Vincent’s satisfied smile, and the way he rolls the expensive scotch around in his glass, fills Zane with disgust. He tightens his fist, losing any desire he had to be polite.
“What are you talking about? Do you know about something? Is there an attack planned?” Zane’s breathing is audible in his constricted throat. Heat flourishes in his belly.
“Now that’s the passion I like to see, soldier,” Vincent says. “Yes, we do know something. And the person in question is ruthless. If they go through with their plan, they’ll put American lives at risk.”
Zane lifts his chest, feeling that flourish of purpose. His mouth waters with a craving for blood. “Who?”
Vincent drums his fingers on the desk. “We’re working on the ‘who.’ We wanted to have a hire in place first, so we can act immediately.”
“Why isn’t the government involved?”
“Because sometimes, it’s up to private enterprise to take care of things the state can’t. We were hired by the government.” Vincent drains his scotch, then leans forward. “Look, I can’t tell you much else before you sign the NDA.”
Zane wishes he could accept that, but with his and his mother’s livelihood on the line, he needs more information.
“How much?” Zane asks.
Vincent’s eyes light up. “It’s a seven million dollar contract, with a one million dollar bonus on signing.”
Zane takes in a sharp breath. With that kind of money, he and Nora would be set for life. And he won’t squander it all like the last time. He’ll invest most of it, and use the rest to live within his means. Vincent stands, and outstretches his hand.
“So what do you say?” Vincent asks. “Should I have the paperwork drawn up?”
Zane averts his eyes from Betsy’s cold gaze. “Yeah.”
Chapter Three
The buzz in the old barn seems louder today. Penny has grown used to the exposed, crackling wires Hunter strung up through the barn’s rafters. But this afternoon, they feel hotter than usual, more oppressive. The buzz settles in to the base of her neck, making her head throb dully. The barn is abandoned, settled on the far edge of a field. It’s adjacent to an old, wooden house, now crumbling under the weight of invasive vines. This was once someone’s homestead, with a home, a farm, and this old barn. Outside, the air is hot and humid. The thin cotton dress Penny wears sticks to her wet thighs. With all the work Hunter put into rigging up electricity out here, he could’ve installed air conditioning. Penny grumbles at the thought.
Penny scrolls through the never-ending documents. All of them are encrypted, and not with any code that Penny or Hunter recognize. Does that page detail the truth of what happened to Ben? Or that one? Each click reverberates through Penny’s chest. Each page contains the unknown, and each one feels monumental. But when she looks at the progress bar on the side of her screen, she realizes her clicks are a very small action in the scheme of things.
It doesn’t help her sour mood that Hunter keeps grabbing his short dreadlocks in his fist and pulling them up until the skin on his forehead stretches, while letting out an unsettling groan.
“This isn’t going to work,” Hunter says. “We have to drop this.”
“Stop saying that,” Penny says.
Penny watches Hunter closely as he turns back to his laptop. His broad shoulders curve forward as he slouches towards the screen. The laptops they’re using are brand new, bought with the funds Em Dash wired them for the project, and they’ve never been connected to the internet. Hopefully, they can’t be tracked. There’s no wifi out here, or cell phone towers. They’re in a digital dead zone. They use a router and a server Hunter built from scratch to connect to the internet, but only use an anonymous browser, and only from the appropriate devices. But despite all of these precautions, Hunter’s been paranoid ever since Penny infiltrated VC Solutions.
Penny watches as he gets more and more worked up. It starts with the tapping of his foot, then the drumming of his long dark fingers against his thighs. It culminates in Hunter slamming the laptop closed and jumping to his feet. Penny stays calm as he paces around the room.
“We shouldn’t even be looking at this stuff,” Hunter says. “Who knows who’s watching.”
Penny folds her hands, which are sweaty and trembling. “No one’s watching, Hunter. We’re safe here. Em Dash said all they have on me is a physical description from eye witnesses. And I was wearing a wig, remember. They’ll never find me on just that.” Penny swallows hard, wishing she could believe this herself.
