Start with Magdeburg and widen the circle from there. Keep widening it. Airports are a priority, trains, and buses secondary. Check cameras. CCTV feeds—"

  An irritated scoff came through the phone. "I know how to do a search. I'll pull her picture from her passport. Leave me alone to work, and I'll call you when I have something."

  The call ended. Emmet glanced at Hank, striding to his side. “Did you contact Whiskey?”

  “He’s on the way to Daisy in London in case Bailey shows up there.”

  Excellent. They’d done everything they could, yet it didn’t seem enough. Not by a long shot.

  Good thing he was feeling lucky, which proved to be prophetic when his phone chimed three times—Dave’s ringtone—eighteen minutes later.

  “What do you have for me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "Hi, Bailey. It's, umm, Theresa. I haven't, I mean, we haven't spoken in a few months, and I just wanted to check in. See how you were doing. I'm fine. Posted in Turkey. If you ever want to visit, I have a spare room, and it would be great to see you again. It's been so long… Anyway, I love you."

  Bailey saved the message as she did with all of Theresa's messages. She made a mental promise to call her as soon as things calmed down but had no idea when that would be. A day? A week? A year? Never? It wasn't right how she treated Theresa. She did the best she could with what she had, and for it, she was shunned by the child she'd raised as her own.

  She rubbed away the tears gathering in her eyes. “I’ve been such a bitch.”

  A stewardess stopped by her seat. “Seatbelt buckled?” she questioned with a slight Greek accent.

  Bailey made quick work of clicking and tightening the belt.

  “Phone off, please.” The stewardess waited for Bailey to obey, then continued down the aisle.

  The next stop on her tour of the world…Brazil.

  She pulled the photo of her mother out of her pants pocket and traced the lines of her face, a face so similar to her own.

  What would it have been like to grow up with Constance in her life? Not the first time she pondered the question, except this time she had a face and a name. She looked kind, nurturing. She looked happy. Loved. There was an undeniable joy to her the camera captured.

  This is what a woman in love looks like. Her mother had that with Hank. Bailey dragged her arm across her now wet cheeks.

  It must’ve been hard for Hank to bury her and have a mini doppelganger running around needing attention. So what! A good parent would’ve stepped the fuck up and not abandon their child.

  Hank wasn’t able to do that. He loved her mother so much it broke something in him. What did love as deep as that feel like? When she and Emmet were together her emotions raged like a river tumbling over a cliff. Free, yet anchored was how she described it. Being that consumed with one person, obsessed enough that nothing else mattered, not even the child your love created… She wanted no part of.

  Good thing she didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

  ◆◆◆

  Elbows on knees, hands folded under his chin, Hank paid minimal attention to Emmet and Julius. Both men were on their respective computers and phones, pooling all their resources to track down Bailey.

  While he sat, revisiting all his mistakes. Damn, there were many, the list miles long. It would take years to document them all. So, he concentrated on the mistakes he made with his only child. Wasn’t the first time he cataloged everything. However, the truth wasn't something he often visited and could only take in minuscule doses.

  The last thirty-six hours had been eye-opening. He was the reason for all of this—which he already knew and had shoved to the rear of his soul. Avoidance instead of confrontation. Not his forte, but what else could a man do when peering into his daughter’s eyes and seeing not an ounce of love?

  She didn’t hate him. It was much worse than that. Indifference. She didn’t care whether he lived or died. And neither did he. He stopped caring after the car explosion took his wife and unborn children. Then Rogers threatened the only thing he had left—the daughter he’d discarded.

  How many times had Constance come to him in his dreams? Sometimes angry, sometimes pleading, her silence a damning condemnation. He ignored her. She was gone, and he was here with a child that reminded him of all he'd lost, a child nearly the twin of her mother.

  He was a horrible father. He let his paycheck do his parenting and stayed away for years, fostering her hate as if that would keep her safe. It had, yet the price…the price was so high. Too high.

  Everything he did and none of it mattered because one of his own had a knife at his throat.

  And it was all his fault.

  He had to fix it, and there was only one way to do it. A simple text message and he rose. Emmet and Julius didn't even see him leave, which was exactly the way he liked it.

  Except, he paused and gave the kid he had raised one final glance, and then he was on his way.

  “Hank!” Emmet’s shout halted him, and he turned to face him.

