Murder Aforethought

by Parker St John

  Val pinched the bridge of his nose and sniffed hard, though it did nothing to make his eyes any less glassy. “She fucking begged me, her big tough Marine, to help him. Said I needed to keep him safe. I knew she’d die of shame, no joke, if he went to prison for something like that. So… so I…”

  “You took a contract.”

  He gave one terrible nod. “You know the best part? Mom killed herself anyway, as soon as I had mob blood all over me. Maybe because Pop broke her heart. Maybe she felt guilty over what she’d asked me to do. Hell, I don’t know.”

  He trailed off into silence, gaze far away, reliving a horror Maksim couldn’t imagine.

  The whine of a motel hair dryer clicked on in the bathroom. They were running out of time to discuss anything meaningful. As tough as Emma pretended to be, she was the opposite of world wise, and none of this story needed to be repeated in front of her.

  “That was back in November?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many hits have you completed for Russo?”

  Val hesitated. “Two.”

  A life was a life. The number shouldn’t matter. But knowing that Val hadn’t left a trail of corpses in his wake these past few months, no matter the reason, was a relief. It made the whole distasteful story a bit more palatable.

  He didn’t ask why Val hadn’t immediately quit after his mother’s suicide. Working for a crime family wasn’t exactly like being a waiter at Chile’s. Once he pulled the trigger that first time, there was no way out besides prison or a body bag.

  Others might judge him for not trying to get out. Maksim didn’t.

  “That brings us to the present,” he said brusquely. “Tell me why and how you crossed somebody.”

  “I didn’t, really. They crossed me.” For the first time in the telling of this sad, sordid fucking tale, Val met Maksim’s eyes with a level gaze. “They should have known I wouldn’t leave it alone once they touched a hair on Pop’s head.”

  “But you don’t think Russo ordered it?”

  “No, I really don’t. He’s not known for idle threats or false promises, and I was towing the line like a good lackey. Why would he want to piss me off after going to all that trouble to hire me?”

  Maksim scratched his eyebrow in thought. It made sense. If he were prone to behaving irrationally, Russo wouldn’t have gained the power he had. And a hitman, even a reluctant one, was a dangerous person to cross.

  “What about the Russians?”

  “What the hell good would it do them to take out a nobody like Pop? It doesn’t get them any closer to getting rid of Russo.” He shook his head. “No, it all goes back to Esposito and that damn club. He had his fingers in a lot of real shady pies. He wasn’t content with scraps. Pop pretty much lived there after Mom’s funeral, so I figure maybe he overheard something, and it got him killed.”

  “Then it got Esposito killed.”

  “Yes.”

  “You got yourself arrested, and suddenly, whoever this player is, he had to wonder how much you’ve already pieced together, and how much you told me.” Maksim contemplatively rested his chin on his steepled fingers. “Whoever sent those men to my apartment has a lot of power at their fingertips.”

  “Yeah. He isn’t a small player, that’s for sure.”

  “What player? What are we playing?” Emma trotted out of the bathroom wearing the set of Hello Kitty pajamas Maksim had purchased. Her hair was soft and fluffy around her face, and her skin was pink and shiny as a piglet.

  He stood to greet her and pinched her nose between his knuckles. “You look adorable, my ickle princess.”

  “Oh my God, never use that voice on me again.” She looked revolted.

  Maksim laughed.

  “Hey, can I watch TV?” she asked.

  “Our patient needs his beauty sleep.”

  Val looked exhausted. Recounting the train wreck his life had become had taken a lot out of him. His face was drawn, and his cheeks were hollow over his beautiful cheekbones.

  Maksim wondered if that was a sign of dehydration. He’d barely touched the Gatorade.

  “You won’t bother me,” Val ground out in a wrecked voice.

  “Please?” Emma begged. “I’m too wired to sleep.”

  Maksim sighed. “How about we watch the I Love Lucy marathon on mute?” he suggested. “You can ad lib the dialogue.”

  “Oooh! Like Mystery Science Theater!” She bounced on her toes and clapped. “You be Ricky!”

  He guided her to the second bed and muted the old-timey television theme.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched Val lay back against his pillows and heave a shuddering sigh. Concern swelled up inside him. Even with his eyes closed, Val’s face was tight with pain.

  But was the pain in his body or his soul?

  11

  Val

  The wind moaned in Val’s ear, stirring up dust devils that choked his nostrils and scratched his eyes. He blinked away irritated tears and positioned himself on his belly to peer through his scope.

  The dark silhouette of a man stood right there in the open.

  “Target spotted.”

  Val usually needed to take a minute to plug data into the computer and calculate bullet drift. Wind shear at three o’clock would act as a ninety-degree angle of force on any projectiles.

  But he didn’t need any calculations this time. He knew exactly where to aim.

  This target was his.

  “450 yards, wind at three o’clock, thirteen mph. Gusting.”

  The wind died suddenly. Val sunk into the silence.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  One shot. One kill.

  The dark man turned at the last second, and cold horror broke over him as Maksim’s hawkish face came into focus.

  He looked straight at Val. He saw him. He really saw him, through all their distance.