Hunter crosses his arms, nodding. “They’ll find us,” he says, definitively. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“You knew the risks before we started this,” Penny says, keeping her voice calm. “Don’t you want to know what happened to Ben? If this fucked up company had something to do with his death, don’t you want to see the people responsible locked up?” She gestures towards the laptop. “It’s here, Hunter. We just have to find it.”
Hunter covers his face with his hands. His shoulders rumble with laughter. “We’re never going to find it, Penny. Do you have any idea how much data that is? If it were printed on standard size paper, it would fill this barn from floor to ceiling. Not to mention the fact it’s all encrypted.”
“Em Dash has his team working on that,” Penny says. “Once it’s decoded, maybe we can find a search function or something.”
Hunter squints his eyes suspiciously. “Why would Em Dash still work with you after you fucked up?”
Penny’s chest puffs with self righteousness. “Because he’s a true activist. He’s willing to sacrifice himself for the cause.”
“He’s a VC Solutions insider,” Hunter says. “How do you know he’s not working for them? All of these files could be bullshit. Several hundred copies of Crime and Punishment instead of super secret reports. And here we sit, waiting for them to come get us.”
Hunter takes a deep, choking breath. He stumbles back until he finds a wooden ledge to sit on. Penny quickly grabs his asthma inhaler and rushes to him. Hunter breathes the medicine deeply into his lungs. While he struggles to catch his breath, Penny’s reminded of Hunter and Ben at twelve years old, running wild through the woods that aren’t far from this very barn. Penny, who’s four years younger, was always nipping at their heels like a little puppy. As a kid, Penny never received any kind of stability from her parents, who believed in a ‘free-range’ style of parenting. To most people, that term meant allowing kids a reasonable amount of freedom, like walking home from school by themselves. For Penny’s parents, it meant they could relinquish all responsibility towards their offspring. It was a license to stay drunk and stoned while their children grew up feral in the woods.
But by watching Hunter and Ben, Penny learned what loyalty was, what family should be. In that wild landscape, one never left the other behind. And they were quick to offer a helping hand to one another when faced with a particularly steep hill or wide creek. They had childish squabbles, but always quickly made up. They looked out for each other when it came to the group of older boys who also roamed the woods, and who’s motives were less than innocent.
They treated Penny like the annoying little kid she was. They let her follow them around, but always at a distance. They also watched after her, protected her. With them, in the woods, was the only time she felt safe.
Hunter’s breathing is smoother now. Penny rubs his back as he inhales and exhales deeply. When she feels like he’s calmed down enough, she begins to speak. Her voice swells with unexpected emotion.
“Don’t lose sight of what we’re doing because you’re scared. What if it was one of us out there, and Ben here? He wouldn’t stop fighting until justice was served.” Penny’s eyes moisten, causing Hunter to cower back like she’s emitting harmful rays. Penny grabs the collar of his shirt, clutching it in her fist. “Do you think I’m not scared? I’m fucking terrified. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since that night. I can’t sleep, I can barely eat. But I have to
keep fighting for Ben, because no one else will. What if he’s still alive?”
Hunter yanks Penny’s hand away from his shirt, and rubs his neck. “No way he’s alive.”
Penny blows her hair out of her face, and steps away from Hunter. “Then walk away, Hunter, if that’s what you want to do. Try not to think about what Ben would do if he were in your position.”
She sits in front of the laptop, going back to the documents, though her awareness is on Hunter. He’s still for awhile before walking back to his laptop too. Penny looks at the screen, not letting him see her smile.
*
While riding the bus back into Raleigh, in her mind, Penny replays the last conversation she had with Ben. She does this from time to time to remind herself of why she’s going to so much trouble, and putting herself in real danger. It also distracts her from the nagging paranoia that follows her around where ever she goes. Every person she sees could be an assassin, or the FBI waiting to handcuff her. There are only three other passengers on this bus. Penny’s already sized them up, so she can relax a little.
