Game of Shadows

by Amanda K. Byrne

  She knew. All those nights I came in after running drills with Turner, the self-defense courses, the sneaking around to keep her in the dark—she knew.

  And she didn’t do a fucking thing about it.

  The knife comes down in rapid thunks, the scent of onions stinging my nose, blurring my vision. I put the knife aside and shut my eyes, willing the fury and desperate sadness back into their boxes where they belong.

  Strong fingers squeeze the nape of my neck, lips flutter against my temple, the warmth of him soaking into my skin, and the sting magnifies and spreads.

  Then it’s gone, and when I open my eyes, they’ve moved into the living room.

  I finish chopping the vegetables for the sauce, turn on the burner, and toss the pepper and onion into the pot once the oil heats. Once the vegetables are mostly cooked through, I add the tomatoes. I leave the sauce to simmer and wander over to the couch. “Nick said something about more pictures?” Constantine nods, and I stifle a sigh. “After dinner. I’ll look through the rest of them after dinner.”

  “Good. We need to move on this fast. And you,” he says to Nick, “have to stop hiding out. That deal you wanted? Isaiah’s about to tank it.”

  Nick rubs a hand over his jaw. “Shit. When’s the meeting?”

  “Tomorrow. One o’clock.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

  Just like that, Nick’s going back to his normal life with no mention of his safety. Though he’s had plenty to say about mine. Bastard.

  They continue to talk about the “deal” Nick’s been angling while my thoughts darken. Regret and resentment clash in my chest. I’ve lost so much in so little time, and Nick hasn’t sacrificed a thing. I return to the kitchen, locate a skillet, and open the packages of turkey and chorizo.

  Constantine materializes next to me while I’m poking at the browning meat. “That smells incredible.” He flashes his dimple at me. “What do I have to do to get you to leave him?”

  One side of my mouth kicks up in a smile I don’t feel. “Nothing. We’re not together.”

  The incredulity on his face would be amusing if I wasn’t wallowing in a pool of self-pity. “Get out of the kitchen before you ruin dinner.” I nudge him away with my hip.

  After a long, drawn-out, uncomfortable hesitation, he leaves, and I continue dinner preparations, adding the meat to the sauce, cooking the pasta, making a salad they probably won’t eat.

  I call them to dinner, and we eat at the counter, perched on stools, slurping spaghetti. They continue their work conversation while I concentrate on making my food disappear as quickly as possible so I can escape.

  The rain hasn’t started by the time I’m done eating, and they’re still engrossed in the details of whatever’s going down tomorrow. I leave them to it and walk out onto the balcony, pulling on Nick’s jacket when I step outside.

  Palm trees whip around as the wind chases itself up from the water, loosening more strands of hair and blowing them into my face. I wrap my hands around the metal railing, wishing it would bend, wishing I had an outlet for the oily black seeping through my veins. Life’s not always fair, but do all the unfair things have to happen at once?

  I have to take a break from school, if not drop out completely. Unavoidable, but it’s not the end of the world.

  I can’t go back to my apartment.

  I won’t go back to my parents.

  I have to lie to my best friend.

  All I’ve got left is myself.

  “You ready?” Nick’s in the doorway, not quite filling it but taking up all the space anyway. He does that, I’ve noticed, takes up all the space, sucks the air from the room when I’m not paying attention, and then I’m dizzy and lightheaded. Outside, there’s air. Space. The sky might promise rain, and it might be cooler than I’d like, but I’m not forced to sacrifice my air and space to him.

  Sometimes I don’t have a choice. Like now. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can all move on, and I’ll be able to start on piecing together my new start.

  “Yeah.” I don’t move, the cold metal soaking through the fabric of his jacket. “Would you drop me off on campus tomorrow before your meeting?” I can stop by the registrar’s office and find out if a leave of absence is possible, at least. See Denise. Pretend everything’s okay for a few hours. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Or I can take the bus or something back here.” I’ll have the place to myself. Time alone, time to lay out a plan without distraction. The thought is wholly unappealing.