  He seemed about to speak. Val needed to hear what he would say. He needed it more than his breath.

  He knew Maksim would tell him how to stop what was about to happen, how to put the bullet back in his rifle. But he couldn’t hear the words that came out of Maksim’s slowly moving mouth. All he could do was watch through his damned scope. He couldn’t look away.

  Maksim’s head exploded.

  Val jerked awake with a yell. For a panicked moment he thought he’d been hit by his own bullet, and that was the reason everything was dark. Then his eyes shot open. Nothing but shadows.

  He blinked sweat from his eyes, and the dark popcorn ceiling of a motel room coalesced into something recognizable.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he moaned.

  His stomach churned, and his throat felt too tight to swallow. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  It must have been the middle of the night. Everything was dark and silent except for the rhythmic drip of the bathroom faucet.

  He lifted his head off his sweat-soaked pillow and scanned the room.

  Maksim sat on Emma’s bed, propped against the headboard with a pillow jammed awkwardly behind his neck and his arms folded across his chest. The girl was curled like a sleeping kitten at his hip. It looked like a damned uncomfortable way to sleep.

  But he wasn’t sleeping. His eyes were open, and he was watching Val.

  “Sorry,” Val croaked. He scrubbed at his face. “Did I wake you?”

  “That would presuppose a man could sleep in this position,” Maksim rumbled.

  When it wasn’t laced with sarcasm, his deep, calm voice was one of the most reassuring sounds Val could ever remember hearing. The guy should work some kind of hotline. It helped ease the fist constricting Val’s airway, and he carefully sucked ever deeper, ever slower breaths.

  “Why don’t you lay down?” he asked once he could manage a full sentence without gasping.

  “I’m not about to force a teenage girl to share her bed with a grown man, whether or not I’m gay. And there’s no way in hell I’m making a bed on this carpet. I saw a documentary once.”

  Val coul
dn’t help but smile a little, even though he really didn’t know what was worth smiling over.

  Maybe it was the guy’s manner of speaking. It was fucking charming, all posh and dirty at the same time.

  He lay flat on his back for a while, just breathing, sweat cooling on his skin and turning him clammy. His mouth was dry, so he bit back a groan and reached for the sports drink on the end table.

  “Stop. You’ll tear your stitches.” With a whisper of expensive fabric, Maksim came to the side of Val’s bed and passed him the drink.

  He took a few greedy gulps before he could control himself enough to avoid puking it back up. “Thanks,” he muttered.

  Maksim took a seat near his bed. Even in the shadows, he looked exhausted. Guilt pried open a yawning pit in Val’s stomach.

  “Does that happen often?” Maksim asked quietly.

  Val considered pretending to misunderstand. It would make everything easier. But that didn’t quite seem fair. Didn’t the man deserve to know what kind of head case he was trusting with his life?

  “Often enough,” he answered. “It’s just dreams, though.”

  Except for the way he’d chain vomited for hours after completing his first hit for Russo.

  Except for the time he’d passed out on his kitchen tile, clawing at his chest, sure the Big One was taking him at twenty-four years old.

  Except for the way he avoided long, hot showers because he got the shakes every time his body began to relax even a little.

  Except for all that.

  God, he was such a chickenshit.

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  This time Val went for the deliberate misunderstanding. “Nah, I like to play the field.” He grinned sickly. “But I wouldn’t say no to dinner.”

  Maksim had a thin mouth, but his smile was surprisingly inviting. Val had the absurd desire to touch a finger to his bottom lip, to test the softness and pliancy.

  “They have therapists at the V.A., don’t they?”

  Difficult man to derail, Kovalenko.

  “I’m sure they do,” Val sighed. “I’ve never asked.”

  Maksim cocked his head. “Don’t tell me you believe the bullshit that it’s weak to ask for help?”

  “Nah.” Kind of. “I’ve been busy with other things, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Secure your own oxygen mask first, as they say.”

  “Look, I’m not going to whine to someone about how bad I feel for killing people while I’m still killing people, okay?”

  Maksim reclined back in his chair and stretched his long body.

  He reminded Val of a cat, all lazy, lanky grace and predatory eyes. He’d unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. It might only have been the darkness, but he looked rougher, almost sinister, when he wasn’t so polished and buttoned up.

  He made a thoughtful noise deep in his throat, and it raised a shiver up Val’s spine. “No one deserves the poor sleep you clearly suffer with.”

  “Bull. Plenty of people deserve worse.”

  Maksim flicked his eyebrows to acknowledge the point, then clarified, “No one with as much of a conscience as you.”

  Val didn’t want to discuss this anymore. But the vision of Maksim’s face disintegrating through the view of his scope was still fresh. Just thinking about it made his pulse trip.

  He didn’t want to pretend to go to sleep and lay there trapped behind the black of his own eyelids. “I guess a big city attorney sleeps like a baby?” he deflected.

  “On silken sheets.” Maksim’s grin flashed white in the gloom.

  “You’ve never felt bad helping guilty people go free?”

  “No. When John Adams defended the British soldiers responsible for the Boston Massacre, he regarded it as one of the highest services he ever performed for his country. He upheld the rule of law, despite his personal feelings on the subject. It didn’t make him any less of a patriot for doing so.”