  Emmet ran up to him. "I think I've figured out her pattern. At each st
op, she doesn't take the first available flight. Each flight is a smokescreen designed to make us think she is running scared, but she's not. At least not yet. She used her last alias for the flight to Brazil. She must figure we're following her, and we're hours behind. She can't know we're still in Germany, tracking her movements until we decide to make a move."

  A humorless grin stretched across Emmet's face. Hank had seen that look before, and it didn't bode well for his daughter. It was the same expression he imagined Emmet had witnessed on his face, excitement for the hunt. Hank had no doubt Emmet wouldn't hurt her, but he would make her pay for this foolishness.

  “Luck has been on her side,” Emmet said. “She’s had no delays. Her flight gets into Brazil at eleven a.m. We can’t beat her there. But, there are three flights from Brazil to Atlanta. I think that’s where she’s going.”

  Not buying it, Hank shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why go back to her home?”

  “The money she took wasn’t much. Five thousand dollars will only get you so far.” Emmet gripped Hank’s arm. “She’s your daughter, with plenty of income inherited from her mother. Who’s to say she doesn’t have her own to-go bag with cash, credit cards, and passports in a different name. Give her some credit, Hank. She’s known who you are almost all her life. She knows how to defend herself and knows how to fire a weapon because you made sure your daughter wouldn’t be an easy target. You told her you’re the only thing keeping her safe, but that’s not true. Right now, she is proving she doesn’t need any of us to guard her ass. It’s misguided but put yourself in her shoes. What would you have done in her position?”

  He would’ve vanished into the ether a long damn time ago.

  “I’d bet my left nut she’s taken precautions,” Emmet continued, the urgency in his voice notching up. “Bailey’s returning to Atlanta to collect her shit and vanish. This time, it’ll be a lot harder to track her.”

  Hank's gut clenched. Everything had fallen into place in the worst possible way. He had to salvage it before his daughter paid the price. "Julius, we need to borrow your jet."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "Just my damn luck!" The flight was delayed. Something was wrong with one of the engines. Granted, when flying, having all engines in working order was important, but so was getting to her destination. Bailey had been lucky. Each layover had only been a few hours, and each last-minute booking had gone through without a hitch. Buying first class tickets helped.

  She searched the outgoing flight display. There was a flight leaving for L.A. in five hours. That blew her timeline and wouldn’t work. Nervous, she chewed on her thumbnail. Her eyes were gritty, and she’d give anything for a shower. Eighteen hours into her mad dash and exhaustion had set in. She hadn’t eaten, had barely slept, her nerves were shot. She needed to set foot on American soil, grab the necessities, and hit the road again. Canada was the final destination. Toronto for a few days in an out-of-the-way hostel. Then, she’d throw a dart at a map of the world and travel the world, again.

  With no other choice but to wait out the repairs, she found a small bathroom and freshened up as best she could. An overpriced restaurant for some Brazilian cuisine took the edge off her hunger. She told herself not to recheck her voicemails. There really was no point, yet she couldn't stop her fingers from dialing the number.

  “Call me, please.” Clear and strong, Emmet’s voice reached through the connection. “I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m going insane worrying if you’re all right. Just let me hear your voice, babe. Please.” He rattled off his number and ended the call.

  It was the “please” that did her in when she knew deleting the call was her best response. Against all logic, without her usual overthinking, she dialed his number.

  “Yeah,” he barked on the first ring.

  That one furious word sent a chill down her spine. All she had to do was hang up, yet she didn’t. She hung on listening to him breathe, imagining his fierce expression, and the glint in his frigid eyes.

  “Bailey?” The fury in his voice lowered along with his voice. “Don’t hang up,” he ordered in typical Emmet fashion. “I know it’s you. Babe, say something.”

  She would if she knew what to say. This conversation was never supposed to happen. A clean break was her objective. So, why had she given in and called?

  “Fine. Then listen. I’m an idiot. That’s what I should have said last night, but I was, um—”

  “Arrogant.” She supplied.

  He snorted, and she imagined a sneer twisting his lips. “That is my default.”

  The line went silent again, a void filled with the unspoken. Her finger hovered over the red phone icon. A quick touch and—

  "I fucked up with you. You know it, and I know it."

  She couldn’t deny the ego boost his admission provided, but too little. Too late. “That’s nice. I can go now.”

