Page 124 of End Game

Over the years, she had come up against political resistance that had nothing to do with the issue and everything to do with the candidate’s reelection. Watching an important issue become a sacrifice to a politician’s campaign agenda had been disheartening and, oftentimes, infuriating.

More than once, the thought had crossed her mind to combat politicians’ machinations with a more direct, heavy-handed approach in order to accomplish a Service goal. She’d certainly skirted the line of ethical and nonethical, as with the case of the Irish artifact. But at her core, she believed in doing things the right way, the honorable way. No matter how many future headaches it produced.

“The climate crisis is just one issue of many on the cusp of imploding.” Elsie clicked them off on her fingers. “Immigration, inflation, gun violence, tribal rights, racism, partisan cooperation, veteran benefits and reacclimation, health care costs. The list is endless.”

“Bulldozing your ideology will only add fuel to extremists’ propaganda,” Kayla said. “You might achieve short-term wins, but the big important battles will always be out of your reach.”

“Enough talk.” Elsie held up both hands, flicking her forefingers in a silent come here command.

Ash whipped around, but not in time. Two additional guards appeared out of the shadows. One kicked Ash’s arm with such force that his pistol went flying. The bastard followed the explosive move with a hard barrel stab into Ash’s wounded shoulder.

A pained grunt whooshed from his throat, and he crashed to the ground. “Not. Again,” he wheezed.

The other guard stormed toward Kayla, his assault rifle anchored against his shoulder and a red dot sighted on her chest. “Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

Kayla’s heart shook inside her chest, but she refused to lower her Glock. The black-clad guard stood eight feet from her, terrifying in his size and ferocity.

“Do as you’re told, Kayla,” Elsie said in a calm voice. “Or I shall have to instruct Marco to break your mother’s fingers, one by one.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Even as the words left her mouth, Kayla realized this new Elsie would not only do it, but might even relish making an example of Jillian.

She glanced at Ash, and he nodded, as he slowly climbed to his feet. After ejecting the round in the chamber and pulling the magazine, she tossed her weapon and experienced an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

Elsie said, “Get them inside the guesthouse and prepare them.”

“Prepare us for what?” Jillian asked.

“For the tragic fire that will consume your bodies.”

Jillian lunged for her old friend, but the large guard near her grasped her upper arm and dragged her toward the house.

“Elsie, you’re insane!” Jillian screamed. “Don’t do this.”

Ignoring her, Elsie assessed Ash. “Change of plan for this one. Forensics will flag the bullet wound.” She motioned to the man flanking Ash. “Do you have a suppressor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Take him down the mountain and bury him in a back lot of one of my neighbors. Most of them live here part-time, so they’ve probably gone home for the week. Stay clear of the trail. I don’t want his grave discovered by a curious dog walker.”

Ash took a swing at his guard, but the contract killer had anticipated his move. He ducked to the side, then trained his red dot on Ash’s forehead.

“Stop!” Kayla yelled, throwing herself in front of Ash.

He bearhugged her and swung her around, putting himself between her and the bullet. She struggled against his hold, not realizing she was crying until his thumb brushed against her wet cheek.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

She continued to squirm, terror for his safety deafening her.

He cupped her cheek, stilling her. “Do you trust me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Go inside. Watch over your mom. I’ll be back. Promise.”

The guards wrenched them apart and zip-tied Ash’s hands behind his back. The awful reality of their situation sank deep into Kayla’s bones and melted her marrow. This might be the last time she saw him.

“Aunt Elsie,” she pleaded. “This isn’t you. You’re not a killer.”

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