  “Campus will be crowded,” I add, when he doesn’t say anything. “Plenty of people around, low chance someone will try to take me out.” It’s a thin, thin thread I’m clinging to, this last sliver of normal.

  His response comes an eternity later. The interim he spent scrutinizing my face, my neck, my body, every part of me he can see. “Fine.”

  Relieved, I nod and move toward him, hoping he’ll step aside to allow me to pass. He does, thank God, and I take off his jacket and toss it on the couch, heading for the spare room.

  Constantine’s already got a picture up on the monitor. I peer at it. “No.”

  He clicks on the next one, and we wash, rinse, repeat ourselves for the next few minutes. “Dom locking you in the tower tomorrow?”

  “He’s taking me to campus before his meeting. Got some things to take care of there. No,” I say and point at the monitor. The picture on the screen is of a truly scruffy man, patchy stubble, hair that needs a lion tamer, bloodshot eyes.

  Constantine sits back, his hand falling off the mouse. “You trying to make him crazy?”

  “It’s a side benefit. Look, he gets to go back to his life, no harm, no foul. Me? My apartment’s a crime scene twice over. And that’s the least of it. He’s the one who decided I needed protecting. If it were up to me, I’d be long gone.” I pull the elastic from the end of my braid and work my fingers through my hair. “Are there more?”

  We spend another half hour staring at the screen, long enough for my eyes to start burning. Long enough for me to start thinking Steven, the heroin abuser, will be the only lead. Long enough for me to relax, secure in the knowledge that the rest of those memories will stay where they belong. Constantine brings up the next picture, and I open my mouth to say “no” when the face triggers a memory.

  My throat closes over.

  Dark hair and eyes, typical of this family I’m starting to think. Good looking.

  He was so calm.

  He knew. He knew and hadn’t fought. Stilled the moment I jumped on his back and locked my knees at his hips. He’d lowered himself to the floor without the aid of my Taser. Slicing through his carotid was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  “Cass?”

  I try to swallow. The last job. Eleven months ago, the one that marked “The End” on my short career. “Him.” The word comes out strangled.

  Every Wednesday, he went to this little cafe in Silverlake. Had a cup of coffee, maybe read the paper. Fridays he’d cut out from work early. I trailed him to the beach once. I almost forfeited the job then, standing on the beach, watching him surf. He wasn’t very good. Fell off his board more often than he remained upright.

  I watched arguments and cold assessments, women sauntering up to him. He gave them a once over before he waved them off. He held stealth meetings in his car.

  “Marc.” Nick’s voice rocks me out of my stupor. “He’s a cousin. Second or third, I think. No immediate family. Parents both dead, estranged from his sister. Didn’t dick around. Worked for me for a while. Good guy, well liked, close with a few of the members of the organization. No idea who ordered the hit?”

  Please. We’ve been over this.

  He gives me a small, humorless smile. “Right. Con, you remember what he controlled, what he ran?”

  “Didn’t have his own piece. Ran it for someone else, but didn’t complain. Never seemed to want anything more than what he had. Escor
ts, mostly. Think he kept an eye on one of the supply lines, moved product when necessary.”

  I need to sit down before my legs give out. I lower myself to the floor. “You said he doesn’t have family? No deals gone bad?” He was too accepting. When I use the knife, there’s almost always a struggle. It doesn’t last long, but it’s there. It’s a hallmark of the game. “He didn’t fight me,” I whisper. “It was almost like he knew it was coming.” He had to know. If he hadn’t been expecting me, wasn’t ready to die, he wouldn’t have gone on his knees before my blade met his skin.

  An odd thought pierces the fog. “Do you have a high suicide rate? In the family?”

  Nick stares down at me. “Suicide by assassin? People do that?”

  “Probably. It’s not like we keep statistics or anything. The Order is long gone.”

  “Order?” Constantine interrupts.

  I pick at my thumbnail. “Order of Assassins. Dates back to around the First Crusade.” I tuck my thumb into my fist to avoid picking at it. “It’s possible he ordered the hit on himself. He knew I was there. He could have gotten away, defended himself, something, and chose not to.” I stand, barricading the images of Marc into their corner. “I need to call Denise. The police have probably called her by now.”