  “Do not hang up!” An implicit threat accompanied his command.

  A threat she ignored. “Do not order me. I don’t owe you anything, especially not my time.”

  “Okay! Okay.” He backed down. “You’re right. You owe me nothing,” he spat, and she sensed it took a lot for the admission. “I lied to you.”

  “Oh yeah?” She deadpanned though her heart lurched. “Should I be honored you admit it?”

  His voice low, threatening. “When I said I would walk away and let you live your life, it was a lie. I can’t walk away. I’m not strong enough.”

  A sob crawled up her throat, which she bit back. This was just another lie. “You don’t have to walk away because I already did.”

  “And there’s a hole in my heart because of it.” His voice cracked as if he’d given up the fight. “I love you, Bailey.”

  “Don’t you dare!” she hissed, cried, sobbed, all three at once from the shock of hearing those words exit his mouth.

  “I love you, babe,” he shouted into the phone.

  Hot and cold all at once, goosebumps flashed over her skin.

  “And I’m coming for you. Whatever rock you crawl under, I’m crawling under it with you. Understand me?”

  A shiver jolted her as she sniffed, refusing to shed a single tear. She knew what those last two words meant, but she couldn't accept it. Wouldn't accept what he'd offered.

  “You don’t love me. You don’t know me. We’ve been together for what? Two weeks? Less than two weeks?” God, she couldn’t string a coherent thought together all because he said, “I love you.”

  In a voice threaded with passion she had to concentrate not to go up in flames, he said, “I think I’ve loved you my entire life. I just hadn’t met you yet.”

  Her ovaries exploded, taking whatever common sense she had with it. “That’s such bullshit! You’re just trying to get in my head.” Every head in the restaurant turned her way, drawing attention she didn’t need. She threw some cash, U.S. currency, on the table and left.

  “You’ve been in my head from the moment Hank told me he had a daughter.”

  “I’m a job for you, nothing more. You were hired to protect me and walk away when the job ended.” She powered down the mezzanine, people darted out of her way or risked getting run over. “Well, the job is over.”

  “The job is not over!” he snarled.

  “Then you’re fired.”

  “Tell me that in person…while I’m inside you.” He tacked on.

  Her steps faltered because she felt him, thrusting deep inside her, the need sharp enough to draw blood. Her core throbbed. Leaning against a pillar to catch her breath, she halted short of her gate. The passengers were all lined up, waiting to board the plane. The conversation was over, except she pressed the phone closer to her ear, afraid she might miss a single word he said.

  "What do you want, Bailey? Tell me what you want, and it's yours," he purred in that rough voice she adored.

  That was easy. She wanted to be happy, wanted to believe every ridiculous word he’d spewed. She wanted to be happy, safe. To be loved
. Loved by him.

  “I want Rogers dead and you in my arms, in my bed, in my life, because that’s where you belong. With me. We are not done. You know it. I know it.”

  Standing in the middle of the mezzanine, her eyes slipped closed, and she imagined that life he'd laid out. A life where they woke up every morning in the same bed. A life where she wasn't unwanted. A life where someone belonged to her as she belonged to him. A life with Emmet.

  "Where are you, Bailey? Tell me, and I'll meet you anywhere in the world. Anywhere, babe."

  God, dare she believe him?

  “You trusted me once with your body and your heart. Trust me one more time. I swear you will not regret it.”

  “I’m in Brazil,” she blurted and listened to his sigh of relief.

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yeah. I’m safe.” Even though she’d handed herself over to the man she’d sworn to escape. An announcement came over the PA system. “I have to go. My plane is boarding.”

  “Where are you going, Bailey? Where can I meet you?” he said in a tone meant to whittle her resolve.

  She chewed her lip, stalling, even though she knew it was too late to pretend he couldn’t figure out where she was headed. It was also too late to deny what was in her heart. “Atlanta. Flight 3005.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you in Atlanta.”

  "Okay," she squeaked out and ended the call before more insanity slipped out. "What have I done?" Horrified, her knees gave out, and she plopped into a chair while the plane boarded.

  Just because you said you'd meet him in Atlanta doesn't mean you have to. Head for the exit and keep walking. Brazil is a vast country to get lost in.

  Except, she wasn’t a coward…and she couldn’t live with herself not knowing if what he said was the truth or all a huge lie.