  Val could happily listen to the man read a phone book in the dark. His voice was so deep and mellifluous.

  “I have a job that’s necessary,” Maksim continued. “I do it well. If other people do their jobs as well as I do mine? Then justice usually prevails. I’m not going to take on unnecessary guilt because the opposing team let their own ball drop.”

  “Huh.”

  “You think I’m a sociopath.” Maksim sounded amused.

  “Not really. I envy you. A clear conscience like that must feel fucking amazing.” Val shifted to ease the burning pain in his side.

  “Oh, I have plenty of guilt. Just not about that,” Maksim said mockingly. “Why do you think I do so much pro bono in my spare time?”

  “Why do you?”

  Maksim appeared startled that Val had followed up the question. Maybe he was used to people disregarding whatever he said, as long as he said it in a cavalier tone.

  “I don’t really know,” he mused. “I guess… I remember what it was like to live in poverty. Even poor people deserve a top of the line defense. Especially poor people.”

  Val didn’t think Maksim was aware of it, but there was a well of compassion in his expression. Did that compassion disappear during daylight hours when he was marching around his hotshot law firm? Or did he just hide it better after a full night’s sleep? Why hide it at all?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Val shrugged. “Just thinking you’re a good man. I hope I don’t get you killed.”

  Maksim chuckled. “Me too. Why don’t you try to rest some more? Come morning we need to discuss our strategy.”

  “What time is it?”

  Maksim glanced at the digital display by the bed. It was angled in a way that made all the numbers look like eights to Val. “Three o’clock.”

  Wind at three o’clock…

  He swallowed hard, but his mouth had gone bone dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Where are you going to sleep?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  450 yards…

  “No.” He lurched up onto his elbows. His flank screamed, but he bit his tongue against the pain. “No. I’m the reason you aren’t in your own bed on those silk sheets of yours. I’m not doing that to you.”

  “Even if you weren’t injured, that dinky bed will hardly fit two grown men.”

  Thirteen mph, gusting…

  “Get in the damn bed, Kovalenko,” he growled through the pain. “I need to turn on my side, anyway, or I’ll be stiff as hell in the morning.”

  “I think—”

  “Get. In. Bed.”

  He couldn’t explain why it was so necessary to feel the living, breathing warmth of Maksim’s body just then. But the need was like a clawing animal inside him, and if he didn’t appease it, it would creep up his throat and start howling.

  Maksim eyed him, seeming to weigh many options. Val held his breath.

  Eventually, Maksim relented with a single nod, and Val’s breath gushed out in a sigh of relief.

  He cautiously turned onto his side, facing Maksim as he prowled around the bed. It was either face him or spoon, and Val didn’t think he’d be able to sleep with the man’s dick snugged up against his ass all night.

  Maksim watched Val’s face like a hawk as he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. Val stared back at him blankly, giving nothing away. After a moment, Maksim stretched out on top of the blankets, facing him.

  Apparently, he didn’t want a dick against his ass either.

  “You should get under the blankets at least,” Val grumped.

  “With the heat you’re throwing off? I’d swelter. I wonder…” Maksim’s palm was cool and rough as he cupped the back of Val’s neck and drew him forward. He pressed their foreheads together. Val’s heart stuttered, and for once, it had nothing to do with anxiety.

  “Hmm…” Maksim murmured. “No, I don’t think it’s a fever. You just run hot.”

  Maybe he did, because Val’s body felt like it was going up in
flames.

  Maksim smelled like a cool, lush forest. How could the man still smell so good after such a hellish day?

  “Where did you learn to check fevers like this?” he whispered.

  Maksim’s gaze dropped to his mouth, watching as it shaped the words. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

  Yes. Yes.

  “No.”

  Maksim smiled, and Val wanted to sip at the edges of that smile until its warmth filled every hollow part of him.

  Neither of them had moved. Their foreheads were still touching, and Maksim’s hand was still against his neck, but Val didn’t want it to stop. It felt so good. Stable. Safe.

  “Sleep, Val.” Maksim’s voice was just a breath. “No dreams. Just sleep.”

  Val closed his eyes.

  No dreams.

  450 yards…

  Just sleep.

  Target spotted…

  * * *

  Maksim

  “Well, this is cozy.”

  It was unusual for Maksim to wake up to a young, female voice, but it was especially jarring when contrasted with the hard, muscled bulk snugged up against his back.

  He reluctantly cracked an eyelid. It felt like the asscrack of dawn to his fatigued body, but the sunshine spilling through the windows signaled it was at least mid-morning.

  Emma sat cross-legged on her bed with a hairbrush in her lap, eating one of the bagels he’d purchased the day before. She looked like she was at a sleepover instead of hiding from murderers.

  “What did you say?” he mumbled.

  “I said—”

  “Nevermind.” He dragged a hand groggily across his face. “What I meant was: why are you speaking to me before I’ve had coffee?”

  “I tried to make some, but I didn’t know how to work the machine.”

  “You what?”

  “It has a filter thingy. No pods.”

  “Oh, to be young.”

  A puff of warm breath against his neck cued him to Val’s alertness.