The Assassin's Prayer (12 page)

But
as his fingers closed around it, Larissa covered his hand with her own. “Enough,”
she said. “Let him go.”

Kain’s
anger immediately ebbed. He felt the warmth of her hand and though it was just
an innocent touch, he felt himself wanting to respond to it. But he immediately
stifled the urge. He could never allow himself to open up to another woman
again. He pulled his hand away from hers, released the clerk with a shove, and
turned away, black duster swirling around him like the shadows around his
heart.

CHAPTER 13

They
holed up in the room for the day, surviving on granola bars and bottled water
from the vending machine. When evening arrived, Kain ventured out and fetched
supper from a greasy spoon down the street. He returned with a feast of blackened
hamburgers, half-cooked French fries, and tepid soda. They sat at the table by
the window, the glow from the motel’s sputtering neon sign painting the glass pink.

Larissa
bit into a fry. It crunched like a carrot stick. She made a face, then smiled.
“You know what this reminds me of?”

“What?”
Kain tentatively tried a burger. Burnt on the outside, bleeding in the middle. A
steaming pile of dog crap would probably taste better.

“Our
first date,” Larissa said. “Remember?”

Kain
managed a small smile. “Yeah, I remember. I take you out to one of the finest
steakhouses in the city and what do you order? A burger and fries.”

“Not
fries,” she corrected. “Potato slices cooked in a special wine sauce. They were
supposed to be a house specialty. The waiter recommended them. Too bad he
forgot to mention they would be served raw!”

“That’s
okay.” Kain grinned. “I tipped him with a fake fifty from my last assignment.”

Larissa
laughed and Kain was glad to hear the sound. Her eyes were still haunted, but
the numbing shock that had gripped her since the attack at her apartment seemed
to have faded.

Then
her laughter trailed off and her face grew more somber. When she spoke, her
voice was very quiet. “You know, that was also the first night you ever kissed
me.”

Kain
said nothing and a gaping, heavy, awkward chasm of silence opened up between
them. Through the thin walls he could hear the sounds of lust, the grunts and
groans and rhythmic slapping of flesh that signified human coupling. He pushed
aside his food, no longer hungry. He turned his head and looked out the window.
The darkness beckoned to him.

He
abruptly pushed back his chair. “I have to go.” The walls were closing in on
him. There was simply too much history in the room. And the sound of sex next
door wasn’t helping any; it made him think things best left unthought.

Larissa
said, “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He
cut her off. “It’s fine,” he said. “I just need some air. And I still have to
get us some new wheels. I’ll leave the shotgun, so you should be fine. Don’t open
the door for anyone but me.”

Larissa
bit her lower lip, but said nothing.

Once
outside, Kain let the cool evening wash over him and tried to let go of his
anger toward Larissa. What did she want from him? Their time together had been
fleeting and those days were long gone. Didn’t she realize he wasn’t the same
man he had been back then? She needed to stop trying to build a bridge between
their past and present. It wouldn’t work. It
couldn’t
work.

Or
you won’t let it work,
said an inner
voice.

Kain
got into the Jeep and headed for the country, leaving the lights of town
behind. His headlamps pierced the darkness and every now and then he heard the
wet splat of insects dying against his windshield. He wondered if bugs felt
pain. If not, maybe he should be reincarnated as one. This life had been nothing
but pain; maybe in his next one he could be spared the torment of humanity. It
was a strange thought for him, and told him that his mind was in turmoil, his mental
processes jumbled.

He
punched the steering wheel in frustration. Having Larissa come back into his
life had really messed him up. Especially since her return was so unexpected,
so improbable, that it defied all odds and bordered on the miraculous. And that
begged thoughts of God, fate, destiny; in other words, thoughts he didn’t want
to think.

He
was driving through his old haunts now, past the fields and farms where he and
Silas had played together as boys during simpler, more innocent times. They had
been blissfully unaware of how much pain awaited them down the road, how many
tears they would leave in the dust and ashes of their friendship.

