“So, that’s the reason you wanted me to look into Bailey’s background?” Byron stated. Marc nodded because there was no point in denying it. “I need to know everything that you find out about this guy,” Marc insisted.
They left the basement and went into the living room. Byron sat down, leaned forward, and let his forearms rest on his knees. “It’s weird because I can’t find anything from before the three years that he’s living here. Whatever it is that Bailey is hiding, someone is hell bend on keeping it a secret,” a grim-looking Byron said. Then the man smiled. “I’m in my study if you need me,” he said suddenly. “Did inspiration hit you?” Marc chuckled. Byron didn’t answer because he had already left the room.
It was after eleven o’clock that evening when a grim-looking Byron strode into the living room. “I need a beer,” he said as he went into the kitchen and returned with two bottles. Marc frowned because Byron looked troubled, and that was a bad sign.
“I hit wall after wall. It’s like trying to tear down a concrete wall with a kitchen knife,” Byron growled. Marc took a swig of his beer and eyed his younger brother intently. “So, you still couldn’t find out anything beyond those last three years?” Marc asked. Byron nodded. “However, I’m not giving up. I still need to hack the FBI and the CIA. If they don’t have any information about this Bailey guy, then they must have created an artificial human and let him loose in the world three years ago.” Byron joked, but Marc could tell that it didn’t sit well with Byron.
Chapter Twelve
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Keith asked when they passed shops that were in the same street as the Flower Hut. Bailey inhaled and exhaled, “It feels good. I feel better; thank you, Keith; it was just what I needed,” Bailey said. Keith noticed that Bailey didn’t smile. The man hadn’t smiled since Brendan’s death.
“We could have coffee? I know that I would like one,” Keith said cautiously. Bailey looked thoughtful. Should he do Keith a favor and have coffee with the man? If it were up to him, Bailey would go home and watch some TV. As it was, Keith had done so much for him those last few days that he felt obligated to have coffee with him. So, he agreed, and they ended up at Star Lounge, a coffee shop where they served all kinds of hot and cold drinks and delicious pastries.
Keith had ordered coffee and a piece of apple pie, and Bailey wanted fresh mint tea. “Don’t you want to try some?” Keith said as he held a piece of his apple pie in front of Bailey. Bailey made a face because he didn’t like apple pie. Keith laughed, and to his astonishment, Bailey started laughing too.
“Thank you,” Bailey said as they returned to the shop again. Keith had closed the flower shop to have time for Bailey. He knew that he had done the right thing when Bailey had started laughing when they were at Star Lounge. However, when they had arrived at the flower shop, Bailey had told Keith that he would go upstairs to his apartment and watch TV for a while. Keith had almost invited Bailey for dinner, but he had held back at the last minute.
Bailey had been out into the world again, today and that was more than Keith could have hoped for. “Alright, but promise me that you call me, day or night. If you want to talk, or if you feel threatened, you call me,” Keith urged. Bailey nodded, then he stunned Keith by hugging him. Keith swallowed hard; this wasn’t something that he had expected.
Keith didn’t hesitate but hugged Bailey fiercely, and at that moment he made a silent vow that he would protect Bailey with his life. “Now go, and watch TV. I’ll check if the flowers have enough water, then I’ll be going home too,” said Keith.
“I will start working again tomorrow,” Bailey suddenly said. Keith raised one eyebrow. “That’s great. Shall I come by and help out?” a smiling Keith offered. “Would you do that for me?” “Sure, we could do lunch at the Daily Meal,” Keith hoped that Bailey would say yes because he was in a good place right now, and Keith wanted to keep Bailey there. The man had suffered tremendously when he had lost his brother.
Bailey looked thoughtful. “Can I decide on that tomorrow?” he said, and to his relief, Keith told him that it wasn’t a problem. Keith left after Bailey had promised the man that he would call him if things went south. Bailey closed the shop and went up the stairs that led to his apartment.
Bailey woke early the following day; he drank coffee and managed even to eat something. When he strode into the shop, Bailey unlocked the front door, swung it open, and moved one of the flower racks outside, so customers knew that the shop was open for business.
It was one PM when Keith suggested closing the Flower Hut for an hour to have lunch. Bailey was reluctant because he wasn’t hungry, but he also knew that starving himself wasn’t an option either. So, much to Keith’s delight, he agreed. They went to the Daily Meal, and Bailey had surprised himself when he had eaten all of his French fries and the hamburger he had ordered.
Two weeks had gone by since Brendan’s violent death, and Bailey had been destroyed to hear what the actual reason for the accident was. Brendan had died because someone had placed a bomb under Bailey’s car. Bailey knew what that meant, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. Bailey had inherited Vintage Treasures, Brendan’s antique shop. He didn’t want it because what did he know about antique things? Right, nothing. He didn’t want to sell the shop either; after all, it had been Brendan’s baby.
