“Do not kill him,” Matthias heard himself repeat. “That‟s an order.”
“I know, so you can do it. He‟s for you. You
have
to take him.”
For a moment, Matthias felt an inescapable, tantalizing draw…“No,” he blurted, shaking hmself. “No, I don‟t.”
“Yes, you must—”
“Just follow the fucking order without commentary or I‟ll find someone else who will.”
With a curse, he hung up, sent a signal back to Isaac and then tried to find some solid internal ground to stand on. Shit, all of sudden, he felt like he had two different voices in his head and not only were they pulling him in opposite directions, neither was his own.
Fortunately, the return transmission from Rothe cut into the struggle.
“Matthias,” came that old, familiar voice.
“Isaac. How are you.”
“Where? When?”
“Always so to the point.” Matthias pushed his knee into the bottom of the steering wheel to keep the sedan on the road while he massaged the pain in his left pec. “I‟m sending someone for you. So you stay put.”
“Unacceptable. I can‟t be picked up here.”
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“Dictating terms? I don‟t think so.”
“Grier Childe is not going to be involved in this. I‟ll turn myself in at midnight tomorrow in a public place.”
“And now you want to tell me when? Fuck you, Rothe. If you want her to stay out of it, you‟ll do what I tell you to. Or do you think I can‟t get past that fancy security system of hers on any night of my choosing?” Silence. “Surprised that I know about the damn thing? Well, there are other tricks to that house, Isaac. I wonder how many of them
you
know about.”
See, this was good. The back and forth was clearing out some of that fuzzy, foggy, waffling shit—and it reminded him of the reason behind Daniel Childe‟s death: good ol‟ Albie‟s flapping gums.
A shot of adrenaline woke him up even further as he wondered just what kind of plans Isaac and the retired captain might have been hatching while he was out cold at the side of the road.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, you stay tight—and in case you‟ve gotten any bright ideas from that father of hers, let me set you straight. If you do anything to expose me or my organization, I will do things to that woman that she will survive physically and never heal from.
And know this: My reach extends beyond my own grave.” More silence. “You‟ve met the father—don‟t deny it. And I‟m well aware he‟s been trying to take notes on XOps for the last decade. No bright ideas, Isaac. For her sake. Or I‟ll ignore you and come after her. I‟ll let you live a long life, knowing that you are the reason she‟s ruined from the inside out—”
“She‟s not part of this!” Rothe hissed. “She‟s got nothing to do with me or her goddamn father!”
“Maybe. But shit happens. And I assigned her to you for a good reason—which panned out better than I thought. I never expected the two of you to get so personally involved—or did you think I didn‟t hear what the pair of you got up to in that guest bedroom of hers last night?”
Matthias fought against the pain in his chest, feeling as if he were drowning. “Don‟t make me hurt her, Isaac. I‟m getting tired of all that, I truly am. Stay where you are—I‟m sending someone, and you‟ll know when he gets there. And if you and her and her father are not there when he arrives, I‟m going to have him find her, not you. You follow instructions and I‟ll make sure no one but you gets hurt.”
Matthias hit the
end
button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
Wincing, he struggled to keep the car heading straight as the agony behind his ribs swelled to unmanageable levels. Under the onslaught, he briefly thought about driving over to the Caldwell International Airport again, but he decided to keep driving because he needed to get a grip and that was going to take time. And privacy.
Squeezing his left pec, he pulled over and tried to breathe through the pain in his chest.
Which didn‟t really help much…to the point where he wondered whether this was it. The Big One. Just like what had killed off his father.
Looking out of the front windshield, he realized he was in front of a church.
For no good reason, he turned off the engine, picked up his cane and got out. He hadn‟t been in anything remotely God-like for years and to be limping toward its huge double doors felt…wrong in a lot of ways. Especially given everything that was waiting for him in Boston.
But his number two needed time to get things set and Matthias…needed this heart attack to either get organized and kick his bucket or shut the fuck up.
Inside was warm and smelled of incense and lemon floor polish. The place was huge, with 218
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hundreds and hundreds of pews spanning out in three directions from where the altar was.
Matthias didn‟t make it all the way to the back. He collapsed in a sit about halfway down the side aisle, all but falling onto the wooden bench.
Moving his cane between his knees he looked up at the crucifix…and began to cry.
219
A
fter he cut off the communication with Matthias, Isaac shoved the Life Alert transmitter into his sweatshirt. What he wanted to do was put it on the granite counter and smash it with his fist. Then maybe light the pieces on fire.
Bracing his hands on the kitchen sink, he leaned into his shoulders and stared out at the back garden. Almost eight a.m. and the place was all but pitch-dark because the houses in the neighborhood were packed so closely together. No clue whether Jim‟s buddies were still back there. No word from Jim.
But Isaac had other problems right now.
Shit. All things considered, the fact that Matthias was savvy enough to be suspicious wasn‟t a news flash. But the nail-on-the-head component to what was hopefully just speculation put Isaac in a tight one. If he left now, he ran the risk of Grier and her father getting slaughtered. If he stayed…they were probably going to be made to watch him die.
Mother. Fucker.
“They got in touch with you.”
He looked over his shoulder. Grier was fresh out of her shower, her hair down and drying naturally.
“Isaac.” Her face grew tight. “Did they get back to you?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
To make the lie stick, he pulled out the transmitter and let it dangle, banking on the fact that she wouldn‟t notice that the light was now off.
“Is that thing working?”
“Yeah.” He put it away as she came over. “How‟s your father?”
“On the phone again in the bathroom.” She glanced at the clock. “God, I thought last night would never end.”
“I just want Jim to show,” he said as she started to make coffee by the sink.
“Do you think…he really is dead?”
At this point—maybe. “No.”
