The Accidental Assassin (13 page)

I needed to talk to her. Reach out and make sure she was okay in some way. She was the only family I had left.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Owen stood up and stretched. With quick movements he undid the buttons of his shirt and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his fingers as they worked. When he finished he threw it on the back of the couch with his discarded tie. I could feel his gaze on me the entire time, but couldn’t find it in myself to be embarrassed. The man was delicious and he knew it. I looked up into his darkened eyes and contemplated offering to scrub his back.

“Okay.” The word exited my mouth softly. Apparently I wasn’t brave enough to follow through with my little fantasy.

“Do you want one?” He raised an eyebrow and my pulse quickened.

“Want a shower?” Damn it. Did I sound too excited?

“You could go before me. The hot water heater isn’t very large.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the low light.

“Oh. No, go ahead.” Yep. That was definitely disappointment in my voice.

“I’ll be quick.” As he walked away, he pulled his undershirt off over his head and tossed it on the couch. The muscles of his back rippled and I fought the urge to jump up and shout
I VOLUNTEER
! The thought of watching soap run over his skin made me want to…

I shot out of my chair and paced back and forth. I needed a distraction. I needed to get a grip. My eyes fell on his laptop and I stopped in my tracks.

I needed to contact Tess.

I heard the water in the bathroom come on and I tiptoed across the room to listen at the door. Once I was sure I could I could hear him splashing I ran across the room and lifted the lid to his laptop. It was password locked. Damn it. I tried a few words and then gave up. Closing the lid, I made sure it was in the same spot he had left it and looked around the room. His phone was still on the table so I picked it up and smiled. He had been streaming the internet with it and it hadn’t shut down all the way. Quickly I flipped through his apps and signed into an old email address of mine.

How could I let her know she was in trouble in a way that wouldn’t let others know it was me? In the subject line I kept it simple. An old nickname she had when we were in school—Grumpy. She was anything but grumpy, but it drove her crazy when people called her that. In the end our friends had all ended up with a nickname from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves—including me.

Congrats. Heard you got married and ran away to Italy. If I was you I’d stay there for a really long time. Leave the trouble of the city behind and enjoy the peace and quiet.

Speaking of peace and quiet I’ve gone to visit the country. Met a friend and he’s helping me find a place to stay.

All my love,

Sleepy

I hit the send button and signed out quickly, then went back and made sure my login didn’t pop up when you reopened the app. I set the phone back on the table trying to make sure it was just like it had been. Feeling as though I had finally accomplished something, I decided to reward myself with some food.

The soup from earlier hadn’t really cut it and I was craving something more substantial. In fact, I was starting to hate the thought of soup. I’d probably never eat the stuff again. There were canned beans, vegetables, and some kind of tinned meat that scared me. I did find some crackers and a can of beef stew. It would probably taste like dog food, but at this point I wasn’t going to be too picky. I picked up the can opener from the counter and started working on the beef stew.

Something moved out back by a shed and I froze. It was dark out, but I could have sworn I saw a person. I ducked out of sight of the window and tried to catch my breath. A moment later I peeked back around the cabinets but couldn’t see anything. Taking a deep breath I walked into the living room with my can and can opener still clutched in my hands. I tiptoed across the carpet and lifted one of the blinds with a finger. The crunch of gravel drew my attention to the road and I saw a dark car with no lights making its way toward the house.

I jerked back around and dove for the chair where my gun was still lying. I threw the beef stew on the couch and wrapped my fingers around the pistol’s grip. My body was moving without thought, some kind of survival instinct kicking in. Every cell practically screamed, “Don’t die! Don’t die!” I sort of floated to the bathroom door. It didn’t feel like my feet ever touched the ground. One minute I was scrambling for my gun and the next I was pressed against the wooden door. Not sure if anyone was listening to what was going on in the house, I rapped gently with my knuckles.

“Owen! There’s someone here!” I hissed the words and increased my rapping when he didn’t answer right away. “Owen! Damn it! Answer the door!”