Keith had offered to manage Vintage Treasures for a while until Bailey had figured out what he wanted to do with it, and Bailey had accepted the offer without hesitation. Bailey had returned to the shop and strode to the back to sort the flowers that had arrived that morning. Keith would open Vintage Treasures, Brendan’s antique shop the following day. Well, it was more watching over the man. Keith was upfront helping a customer when the bell ringing let him know that someone entered the shop. His smile disappeared when he saw who it was that came into the shop.
“What do you want?” Keith asked. Marc raised one eyebrow. “I’m here to see Bailey,” he answered. Marc managed to keep his tone friendly because he didn’t want to antagonize this man. “As I told you before, Bailey is resting, and he doesn’t want to see anyone. Why are you interested in Bailey anyway?” Keith questioned.
“Well, that’s none of your business. And Bailey is an adult, so that means that he can decide for himself if he wants to see me or not,” Marc retorted. Even now that he was agitated by Keith, Marc managed to keep his voice even. The friendly tone, however, was gone, and Keith had noticed it too because he said. “Listen, Bailey is going through a rough time right now. So, why don’t you leave him alone? I’ll tell him that you were here, and then it’s up to Bailey if he wants to see you.”
Marc sighed because there was nothing that he could do right now except maybe kill the man, which was not an option. The assassin didn’t like Keith, but that didn’t mean that he would kill the man. Marc turned and headed for the front door when he heard someone calling his name. He smiled because Marc knew who that voice belonged to.
“Marc?” Bailey repeated when the man didn’t turn. Marc turned, and his smile vanished when he saw the sunken eyes, pale face, and hollow look. Was it possible that this wasn’t Fabian Copely? Marc saw a broken man standing in front of him.
“Hey, Bailey. How are you?” Marc inquired cautiously; his tone was sympathetic. Bailey looked frail, like the man could drop dead any minute. “I don’t know,” Bailey whispered, and it stunned him that he had given the man an honest answer. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you how sorry I am that you lost your brother,” Marc said quietly. “Thank you,” Bailey whispered. Marc’s instinct told him to leave, but somehow he couldn’t make his feet obey.
“Is there anything else that I can do for you?” Bailey asked politely. Marc smiled. “Would you have coffee with me?” he said. Bailey didn’t reply immediately, and just when Marc thought that the man would turn him down, Bailey said in a soft voice, “Yes.”
Bailey turned toward Keith. “Keith, could you stay for an hour or so, please?” For a moment, it lo
oked as if Keith would say no because the man didn’t look happy, but then he nodded. Marc didn’t miss the warning look that Keith gave him. The man’s protective behavior raised even more questions, and red flags. Why did he shelter Bailey so ferociously? Marc’s instinct told him that this man wasn’t gay. So, what was his reason to, well, guard Bailey? Marc hoped that his baby brother would soon have some answers for him.
It was odd that even a skilled hacker like Byron had difficulty finding information about Bailey beyond those three years. Well, Marc would see if he could find some information about Bailey.
“Where do you want to go for coffee?” Bailey asked, and Marc could see the uncertainty in the man’s eyes. Marc wondered how old Bailey was; he didn’t seem older than twenty-five. “Uh, what?” Marc hadn’t heard a word Bailey had said. “I asked you where you want to go for coffee?” Bailey repeated while he eyed Marc expectantly.
Marc looked thoughtful because it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to ask Bailey to have coffee with him. Marc had expected that Bailey would be alone in the shop, but Keith had been there. So, Marc decided to take Bailey to a coffee shop so he could carefully question the man. Marc knew that the man was hiding things, he just felt it, and his gut feeling had never failed him.
Chapter Thirteen
“How did it go?” Byron asked when he saw his brother enter the living room. “By the way you look, it didn’t go well,” Byron observed. Marc nodded. “It was a disaster. The moment I asked about his life before he came here, he closed the window and wanted to go,” Marc explained. “That’s not good,” Byron responded as he handed Marc a bottle of water. “No, it’s not. That’s why I need you to perform your magic and get me the info that I need. Something is very wrong, and I need to know what that is. I need to know why this man is still breathing,” Marc insisted. He liked Bailey; he liked the innocence in the man’s eyes. Was this really the child molester he had killed or thought he had?
“Your, uh, work phone rang while you were away,” Byron informed his brother. He had called it Marc’s work phone because he didn’t know how else to call it, like, oh, by the way, your hitman assignment phone rang? No, that was not an option. Marc frowned. “That’s odd because I insisted that they wouldn’t call for at least another week,” he replied, looking thoughtful. “Well, call back and.” “No, I never call back. If they have an assignment for me, they call back,” Marc interrupted his younger brother.
Marc had left his work phone at home when he visited Bailey because he wouldn’t be able to take the call when Bailey was with him. “Now I know that you trust me completely,” said a grinning Byron as he pointed to Marc’s, well, business phone. Marc smiled because his brother was right; he had left the phone home without thinking twice. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied.
