Assassin Territory [Assassins Book 1]

by C. L. Scholey

  Lando made his way back to the fire. He would leave tomorrow, after she died. It didn’t seem feasible she would survive the cold night. At least tucked in the small crevice-like cave, he doubted a wild animal would get her.

  * * * *

  Christy awoke, her brain foggy. Her body heat within the tight proximity was enough to keep her from freezing to death, just barely. Her muscles screamed in agony when she moved painstakingly from her little safe haven, shoving the branch out ahead of her. Her head emerged to peek about the clear, bright morning. Her hand settled on the food Lando must have mistakenly dropped on the ground and she ripped the paper off, choking the sweet chocolate down her agonized throat, the whole while wondering if he would come back in search of it. She emerged with care from her hiding place, fearful he would grab her at any second.

  Christy approached the plane, her movements exaggerated from pain, her feet barely making any distinguishable sound as she took each step with care to avoid anything that might snap. Her gaze dancing fearfully around, she caught sight of her large tormentor. She ducked when she noted him standing as if listening to something. He wasn’t gazing in her direction and for a second she worried about bears. He began stomping out his fire. Hidden behind a huge tree, she watched as Lando slung her duffel bag to his broad shoulder. He glanced about again and Christy held her breath. After a moment, he moved off into the woods. She watched, heart in mouth, as he disappeared from her sight.

  With caution Christy crept from around the tree, the tendrils of dying smoke drew her. She stuck her hands into the hot, dead ashes, hardly noticing their warmth, she was so terribly cold. She whimpered as she glanced around, unable to help herself. She was again completely alone. Her frantic, darting gaze settled on the ground before her, resting on a small package.

  With hesitant excitement, Christy reached out her dirty, soot-covered hand and snapped up the small bag of opened peanuts lying on the ground. Lando had again been careless. Dumping the entire contents into her eager mouth, Christy rose. She knew instinctively there would be nothing left in the plane. Most assuredly, he’d found everything down to used gum or lint-covered mints left under the seats. She realized she couldn’t look again at Sam’s cold, lifeless body. He was the first person she’d allowed her defenses to drop with since her ex-boyfriend. They’d become close over this last week. She was painfully aware if her ex-boyfriend, Chad, were here he would be haranguing her on how useless she was and hitting her to add to her misery. Christy gazed at the crumpled plane. Only death was there.

  Her gaze darted with trepidation at the dense foliage surrounding her, engulfing her, taunting her with its devious malevolence. Where should she go? She couldn’t stay alone with three dead bodies that would soon decompose, drawing animals, deadly animals, to their scent—to her. What should she do? Which direction should she take? What if she wandered farther into nothingness? She was so alone, there was no one.

  There is someone.

  She was not completely alone; there was another living breathing soul, a distant oasis that could stay at arm’s length—if she were careful. Maybe Lando would know where to find civilization. After a brief moment of indecisive hesitation, she began walking after Lando. He wouldn’t think she would be foolish enough to trail him. Christy was desperate. Maybe he would again get careless and drop more food.

  * * * *

  Lando had been aware of Christy’s movements as she approached the plane. He unobtrusively watched as she dropped down to hide from him. He was amazed she still lived. He had seen the bruising on her hands, neck, and face. He suspected she sported broken bones from the painful way she favored areas of her body. Still, she persevered. He promised not to hurt her, but realized he made the promise under false pretenses. Besides, he was more than able to kill without causing someone pain. Perhaps he was just being cowardly.

  Grudgingly, he admitted that was, in fact, true. He didn’t want to take her life, and he was annoyed with her for placing him in this position. When he saw she survived the night, he almost felt like cheering. She was tougher than she looked; he had to give her credit. Still, he was faced with the dilemma of what to do with her.

  When the package of nuts fell to the ground, Lando almost picked them up, and then decided against it. Let her have them, a voice came loudly to mind. In his line of work, he was used to listening to gut feelings. Why not? Being somewhat of a skillful professional when it came to survival in human nature, he knew she would trail him. Frightening or not, he was the only other human out here. She didn’t have much choice.