Kain
sped past the turn off for Gordon Hill Road. He glanced up the hill at the
Perelli estate, crouched above the hamlet like some medieval castle. Lights
shone in the windows and Kain had little doubt that Rene Perelli sat behind one
of those windows, plotting her next move against Frank Giadello.

A
mile up the road he came to Church Hill Cemetery. He parked the Jeep just
outside the wrought-iron gates and walked up the path. A sickle-shaped moon
punctured the thin, wispy clouds and Kain could feel its cold light and see its
stark reflection on the endless array of marble gravestones and stone angels. Dead
leaves scuttled across his path, the sound startlingly loud in the stillness of
this barren land of ghosts and memories.

When
he reached the grave he had come to visit, he reached down and traced the
inscription, shadows pooling in the etched letters.

KAREN J. KAIN

1974-2008

LIFE

LOVE

DEATH

WE HAVE KNOWN THEM ALL

He
had carved the words into the stone with his own hands. This was his sanctuary,
his place of solace, where he came to find slivers of peace and respite from
the hell of his existence. Touching the gravestone made him feel closer to
Karen.

A
twig snapped behind him. He started to turn, but before he could, he felt a gun
pressed against the back of his head. He froze, fingers inches from his own
firearm.

“Take
your gun out.” The voice was male, so harsh and raspy the words were barely
intelligible. The guy sounded like he gargled with broken glass. “Do it slowly.
Two fingers and neither one of them better go near the trigger.”

Kain
complied. Not like he had a choice.

“Remove
the clip and hand it to me.”

Kain
popped the magazine and handed it back over his shoulder. It was snatched out
of his hand and tossed into the darkness. He heard it bounce off a gravestone
to his left.

“Now
throw your gun in the opposite direction I threw the clip.”

“You
forgot to say please,” said Kain, but he tossed the .45 off to his right.

“A
guy with a gun to his head shouldn’t run his mouth,” the man rasped. Kain felt
the gun lift away from his head, then savage pain blasted through his skull. As
he fell to the ground, banging his forehead against Karen’s tombstone, he
realized he had just been pistol-whipped. Groaning, he crawled into a sitting
position, his back against Karen’s marker. Blood ran into his eye. He wiped it
away and looked up at his attacker.

The
man was tall, dressed in a long black coat much like Kain’s own duster. His
face, tinted silver by the moonlight, consisted of sharp angles and rugged
lines. But it was not the face that drew Kain’s attention, but what was beneath
it. A thick line of scar tissue curled across the man’s throat like a vicious
smile, the sort of wound not even the devil himself should have been able to
walk away from. “I’ll be damned,” Kain said. “Macklin.”

“So
you know who I am.”

Kain’s
skull throbbed with pain. “I thought you couldn’t speak.”

“A
myth. When the Colombians cut my throat, they damaged my vocal cords, which is
why I sound like I do. But I can still speak.”

Kain
studied the vicious scar. “How did you even survive that?”

Macklin’s
chuckle sounded like razor blades grinding together. “Believe what you will,
because you would never believe the truth.”

“Try
me.”

“I
think not.”

Kain
looked the assassin dead in the eye. “Make it quick, you son of a bitch.”

“I
did not come here tonight to kill you,” Macklin said. “I came to pay my
respects to your wife.”

Something
in the way he said it made Kain’s skin crawl.

“But
rest assured,” Macklin continued, “that one day I
will
kill you, and
when you die, I hope you do so more quietly than your wife did. She kept
screaming your name.”

Kain’s
eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“Your
wife,” Macklin repeated. “She died screaming your name.”

“How
the fuck do you know how my wife died?” Even as he asked the question, Kain
knew the answer, sensed the terrible truth, the dark revelation that everything
he believed about Karen’s death was a lie. The pieces came together swiftly in
his mind. Karen had not killed herself; she had been murdered by Macklin who then
masked her death as a suicide.

