Page 23 of Assistant to the Assassin

I have another source that’s a coroner, and I paid him to keep the nature of Jacob’s death a secret for now. I don’t want any investigations happening, no cops butting into the operation I already have well underway. To the outside world, Jake committed suicide.

Thanks to the MI6 database and the network of license plate readers, I now have access to all the plate numbers we saw on the camera footage. I discovered that Cai rented a motorbike under another false name that we tracked to the flat of Ian Lukas, a former naval pilot that has worked on and off as a corporate pilot since moving here a few years ago. He was Cai’s way of escape, I’m sure of it. We just have to figure out where the plane he owns landed.

I have my other teammates looking into Cai’s life, his friends, his family—anything that could be used to our advantage. Cai’s base of operations was in the US, in Northern Virginia, to be exact. The office registered in his name is burned to a crisp, as we expected. Cai would be an idiot if he thought we wouldn’t try to seek him out, so the fact that he’s started covering his trail means he knows he’s compromised, if the chase he led with my teammates wasn’t sign enough. We were also able to track down his address as well as the address of his assistant, Bethany Reed. I have two guys flying out there tonight to see if they left anything behind, but I’m sure there isn’t.

There’s no sign of where Reed went, but I would bet she met up with Cai at his location. Since she was his only accomplice, it’s not hard to surmise that he cares enough about her safety to secure it. She’s a pretty thing, innocent and doe-eyed looking, but we’d be stupid to not assume she’s as highly trained as Cai. She was in the CIA as an analyst and probably didn’t receive any formal training from the agency, but who knows what cards she has up her sleeve after three years working with someone like Cai.

They have an advantage by being ahead of us, giving them time to prepare, so we need to go about this cautiously.

It’s a good thing I have nothing but time.

Since the minute we were born, there was nothing Jake wouldn’t do for me, and even though he’s gone, I will continue to return the favor, starting with Cai, Reed, and Lukas. Then I’m going to figure out who hired them to do the job, no matter who or where they are. They could be the fucking king and I wouldn’t care. The minute they decided to target my brother, they signed their death certificate.

As I read through the data we’ve already collected, I grasp on to the necklace around my neck, where it has been since I was born. Jake has an identical one to mine, a sparrow midflight. His lifeless corpse still has it on.

I hold it tight and press hard enough, hoping that by some divine miracle life will flood back into him, but I’m not naïve enough to believe that things like miracles exist. Jake and I learned that a long time ago. No one will look after you but yourself, and if you want to make it in this world, things like ethics and rules will only hold you back or get you killed. Laws and morals are put in place to keep us weak and submissive, which is why Jake and I picked the professions we did. If we didn’t want to follow the old rules, we made new ones, all the while making a fuck ton of money.

But someone must have caught on, and that someone will pay for their actions in the same way Jake did, but in a painful and bloody end.

I set my laptop on my bed and blast music from its baby speakers while I unpack my duffle. Most of my music taste involves pop music from the early 2000s, namely One Direction if my décor was anything to go by. As basic as it makes me, they have remained my favorite band since I was fourteen, and I still have the biggest crush on Louis. He’s so underrated, it’s criminal.

“Diana” plays from my playlist now, and I hum along to it while I stock my closet full of my wardrobe, which is not as vast as it once was. I had to leave a lot behind at my apartment, but it’s fine. I’ve never been super invested in what I wear as long as it’s comfy. The only exception to that is shoes. I bet I could convince Henry to get me some new heels and boots, but for what purpose? This is my home now. I have no need for stilettos or ankle boots on an island.

It takes me hours to get everything packed and organized, but not because of the quantity of my items, but the fact that 1D was playing and I would often pause to dance and lip sync along. By the time I’m done, it’s around eight at night, so I know Henry has probably gone to bed. He’s a morning person, so he’s always in bed before nine like an old man.

The items I took from his apartment are still on one of my beanbag chairs, mocking me, taunting me.

I should just go talk to him. Rip the Band-Aid off. It’s not even that big of a deal honestly.

So I stopped by your apartment and snooped around to see if there was anything of value you might want and found your very personal dream journal and read enough of it to discover your secret feelings for me. Here are all the items I stole, goodnight!

I let out a groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. Why had I snooped? There’s a reason they say curiosity killed the cat. In my case, curiosity is going to kill any trust Henry had in me.

I just need to do it. The longer I wait, the worse my anxiety will get about it.

Through the angelic voice of Harry Styles, I hear a thump, like something heavy had just fallen. I go over to my computer and turn my music down, craning my ears to listen for any follow-up noise. Nothing comes. I poke my head out of my room, making sure we’re not dealing with an intruder, and that’s when I hear a whimper coming from the room across from mine.

Henry’s room.

It didn’t escape my notice that part of my tour didn’t include his bedroom, and that didn’t surprise me. I hadn’t been allowed in his room at his old apartment either. He clearly doesn’t want me in there, but what if he’s hurt? What if he needs my help?

Another whimper comes from behind his door, and I make my decision. I lean forward to let my face be scanned, then when it opens, I slip inside his room as quietly as possible. I notice right away that this room isn’t painted and is very minimally decorated. There is a bed, a small closet, a bathroom, a nightstand, and that’s it. Henry lies sprawled on the floor, with the blankets half on the bed and half around his torso. That explains the thud I heard; he must have fallen out of the bed. He moans, his face contorting in agony, and I realize he’s having a bad dream.

He’ll probably need the dream journal I stole.

I bend down next to him, trying to be as gentle as possible as I brush my knuckles over the side of his face. He freezes at my touch, and then suddenly I’m on my back, with my body pinned down under him and a knife held to my throat.

Right. Why did I think it would be a good idea to sneak in on a sleeping assassin?

“H, it’s me. It’s me,” I whisper, trying to swallow down the fear rising within me. I have no idea how out of it he is or if he’s fully awake, so who knows what he’ll do to me if he feels threatened.

Henry blinks for a moment, then his eyes widen in recognition. “What the hell are you doing, Beth?”

“I heard you whimpering and crying out. I thought you were hurt.”

Henry suddenly looks mad. “If I was hurt you wouldn’t have been able to help me. You could have been hurt, or worse. Never do that again.”

He’s really going to lecture me right now? “So, I’m just supposed to ignore you when I know you’re in pain? I think not.”

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