  He would start out slow. It wouldn’t take long for her to fall from exhaustion. When she did, he could then end her suffering. Feeling resolved, Lando set out at a steady pace, making sure she was following him. He lagged occasionally when she fell too far behind, and made a grand show of coughing or yawning with exaggeration and rubbing at closed eyes when she almost stumbled on or into him by accident.

  They trudged on for hours through the dense foliage, but this time when Lando stopped to allow Christy time to catch up with him, she didn’t. He was unable to detect her lumbering, slow approach and soon realized she was no longer following him. Feeling her time was now imminent, Lando backtracked and came across her huddled form in a small clearing. She was weeping. Her body rocked with the intensity of her despair.

  “You were right.” He heard her ragged breath cry out hopelessly to the gentle current of wind, as though it would take a message to its destination. “I am useless. Wouldn’t you be laughing now if you could see me like this?”

  Angered, Lando almost approached her. She was anything but useless. Even powerful men he had known would have succumbed faster than she was. But he knew he could offer her no comfort while she had her wits about her, her fear of him was too great.

  Lando rubbed at his drawn face. It was early afternoon. There were at least three hours of traveling time. She would be following him no more this day, he was certain, unless he intervened.

  “Damn,” Lando bellowed.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched as Christy flew to her feet, stumbled, recovered, and, limping heavily, raced to hide behind a large tree.

  Lando came out into the small clearing; he made a grand show of looking at the ground as if in search of something important. “I must have dropped it around here somewhere…there you are.” Lando bent over and picked up an imaginary item. He then rose and made a grand show of stretching and yawning. “Damn, I’m so tired.”

  Lando settled down against a large rock. He made a point of removing a package containing two large, oatmeal raisin cookies. Thankfully Howard had been a packrat and had a variety of goodies sequestered away aboard his plane. Lando noisily ate one, then again yawned with exaggerated movements. He closed his eyes and was soon ‘snoring.’ The other cookie fell to the ground, seemingly unnoticed.

  * * * *

  From her hidden position, Christy gazed longingly at the food. Her tummy rumbled, yet without its prior intensity. Christy felt certain even that part of her anatomy was feeling her exhaustion. Gingerly, she lay back against the tree feeling grateful. She couldn’t have gone another inch without rest. Chad beat her once to the point she didn’t know if she could go on. She survived then, and escaped. Lando was far enough away for escape, and close enough for comfort. Positive she remained undetected, Christy closed her eyes and succumbed to her encompassing weariness.

  * * * *

  Lando approached Christy’s sleeping form with caution, his movements practiced and precise, honed after years of intense trailing and tracking. She lay curled in a tight ball; her small fisted hand was tucked under her chin.

  Lando studied her delicate features with intensity. She was badly bruised. Deep lavender circles were forming under tired eyes. He wished he could lift her shirt to check out her ribs. Perhaps she could be saved. Her determination was proving to be admirable. She really was tougher than she looked. Maybe if she could follow him long enough, he could propel her to safety
. The dilemma of how to aid her would prove bothersome. Besides, Lando had never saved a life, just taken them. Hopefully that part of his past was just that—past.

  Lando rose to return to his previous position. Night would soon be falling; he would require a safer shelter. This neck of the woods was decidedly dangerous. He was uncertain as to what to do with the girl.

  Christy.

  “Fine damn it, Christy.”

  The rational part of him screamed to just end her suffering while she lay vulnerable out in the open; the other decidedly louder voice implored him to allow her to live. Lando was irritated. Since when had he developed a conscience?

  Coming to a conclusion, Lando removed one of Christy’s thick hoodies from the duffel bag. He thought at the time it might make a decent pillow. Now balling it under his head, he coughed. He wanted to get moving and he needed to wake her. When he stopped next it would be closer to dark and it would be getting colder. Though she was now in Howard’s serviceable jacket, it might not be enough; the temperature would dip substantially, and she might freeze to death. She’d need the hood to help maintain body heat.