Byron disappeared into his study again, hoping to gain more information on Bailey and Keith. Marc grabbed his headphone just when his work phone rang. He softly cursed when he picked it up and pushed the green button. “The voice didn’t greet him; the person never did. Marc got a name and where he could find all the info he needed about his next target.
Marc fired up his laptop to retrieve the mail that held all the information that he needed. Then he started to investigate the target. Marc always did some investigation before he took the assignment because he would never kill an innocent person. This one had robbed and killed several older women. The man, or young man he was twenty-two, came from a wealthy family, and that had kept him out of jail. Well, if the information about this monster were correct, then Marc would put him six feet under.
When Marc had finished gathering all the info he could get his hands on, he peeked into the study where Byron was busy typing on the keyboard. “I will be away for the next couple of days,” Marc informed his brother. “Work?” Byron inquired. Marc nodded. “Be careful, brother,” Byron said, then he stunned Marc by hugging him. It took a few seconds before Marc reacted, and then he hugged his brother back.
One hour later, Marc was on his way, and he was glad that this time his target lived in the US. For this mission, Marc drove a rental that he had booked online using one of his aliases. Now he was on his way to Minnesota to kill a monster.
Marc drove all day and part of the night before he stopped to get some sleep. He didn’t need much sleep, but he still needed a few hours of rest. Marc stopped at a motel and requested a room at the back. He parked the vehicle in front of the room and put the bag, which contained his tools and the small suitcase with his clothes in it, next to the bed.
Marc undressed, showered, and lay down on the bed. He turned on the TV but couldn’t concentrate. His thought wandered off to Bailey Hudson. What was it with this man that fascinated him so much?
Marc was in his rental before the sun came up. He wanted to finish the job as quickly as possible; he still had a few hours of driving ahead of him. It would be Marc’s last assignment because he really wanted out, retire, and enjoy his life. Marc had earned enough money to last him a lifetime. Now his youngest brother had chosen to move in with him, and Marc had to admit that he liked having Byron around.
It was in the late afternoon when Marc finally reached the town where his target seemed to be residing. The scumbag had moved from his hometown to some godforsaken small town in Minnesota. Marc took a hotel room in the next small town. It wouldn’t be wise to stand out unnecessarily. In small towns like these, everyone knew everybody; that was why his target probably had moved there. If a stranger came to town, he would immediately know because people would talk about it. That’s how it was in those small towns, and Marc should know because he lived in one as well.
Marc had gotten the address where the target lived. Now, all he had to do was observe and then strike. Marc was good at what he did; that’s why he had so many assignments over the years. Marc didn’t know the identity of the person who gave him the assignments; he didn’t even know if it was a man or a woman. Whenever that person called, he or she possibly used a voice changer, which made it impossible for Marc to identify the voice as male or female.
It took Marc a week before he was sure of the target’s routine. Now he knew where and when he would strike. Every day the target walked to the diner for lunch; after that, he walked home, and a vacant lot was the last part he had to cross before he reached his apartment. So, that would be the perfect spot to shoot him; Marc would kill him on his way home.
Marc was in his motel room and ready to head home again. He had packed everything; all he needed was to check out. Marc closed the door, put his bag and his small suitcase in the trunk. He glanced around, but everything seemed normal.
Marc stood in front of the desk, waiting for the desk clerk so that he could go home. The young woman smiled when she saw Marc in front of the desk. Then she started talking about the shooting that had taken place the previous day. She told Marc how everyone was in shock. Marc nodded a few times, then he took his bill and left.
It was now that he noticed how tired he was of all this shit. Yep, he was getting old, for sure. As soon as he arrived home, Marc would dispose of his, well, work phone. He had told his client already that this was his last assignment. The man or woman had protested, but Marc had been adamant.
Two days later, Marc was home again, and he was a bit disappointed when Byron still hadn’t found anything out about Bailey, or Keith, for that matter. Marc had been delighted when Byron had told him that he was hired as a cook at Captain Jack’s. “That’s great news. When do you start?” Marc asked while he grabbed two bottles of water out of the refrigerator and handed his brother one.
“I start next week, and I intend to learn as much as I can,” Byron said; even though he was an excellent cook, Byron knew that he had much to learn before he would become a chef. Marc said that he had faith in Byron’s cooking abilities because he cooked the best meals Marc had ever tasted. Marc was relieved when Byron didn’t give him the third degree about his job. In fact, Byron hadn’t asked about his last assignment at all.
Alec always had inquired about Marc’s job. The man had wanted to know every detail.
“Oh, before I forget, the word is that some strange figures are in town,” Byron informed his brother. Marc frowned. “Yeah, well, sometimes people are visiting,” he dead-panned. “Yeah, but get this. Town residents are afraid of these men,” Byron said, and the man wasn’t smiling. That got Marc’s attention. “What do you mean, people are afraid?” he questioned because his curiosity was aroused. Byron shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s what I heard when I went to Captain Jack’s for a second interview,” he explained.
Assassins the Florist Book One Part One Page 8