Sitting down on one of the stools, he watched her pop the top off the Hills Bros can and put the filter into the maw of the machine. As she went through the routine task, the sunlight on her face made him want to weep, she was so beautiful.
On some level, he couldn‟t believe he‟d been with her—and not as in the he-wasn‟t-worthy shit. Duh, that was self-evident. But all that pounding, hot-and-heavy sex seemed like a dream.
She was all cleaned up, smelling like shampoo instead of his sweat, her hair smooth, her face unflushed.
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She took his breath away. To him, she was proof positive that life was worth the sacrifices it demanded of people: Just to look at her and be in the same room, to have the memories he had given not just her, but himself…
The idea of anything hurting her, ever, was simply unsupportable. And if he was the cause of it?
I’ll let you live a long life, knowing that you are the reason she’s ruined from the inside out.
Not a threat. Not from a guy like Matthias, who didn‟t draw any distinctions that stopped at the feet of the female sex. And he would hurt her in ways that made that special thing Isaac had shared with her down in the cellar impossible for her to enjoy ever again.
As much as it pained him, he had to be realistic: When he was gone, she would find another lover. Maybe one she‟d marry and have kids with and grow old beside. And there would be none of that for her at all unless he stuck around, waited it out…and prayed that when Matthias‟s operative showed up, he was able to kill the fucker and then quickly disappear.
After all, he was a goddamn assassin. It was what he did for a living.
One thing was clear: there was going to be no coming forth with intel anymore. No way.
Grier‟s life was worth more than her respecting him and whatever was set in motion by her father could be undone fast as a phone call after the dust settled—so as far as they were going to know, it was business as usual until Isaac took off.
And as for his ever after? He was going to turn himself in to Matthias and have his reckoning, but it would be on his terms. Grier‟s pops was on to something with those dossiers, and Jim Heron or one of his boys was just the kind of guy who‟d keep a first-person, taped narration of every single murder Isaac had ever done locked in a safe—provided Grier and her father died of natural causes.
After all, he was under the impression that death‟s door confessions were admissible in court—so as long as Isaac stated that Matthias was going to kill him shortly, he had a whole lot of clout, didn‟t he—or at least enough to open one fucker of an investigation.
His testimony would be her and her father‟s life insurance policy.
Across the way, Grier hit the
on
button, and as the machine started hissing it out, she stayed where she was, staring at the thing.
Compelled by something he didn‟t question, Isaac stood up and went behind her, putting his chest to her back. Her breath caught as she felt his body, and though she stiffened, she didn‟t move away.
He reached up and touched the blond waves that fell around her shoulders, running his fingertips over them. Then he swept them slowly to the side, exposing the nape of her neck.
God, he‟d made his mind up, hadn‟t he.
He‟d chosen his path.
“Can I kiss you,” he said roughly. Because it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to ask first.
Her head dropped. “Please…”
He went in for her lovely neck, pressing his lips to her skin. That wasn‟t nearly enough, but he didn‟t trust himself to go any further or even put his hands on her waist—if he did, he wasn‟t letting go until she was under him and he was in her again.
“Grier,” he whispered hoarsely.
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“Yes…”
“I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
Sometimes emotions were like a locomotive for words: Once they got a reveal rolling, there was no slowing the thing down, no brakes strong enough to grab onto the tracks of your throat.
“I love you,” he said with more breath than syllable.
She heard it, though. Dear God, she heard it, because she inhaled on a hiss.
Grier whipped around so fast, her hair spun out in a halo, and even though his heart was pounding, he didn‟t look away.
When her mouth opened, he put his finger to her lips and shook his head. “I just needed you to know. Once. I just needed to say it…once. I realize I haven‟t known you long enough or well enough, and I‟m very aware that I‟m not the man for you…but some things need to be said.”
What didn‟t require airtime was the terror inside his skin.
As much as he wanted to do the right thing, his old boss had him by the short hairs: There was no sacrifice too great to ensure Grier‟s safety. Even Isaac‟s own salvation. Even Matthias‟s downfall.
A throat being cleared discreetly had him looking up. In the glass over the sink, he saw her father standing just inside the kitchen—and out of respect for the man‟s daughter, Isaac stepped back.
“Coffee, Father?” Grier said evenly as she leaned to the side and got two mugs from the cupboard.
“Yes, thank you.”
Isaac could feel the guy‟s eyes going back and forth, but he sure as hell wasn‟t answering any of those questions.
And neither was Grier, evidently. “Are we all set?” she asked.
Instead of replying, the man cleared his throat again. No doubt because he was choking on all the stay-away-fromhims and the don‟t-touch-my-daughters.
But he didn‟t need to worry. He was too late on the latter, but the former…was going to be taken care of.
“Father? Are we all set?”
“Everyone will arrive tomorrow morning—”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“This is a delicate situation. Excuses had to be made—these men and women can‟t just duck out for no good reason without questions being raised.”
Isaac could feel Grier staring at him like she was looking for some backup on the hell-no front, but as it was, he disagreed with her. Tomorrow morning was just perfect.
He‟d be gone by then.
Out at the Framingham Comfort Inn & Suites, Jim woke up in his dimly lit room and felt like he‟d been in a car accident. With a semi. And he hadn‟t had his seat belt on.
He was on the bed he‟d been sleeping in and curled on his side, his busted-up body having 222
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carved out a section of the mattress and settled in like a dog waiting to die in the woods. But he was immortal now…and what that apparently meant was no matter how much damage was done, he healed from it.
Yeah, except this was no Samantha-the-witch nose-twitch kind of job, where everything was cleaned up on a oner. He felt very human with the aches and pains, with the inhales that made his ribs burn, with the skips of his heart as it beat the same way a drunk walked. But the worst part of it wasn‟t physical. It was in his head.