The bathroom door opened and I practically fell into his wet arms. My body slid against his in a delicious tangle of damp skin that I shouldn’t have even noticed. The shower was still running, but he’d taken the time to wrap a towel around his waist. I looked up at him, water dripping from his hair onto my face.

“There’s someone here!” I whispered as I stood up and pointed to the front door. “And in the back!” I swung my arm behind me.

Without a word he turned around and dropped the towel. My mouth fell open at the view and I felt my head tilt to the side as he bent over to grab his underwear. The man had a lot to work with. He pulled the tight shorts up and I wondered why all men didn’t wear those.

Probably because they wouldn’t all look like Owen in them.

His hand grabbed mine as he slid past me and into the bedroom, pulling me along with him. He opened the closet and punched a hole into the plaster in the back. He reemerged holding a gun, a duffle bag, and a long rifle. I leaned against the wall and tried to listen for anything happening outside.

“Grab me some pants.” He nodded to the dresser and I opened the middle drawer and shoved the clothes around. I found a pair of slacks and a shirt and threw them on the bed. Looking around the room, I spotted my new running shoes. No way was I going to run around in the stupid heels I had worn earlier. Owen checked the rifle before tossing it to me.

“Heads up. You said you were better with a rifle.”

“I said I had shot them, not that I was good with them.” I caught it and checked the slide before slipping the sling over my shoulder. I wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t a marksman either. I’d also never shot at a living person or while running for my life. Too bad I hadn’t thought to practice that type of stuff instead of just shooting at empty cans.

“Let’s hope you’re better than you think.” He smiled at me as he pulled his pants up and slid the shirt over his head. Light danced across his eyes and a wild excitement lit his face.

“What are we going to do? Is it the same people from earlier?” I whispered.

He moved along the wall to peer out the side of the blinds. “Can’t tell. Different car.” He slid his feet into some shoes by the bedroom door and stepped close to me. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” I could feel my eyes go wide. I was growing more and more nervous while he seemed to be slipping into his stride.

“To make our getaway.” He used a finger to tilt my chin up. I opened my mouth to respond but he didn’t wait for my words. His head dipped down, his lips capturing mine in a kiss. The heat from his body next to mine made my head spin and the soft touch of his mouth enticed me more than any other man ever had. I could’ve melted into him right there, the danger to our lives forgotten. His touch was like electricity that ran over my body from head to toe. When his tongue slipped across my lips, I gasped in shocked pleasure. When he pulled back he smiled at my dazed expression. “For luck.”

I swallowed and tried to catch my breath as he pulled his bag over his shoulder and laced his fingers mine. Tugging gently he pulled me through the living room toward the back door.

I crept along behind him and tried to keep my head down. The silence in the house rang in my ears as I strained to hear something from the people outside. Owen held up his hand and I froze mid-step. Pointing to the kitchen counter, he motioned for me to move. I scuttle-walked to the side of the back door.

I could hear the soft scratching of metal on metal as the door knob twisted slowly. One man entered, followed quickly and quietly by another as they slipped into the kitchen. They were wearing normal street clothes and carrying small machine guns. I flattened against the cabinet I was leaning against, but one of them saw me. As he swung in my direction a shot rang out and the man toppled forward, landing against me. I shoved him off just as the lights in the house went out. There was a grunt and the sound of flesh hitting flesh, but I couldn’t tell who was beating who.

When fingers closed around my wrist I jerked backward and almost fell over the dead man.

“It’s me.” Owen pulled me to the door and hit a switch on the way out. The front yard was suddenly bathed in bright strobe lights that blinked in and out every couple of seconds. Shouts came from the front, followed by gunshots, but Owen didn’t stop. We reached the shed in the back and ducked in through a small door on the side.

“Drive or shoot?”

I looked at him like he was crazy. Both were bad options for me.

“Okay. You drive. Do exactly what I say.” He pushed me toward the door of an old farm truck. “We have to go out the front way.”