After Ben joined the marines and was deployed to Afghanistan, Penny rarely spoke with him on the phone, and would only get the occasional letter. This continued after Ben left the marines and went to work for VC Solutions, providing security for American ambassadors all over the Middle East.
So it was unexpected, and something she’s unlikely to forget, when her phone rang one random Tuesday night, and it was Ben. He didn’t sound like himself. Penny chalked that up to not having heard his voice in awhile. The conversation was normal enough. Ben asked her about her job, her new apartment in Raleigh, and teased her about being chronically single. But towards the end, it took a strange turn.
“Don’t believe what they tell you,” Ben said.
“What who tells me?”
“There’s something happening here, Penny.”
“What? Tell me? Are you okay? Ben?”
After a long pause, Ben said, “The path to paradise begins in hell,” then abruptly hung up.
A week later, Penny and her parents were informed that Ben was killed in a terrorist attack. His body was never recovered. They had a small funeral for him with an empty casket. Her parents cried, accepted hugs from family members, and tearfully said goodbye to their son. Penny did those things too, but with that ominous call, she wasn’t able to accept Ben’s death as real.
The bus lurches to a stop. Penny exits, watching the oncoming passengers closely. Her only hope is that they can find incriminating information on VC Solutions before they figure out who she is. And she’s holding onto that hope as tightly as she can, because there’s no chance she’s giving up. She’d rather die with the truth, than live with uncertainty. It’s uncertainty that makes her skin crawl. She’s dealt with anxiety issues for the past five years. To overcome the chest tightening, muscle tensing misery, she has to go towards what she’s afraid of, and stare it down into submission.
Penny plugs her ears with headphones as she begins the walk to her apartment, though she doesn’t turn any music on. She’s hyper aware of her surroundings, and she wants to keep it that way. A text comes through on her cell phone, and the sound travels through the earbuds, into her ears. She yells, clasping her head, causing a few pedestrians to stop and stare at her. She hurries forward and checks her phone. It’s from Em Dash.
They’ve made a hire.
It doesn’t take Penny long to figure out what that means. They’ve hired someone to kill her, which Em Dash had told her was a real possibility. According to the hacker’s sources, VC Solutions often employs hired mercenaries for one job, and pays them well for it. It’s cheaper, and cleaner to have someone disappear rather than having them arrested and dealing with law enforcement. The phone buzzes again in her trembling hand. It’s another text from Em Dash.
I’m prepared to die for this cause. Are you? Do you want to abort mission? Tell me now.
Penny watches the bus she just got off of drive off, and another one drive up. In her head, she calculates the bus route to the Greyhound Station, where she could buy a ticket to somewhere far off. But then what? She doesn’t have the money to find a new place to stay. The barn is set up with everything she needs. And she needs Hunter, even if he is afraid.
The path to paradise begins in hell.
Penny sucks in through her teeth as she types out, “no” and sends it to Em Dash. She walks quickly to the nearest pawn shop with every intention of buying a gun.
*
Penny hasn’t left her apartment for three days, with most of that time being spent huddled in the far corner of her bedroom closet, her laptop balanced on her lap. It’s the only place she feels somewhat safe. She thought she could handle knowing that someone’s been hired to kill her, but she was wrong. At the pawn shop, they wouldn’t sell her a gun without a background check, which Penny was loathe to do. She didn’t want to make it any easier for VC Solutions to track her down. So she settled for mace. The canister sits close by her side on the floor of the closet, and she touches it from time to time. Sometimes the peppery substance gets on her hands, and she has to be careful about touching her face.
She’s gone through the apartment several times, upturning cushions and checking air vents for cameras or bugs. She’s too scared to take a shower. She has to force herself to eat. Despite all of this, she still has to work. She has bills to pay.
So, Penny sits, crouched in a dark closet, crafting social media posts for her clients. She clicks through stock photos of shining, smiling faces, throws on a witty caption, and publishes it to the business’ account. It’s hard for Penny to believe that she actually gets paid for this.