As
he imagined Karen screaming as Macklin opened her wrists, Kain’s skin crawled
as if covered with a million unseen parasites. A single burning question rose
in his mind. Looking into Macklin’s soulless eyes he asked, “Why?”

“Because
she was there,” Macklin said. “I actually came for you that day, but you
weren’t home, so I played with your wife instead. I did it to fuck with you,
Kain, simple as that. Your wife died to amuse me.”

In
a voice as barren as bleached bone, Kain said, “You’re going to die, Macklin.
I’m going to take your life from you.”

Macklin’s
breath plumed in the brisk air as he said, “You can’t kill what is immortal,
Kain. I am a force of nature, an act of God, and you are mine. I can take you
at will. The only reason you continue to breathe is because I enjoy the game,
the hunt. You are the best the Company has ever seen, by far the best prey I
have ever had the pleasure of pursuing. You are my trophy, Kain, and in the
end, I will take you down. But not until I have broken you, taken from you
everything and everyone you hold dear.”

Kain
knew he had just glimpsed the inner mechanisms of Macklin’s obscene mind.
“You’re one sick son of a bitch,” he said.

“And
you’re a dead man who will spend the rest of your existence with an itch
between your shoulder blades, always wondering when the bullet with your name
on it will come calling.”

Kain
tried to rise. He imagined he could hear Karen in the cold grave beneath him,
crying out for vengeance. The thought was enough to drive him insane.

The
muzzle of Macklin’s .357 thudded against Kain’s forehead, driving him back down
into a sitting position. “Don’t be a fool,” Macklin said. “I could kill you before
you even got to your feet.”

“I’m
not afraid to die. Hell, there are some days I think about doing it myself.”

“Next
time you think about it, go ahead and get it done. It will save me a bullet.”

Kain
exploded into motion. It was a suicide play, but he didn’t care. He was too
full of fury to sit still any longer. He had to do
something
, even if that
something got him killed. He threw himself to his left, toward where he had
tossed his gun. There might not be a magazine in it, but there was still a
bullet in the chamber. And one bullet was all he needed.

He
heard the heavy tread of Macklin’s boots behind him. Why didn’t the bastard
just shoot him? Kain waited for the roar of the gun. At this range, the .357
would blow his spine right in two. Not a nice way to die.

Kain’s
hand closed around his Colt .45. Knowing he had no chance but determined to try
anyway, he rolled onto his back and raised his gun. The black bore of Macklin’s
Magnum filled his vision. The hammer was cocked. Less than a pound of pressure
and the gun would fire. Kain aimed the .45 at the glistening scar on Macklin’s
throat, but there was no way to kill Macklin without dying himself. Even if he
put one right through Macklin’s head, the nerves would go spastic, compress the
.357's trigger, and turn Kain’s face into so much dog food. He would have his
vengeance, but was it worth the price?

“Before
you decide whether or not to pull that trigger,” Macklin said, “there’s
something you should know. Right now one of my men is keeping your new lady friend
company.”

Kain’s
jaw clenched.
God, I want to kill this bastard so bad.

“So,”
Macklin continued, “you can shoot me, but the girl will die. Because if I don’t
call my man and tell him I am safe, then his orders are to put two bullets in
her head. Normally I would say only one, but since she proved once before that
one bullet to her head isn’t enough to kill her, I told my man to use two this
time. I hate making the same mistake twice.”

Kain
lowered his gun. There was no other choice. Larissa was an innocent. He
couldn’t sacrifice her life on the altar of his own vengeance.

Macklin
smirked. “Ain’t love grand?”

“Just
so we’re clear, Macklin, I’m going to nail your fucking ass to the wall.”

“Maybe,
but not tonight.” Macklin lowered the Magnum. “Tonight we both live to die
another day.” The gun disappeared into the folds of his coat. “Wait here for
fifteen minutes. Once I’m convinced you’re not following me, I’ll call my man
and he’ll leave your girlfriend.”

“Her
name is Larissa.”