  When I brush by Nick, he stops me, closing his fingers around my wrist, his hold tight and bruising. “The cops have likely figured out you’re not staying with your parents.”

  He’s right. Which means Denise probably knows, too, and is freaking out even more. My phone’s been off all day. Knowing her, she’s had a meltdown by now. “What do I tell her? The cops find out I’m with you, they’ll just have more questions for her.” Questions she doesn’t deserve.

  His lips spread in a humorless smile. “Give the police a little credit. They don’t have evidence, and they’re unlikely to question her about my criminal activities. Go ahead and tell her you’re with me. She doesn’t know my last name, so I doubt they’ll connect me with you.”

  Josef’s blank gaze flashes in front of my eyes. “I wonder,” I say slowly, “if I ought to talk to them myself. It’d be pretty believable if I tell them I got to the apartment first, found the door open, and saw a dead guy and freaked out.”

  “And they’ll ask you where you’ve been. No doubt they’ve talked to your parents already.”

  He’s right. Again. I need an alibi, and I need one quick.

  His hold loosens, his thumb rubbing soft circles along my inner wrist. An idea forms. I could do this. It would work since more than one person’s already seen me panting after him. I paste on a cheery grin, bounce up on my toes, and kiss him, pushing the last thoughts of Marc from my head. “You’ll just have to pretend to be my boyfriend, then.”

  As his gaze turns calculating, I free my wrist, walk through the bathroom to the bedroom, and shut the door behind me. I don’t breathe until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, air leaving my lungs in a long, shaky exhalation. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing with my sanity as the prize. The longer we play, the closer I get to a total shut down. It’s either that or go insane with guilt. I need a lifeline if I’m going to stand any chance of holding on to the sunnier, cleaner side of myself.

  I swipe my phone from the bedside table, lay down, and power it on.

  “Denise? It’s Cass.”

  Chapter 16

  The bandage is too noticeable. It’s too warm out for a turtleneck, not that I own one, and the neckline of my shirt doesn’t come high enough. Grumbling, I pull out more gauze and trim it down, then stare at it lying on the counter.

  It’s going to show. There’s no getting around it. Denise will see it, she’ll ask questions, and I can’t think of a single lie that carries a hint of plausibility.

  Stumped, I sit on the edge of the tub, staring at the gauze. The cut is small but still very pink, and I probably should keep it covered for a while longer.

  “You almost ready?” Nick calls through the door. I get up and open it.

  “Any suggestions?” I point at the offending gauze. “Either I need to cover it up, or I need a plausible story for Denise. She’s scared enough as it is.”

  He washes his hands and picks up the gauze and medical tape. The sight of him kneeling on the floor in front of me makes my breath catch in my throat. He’s just so…gorgeous. Competence has never looked so sexy.

  “Scarf?” He holds the gauze in place with one hand, passing me the tape with the other. I rip off a piece and hand it to him.

  “Only scarf I have is the one I showed up in, and it’s in the trash. Too bloody.” He smooths on the tape, fingers brushing my skin, sending tiny jolts of electricity racing through my body. I hand him another piece of tape, and he repeats the process on the other side.

  He studies his handiwork, thumb rubbing the edge of the tape. Confusion simmers in the depth of his gaze. “We’ll stop by Lia’s. I don’t think she’s got class today.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Is that a good idea?” The way he’s described his youngest sister, I get the impression she doesn’t know much about the family business.

  His thumb drifts up my neck to my jaw, tracing the line. My heart skitters against my rib cage. “Lia has an ever-multiplying collection of scarves.” The pad presses into my lower lip, the tip dipping inside my mouth. “You can borrow one of hers.”

  He needs to stop touching me. What was I thinking, getting him used to my kisses, trying to scramble his brain enough he’d forget the whole age difference thing? I killed his cousin. He should be furious. I have to get off this see-saw. Lusty, molten heat one moment, icy indifference the next, and that’s just in my own body. Add in Nick’s ability to switch on and off in a blink, and my brain’s the one that’s scrambled. Not his.