  He noted with annoyance Christy hadn’t stirred. He coughed again, only louder. No response. Angrily, Lando launched into a coughing spasm that would have impressed a director if he were playing a dying scene. He noted with evil satisfaction Christy jumped to her feet, petrified. Lando resisted the urge to chuckle at her discomposure. Instead, he rose with exaggerated stretches and yawns, allowing the hoodie to fall behind him onto the ground. He grabbed up the duffel bag and, leaving the cookie and clothing behind, he once more trudged off at a slow pace.

  Chapter 3

  Christy gazed at the blazing fire with longing. After Lando set out, she discovered the cookie and her hoodie mistakenly left behind. She removed Howard’s and her coat, donned the clothing, and dressed again. She almost stepped on the cookie. Christy broke it in half; one half she tucked safely in her pocket, the other she savored, letting it melt on her tongue to lengthen the experience and aid her sore throat. She wondered at Lando’s carelessness. Perhaps he was feeling as exhausted as she was. He was coughing a lot. Perhaps pneumonia was setting in.

  Darkness descended to aid in her fear. It was as though every living creature came to life when she couldn’t see anything. Lando’s roaring fire beckoned in a taunting gesture from a few feet away. Christy had been forced to dive for cover as he occasionally wandered in her direction in his pursuit of firewood. The built up blaze of orange and red colors danced, acting as a teasing magnet. Christy would like nothing more than to cuddle up closer to it. She ventured as close as she dared, protected by the darkness, wincing as sticks snapped under her feet and old dry leaves crunched.

  Lando appeared unconcerned, and unaware, she absently wondered how acute his hearing was; she felt she was making a god-awful racket. But he lay back, his arms tucked under his head, his back resting against a huge rock, his sleepy eyes fixed on the crackling fire. Christy noted with some annoyance he was using one of her Angora sweaters as a pillow and a pair of her thick thermal socks as mittens. Irritated, she thought if she were just a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier she would give him what for. Then, on a soft sigh, she realized he would still be a great deal bigger than she was and most likely be able to kick her behind.

  Settling back, Christy closed her eyes. Even though she could only barely feel the warmth of the flames, the soft snapping and crackling sounds were comforting. She envisioned being back in her parents’ home. There was a wonderful marble fireplace her father would light on the few rare weekends he wasn’t working, a clear indication to Christy he would be remaining home with his family for the day. Her father had been a doctor, working his way up the corporate ladder to claim well-earned status on the board of directors. Her wonderful, loving mother had been a social butterfly. She loved to organize events and charity affairs.

  Christy had met Chad at one of her mother’s gala affairs. An aspiring young intern who revered her father, and someone her mother approved of. They planned on being married. When her parents were killed in a tragic car accident, Chad became domineering. He decided he should be the one to control all of their finances. Whenever Christy protested, Chad would become angry.

  The name calling started shortly thereafter; he slapped at her occasionally. The violence worsened to such a degree Christy had to remain home to conceal black eyes. She wore long shirts in summer to cover the bruises; she lied to her friends so often no one called her anymore. She spent hours crying from painful hurtful words of how useless she was until she came to believe Chad. She must be worthless if such a standup member of society thought her scum. Then finally one day, after she had voiced a quiet concern, Chad made a fist and before she knew what happened he hit her, hard, sending her reeling. She cowered in a corner, terrified of him, her arms splayed before her in a frightened, pleading gesture. Never before had she been punched.

  She never knew how much agony a man’s hands could inflict. The blow sent her tumbling head first into the wall and, horrified, she heard an awful snap as her arm came up to ease her descent, but she connected with tile. Her eyes saw stars. Her ribs cracked into a bar stool making it tumble near her ankles. She cried pitifully up at him in an agonized daze. Chad was supposed to love her; they were supposed to get married. Now she was broken.