While cropping out the revealing bottom of a woman’s bikini in one of the stock photos, Penny struggles to keep her troubling thoughts at bay. She wishes there was some kind of action she could take, but until Em Dash and his team decode the documents, all she can do is wait.
“You’re fine,” she says out loud. “There’s no threat.”
Penny thinks she hears something, a soft thump. She stops breathing, and listens carefully. Several moments of silence follow. She shakes her head at the paranoia, and gets back to editing the model’s bum, which would be too scandalous for most corporate social media sites.
After her post is published, she hears another noise, louder and more startling than the one before. Something has tipped over and is rolling across the floor. Penny feels her blood drain to her fingertips and toes, making them tingle.
What if he’s here? He knows she’s hiding, and he’s trying to draw her out. How will he do it? A gunshot? Strangling? Slit her throat?
Penny’s stomach ties itself into tight, twisting knots. She’s sweating profusely. She’s absolutely certain that in a few moments, she’ll be dead.
And she’s not just going to sit here and wait for it.
Grabbing her mace, she jumps to her feet, then barrels out of the closet with a loud yell. She holds the mace out in front of her, preparing to douse someone’s face. But the bedroom’s empty. Penny whirls around, making sure no one’s behind her, then tiptoes out into the hallway. The bathroom door is open. She hides behind it, peeking out into the living room.
Something else falls to the ground, this time glass that shatters on impact. Her blood vessels tighten in the most sickening way. She takes a few quick, deep breaths to pump herself up, then bursts into the living room. Instead of being met with gunfire like she expected, Tia, the fat gray cat that belongs to the neighbor, brushes up against Penny’s thigh with a purr. Tia sometimes slips into Penny’s apartment when the door’s open without Penny realizing it.
With her thinking addled, Penny nearly sprays the mace in the cat’s face. She regains her senses, the bends to rub Tia’s head. The adrenaline that pumped through her veins earlier has left her muscles throbbing and dull. The terrifying rush of emotion has left her exhausted.
“I can’t live like this,” Penny says, looking into Tia’s wide green eyes
.
After shooing Tia back into the hallway, Penny takes her phone back into the closet and texts Em Dash.
Who’s the hire?
Em dash responds with a single question mark.
You must know his name, Penny responds.
Em Dash responds with a link, and the caption, You don’t want to mess with this motherfucker.
Just clicking on the link makes Penny’s heart pound. She chews her lip while waiting for the screen to load. Who is it? Who is the man who will kill me?
The webpage is from Wikipedia, a listing for a man named Zane Celick. The name seems vaguely familiar to Penny, like she read it in a newspaper or something. She scrolls down, and before getting to the article, there’s a picture of Zane.
Penny’s heart slows down. She feels something close to relief, and she doesn’t know why. Her eyes widen, fully absorbing a picture of Zane dressed in neatly starched military blues. His chiseled face is stern and serious, but his dark eyes are deep and soft. Maybe it’s his muscular build, or the fact that he’s in uniform, but he gives off a protective aura. Penny feels a pang of disappointment that he’ll be killing her, not protecting her. This is a hero from the fantasies of every straight girl. This is Penny’s assassin.
“My fucking luck,” Penny grumbles, scrolling further.
Penny learns that as a special warfare operator with the Navy Seals, Zane was a part of the team that assassinated Iman Hussan, the notorious terrorist behind the Brooklyn Bridge attack that killed hundreds of Americans. The government had been hunting Hussan for ten years before Zane and his team found him. It’s rumored that Zane was the one who delivered the fatal shot, right between Hussan’s eyes, though it hasn’t been confirmed by official sources.
Penny scrolls back up to Zane’s picture. She doesn’t spend a lot of her time lusting over attractive men, but Zane’s handsomeness can’t be denied. She studies his dark eyes, which seem to be hiding something she can’t put her finger on. How could someone so heroic, so noble, accept a paycheck for taking another’s life? Unless, of course, VC Solutions told Zane that Penny is as bad as Iman Hussan. Then it wouldn’t be any problem for Zane at all.
Assassin In My Bed Page 3