“Okay.” I unslung the rifle and climbed into the truck. The key was in the ignition and I prayed it would start. Owen undid the latch on the barn style doors before the truck and ran back to the passenger side.

As soon as he was in I turned the key and hit the gas. The truck came to life immediately and I said a silent prayer of thanks. I shifted into drive and slammed my foot down on the pedal. We blew through the doors in an angry crash and I almost ran over two men with guns pointed at us. You’d think with my record they would have made sure to not be in my way. Owen fired quickly and I saw one man go down, but was too busy trying to drive to keep up with it all.

“This is going to be loud.” Reaching into his bag he came out with two small canister shaped objects. Rolling his window down, he hurled them at the two cars in front of his house. Explosions rocked the clearing, but I kept us steady as the truck tore down the gravel path.

“Right at the road.”

“’Kay.” I never hit the brake, just jerked the wheel. The tires squealed as we swung onto the pavement. Someone honked at us and I looked up in time to see a little old lady in a big hat giving me the finger. Well, I guessed I deserved it.

“At the stop sign make a left. The road is curvy so hopefully they won’t see us as quickly.”

“Blowing up their cars won’t stop them?” I clutched the steering wheel tightly. “Holy fucking shit. Who was that?”

“Only one other person knows where that house is.” Owen stared ahead with a grim expression.

“Who?” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye as knowledge dawned.

“Marcus.” If I hadn’t been looking I wouldn’t have seen him clench his hand around the gun he was holding. “My handler.”

“Oh. Well.” I turned at the stop sign and gunned it again. I wanted to get around a few curves before anyone had a chance to come looking for us. “That sucks.”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Marcus.”

“Well, that’ll be fun.” I stared at the road ahead of me, trying to anticipate the curves, but there was no telling which way the road was going to turn.

My eyes dropped down to the gas gauge. Thankfully we had a full tank of gas. I remembered my grandmother always telling me to never leave a car with only half a tank of gas. I guessed Owen had been told the same thing. Or he was just prepared for things like people showing up at your house with the intent to kill you.

It was probably the second thing.

“And what are we going to do with Marcus?”

“Ask him why he’s trying to kill us.”

“Hmm. And when you say ask…”

“I mean beat the shit out of him until he tells me.”

“Look who’s being all proper now.” I reached over and pushed his shoulder.

“Well, when your brother decides to have you killed it doesn’t inspire much brotherly affection.” He looked at me with a twisted smile.

“Your brother?” I gasped. He’d mentioned his handler, but not once given any kind of sign that he was family. “What, did you forget his birthday? Are you serious?” When I thought of siblings I thought of my friends and their family. They fought over leftovers and who had to take the dog for a walk. When they got older they fought over who spent Christmas with the parents, but they always loved each other.

“We have more of a business relationship. He passes the jobs on to me and I get it done. He takes a cut and I get the rest.” He looked out the window for a minute.

“How did you become a hitman?” I rubbed my hands along the steering wheel. “Answer an ad in the paper?”

“The job found me.” He looked back at me. “There is always some garbage that needs to be taken out, and someone willing to pay me to help with the chore.”

I tried to think of how you could just end up a hitman. A favor to someone? Being in a gang or working for a bad guy? Or was it to protect himself or his brother?

“Marcus always knew someone that needed a job done.” Owen moved the bag at his feet out of the way. “It didn’t take long before I made a name for us. I only take certain jobs and Marcus weeds them out. He likes being the face of the organization.”

“What do you mean you only take certain cases?”

“I don’t help people knock off business rivals or family for insurance money. No cheating spouses. No petty revenge jobs.” He pulled out a folder from his bag and flipped through documents. There were passports and other types of identification inside. “The rich pedophile that bought his way out of jail, drug lords, slave traders. There are more than enough douchebags to keep me busy.”

“Like Mr. Song.” I took a deep breath. “But how do you know you’re not doing the dirty work for a competitor?”

“Marcus sends me the files for review. He’s supposed to vet everyone that comes through, but I still do my research.”