  With a look of seething contempt, Chad had grabbed her hair and called her foul names until she could scream no more. He back handed her face until she tasted blood. She curled into a ball when he shoved her to the floor telling her this was her fault, everything was her fault. He stormed from the house. Christy caught her gaze reflected in the silver of the island in the kitchen. She had no clue who she was. Nobody stared back at her. Her parents had loved her. She thought she heard her mother’s voice in her ear telling her to get away. Christy deserved to be a somebody again. She realized, as her blood pooled near her feet, it was over; she would never spend the rest of her life being abused. Her self-respect was worth more than that. But the damage was done and Christy was still paying the price.

  Christy acquired a restraining order, had Chad arrested, broke their engagement, sold her parents’ home, and fled to the city, where she hid for months until the pull of photography was too hard to ignore. Finding a quiet job, she refused to allow anyone to get close enough to hurt her again. Chad basically paid his way to freedom and found another petite blonde to torment.

  Christy shifted into a more comfortable position, unable to sleep. Though she liked being outdoors, she didn’t like being terrified out of her mind. The darkness was engulfing. Although the starlight was brilliant, she couldn’t even make out her hand in front of her face. The cabin where she and Sam stayed was, for the most part, modernly convenient. At night when she felt fearful in the dead quiet, she just needed to listen for Sam’s soft snoring from across the hall.

  When Christy vacationed with her parents, it had always been to secluded five star resorts. Never once had she been camping. Her mother’s idea of roughing it was when the hotel room hadn’t come with a blow dryer. Christy wondered if her passion for wild animals was the result of her not being allowed to explore the great outdoors. Being her parents’ only child, and having no other family, they were both terribly strict and overprotective, to the point where even her friends had been hand-selected. As a result, none were ever close. Christy never once had the pleasure of a true best friend.

  When her parents died and Chad turned on her, she was all alone. She thought nothing could ever feel so frightening. Now she knew she had been mistaken. She remembered Sam’s teasing warning about other more horrible things that walked out in the world. He had been right. She was living it; out in the middle of nowhere, hurting and cold. Lost, alone, and starving. Worse was the fact she was only a few feet away from a merciless murderer, hoping beyond hope he knew where they were heading.

  Christy savored the other half of her cookie and closed her eyes. Though afraid, she gave in to her co
mpelling exhaustion, pulled herself into a tight ball, and slept.

  * * * *

  Lando was aware the moment Christy fell asleep. She began weeping, and occasionally cried out for her mother. He knew she wouldn’t be foolish enough to make those noises while awake. He had ignored her creeping body as she moved closer to the fire. She ventured so near, he briefly wondered if she were about to climb into his lap. Her attempts at being silent were about as successful as a drunken goat in a china store, a big, clomping goat.

  After almost stumbling on her while looking numerous times for kindling, Lando had been tempted to shout at her. Was she really so naive as to think he couldn’t see her? Did she think him that stupid and unobservant? He could only cough so often; his throat was starting to protest. No wonder he never strove to save a life. He was ready to kill her out of annoyance.

  Feeling grouchy, Lando crossed his arms over his chest. What he should really do is pick her up and bring her over to the fire, her fear of him be damned. She would either get used to him or die of fright. The last thought is the one that stopped him. He had seen people expire from sheer fear. Knowing he was the cause on a few occasions made him grimace.

  Lando considered himself a real hard ass. He’d grown up alone, and as an adult he stayed alone. He preferred it that way; no one to nag him, no commitments. No one to hold anything threateningly over his head. Once again, his thoughts reflected back. Lando was a true professional. He took care of the filth even the cops wouldn’t go near. He took out the meanest of the mean. He made cold, evil men beg in terror. The women he slept with would stab him in the back if given a chance; they found him dangerous and exciting. The ones who were out for a cheap thrill got more than they bargained for with him. They usually fled, frightened for their lives. Christy’s terror-stricken face flashed before Lando’s eyes.

  He hardly said a word to her and she had been so afraid. Gentle, petite women like her usually never looked twice at him, unless they looked back to see if he was chasing them. Oh, he had been told often enough he was handsome, devilishly so; yet, there was something in his eyes, or perhaps lack thereof, they found disturbing.