  I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. “We should go.” The words come out breathy, and all I want is to lean forward and kiss him.

  So I pull his hand away and stand. My legs wobble like a newborn foal’s as I make my way to the bedroom. I stick my phone into my pocket and follow Nick into the hallway. We descend the stairs to the garage, ignoring each other as we take our seats and buckle our belts.

  He slides his phone out of his pocket a few blocks away and swipes his thumb across the screen. Holding the phone to his ear, his eyes on the road, I tuck my hands under my thighs to squash the urge to soothe the jumping muscle in his jaw. “Lia? You at home?”

  I stare out the window.

  “Good. I’ll be there in about an hour. I need a favor.” The phone clatters against hard plastic. He’s dumped the phone in one of the cup holders. “She’s at home.”

  I go back to the window. “Any thoughts on what the next step should be?” Priorities, Cass. Reorganize your priorities. Learning who’s the real target and resolving the issue should be mine. Nick and the manic lust he inspires should not be on that list.

  The muscle’s still ticking. I free a hand and brush my fingers over it. His skin’s a study in contrasts, rough with stubble, but warm and smooth in places, that tic bumping under my fingertips. I want to feel it under my tongue.

  “Con’s checking out the piece Marc ran, see if anything unusual pops there.” Nick clasps my hand and pulls it to his mouth, kisses the palm. The sweetness of the kiss confuses the hell out of me and ties my stomach in a big, fat knot. It tightens further when he brings my fingertips to his lips, kissing them one by one. “You always checked your e-mail from your laptop?”

  “Or my phone.” He sets the knot on fire by nipping into the sensitive pad of my index finger. Warmth pools between my legs, spreading to eradicate the soft, squishy feeling he’d brought on earlier. I bite my lip to hold in a moan.

  “I want to see if there’s any trace of Marc’s job on your computer.”

  Which means breaking into my apartment. Again. Talk about a downer. It washes over me, sluicing away the desire and replacing it with something far more practical. Resignation. He laces his fingers through
mine and lowers our hands to my thigh. I swallow a sigh. “Fine. I doubt you’ll find anything, but you’re welcome to try.”

  His grin blinds me, robbing me of coherent thought for a long, long moment. “Underestimate me at your own risk.” Attention back on the road, he continues. “My sister, George, was close with him. Closer than I was, certainly. If you’re right, and this was suicide by assassin, she might be able to tell us how fucked up he was toward the end. Though that wouldn’t explain the attempt on your life.”

  Speak. I’m supposed to speak now, say something intelligent. Nick’s hand is warm and strong and entirely too distracting. “It might if someone else didn’t think he needed to die. I do have an M.O. You ask the right questions, you can figure out who handled what hit. As for who would have tried to kill me, it’s the same question you asked about Steven. Who would have been angry about his death? Doesn’t have to be family. Doesn’t have to be for sentimental reasons. Could be business related.” Business. Steven was an addict, but he’d had a position in the family. “What did Steven do? Was he trusted with anything like Marc?”

  He snorts. “Steven lost us more business in the last year he was alive than we’d lost in the previous five years. Everything was turned over to other people about three months before he was killed.”

  Traffic into the city is moving, for once, and the remainder of the drive races by. Nick finds a spot in a parking garage and I climb out, scanning the dim interior. No SUVs skid up next to us, no tall, grim-faced men pull guns and start firing.

  Liana’s apartment is several blocks away. Nick’s shoulders are tense the entire walk over. The moment we’re in the elevator, he rounds on me. “There’s a car in the underground garage. Lia has the keys. Take that to campus. Text me when you’re ready to leave. You know how to lose a tail?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll send you the address I’ll be at. Meet me there.”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” I hedge. When he opens his mouth to respond, I cut him off. “I need some time, Nick. Stopping at the registrar’s office is on the list. I’m going to the police. Or at least calling them. And I need to see Denise.” I don’t know what I’ll say to her, have no idea what sort of shape she’s in, but I’ve fallen down on the friend job the last few days, and I have to make it up to her.