Page 30 of Assistant to the Assassin

I type the name of the song into YouTube and pull up a clip from the movie. The scene shows Audrey Hepburn and another older actress dancing on a stage of some kind. They’re wearing a matching outfit that consists of a white dress shirt, black pants, a blue skirt, and a scarf wrapped around their heads. I can see why Henry’s mom loved this song; it’s catchy as hell, and the choreography is simple and full of energy—a perfect song to dance to.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Henry smile at the screen, but pain is palpable in his gaze. The sight makes my heart clench.

“You know, I’ve never seen this movie before,” I comment as the song comes to a close.

I fully expect him to decline my subtle invitation, but after a moment, he gives me a small smile. “I’d be more than happy to watch it with you.”

I give H the task of making snacks while I pirate the movie online. By the time I’m done linking my laptop to the living room TV, Henry comes in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn bigger than my head. He and I assume our usual positions on the couch, with me using him as a pillow, and then we start munching on the mountain of popcorn he made as the opening credits roll.

“H?” I murmur, keeping my eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for sharing a piece of her with me.”

His body stiffens a bit under mine, but then he wraps an arm around my shoulders, holding me tightly.

I never liked this house. When Jake started making bank as a lawyer, he insisted we get a place to live that exudes wealth and power, something we never had growing up. Even when I pushed back on this idea, he insisted. He said that the world was ours for the taking, and for a long time, I believed him. I believed we were untouchable, I believed we would take the world and build whatever we wanted on top of the society that betrayed us and left us behind to die.

But now I’m sitting in this gaudy mansion by myself, nursing a bottle of whisky, mourning the dream Jake and I were making a reality.

The coroner prepared his body for burial here in the house. I didn’t want to go to a hospital or funeral home where questions could arise. I sat there, staring at his still form for what must have been hours while Jake was embalmed and touched up. By the end, he looked like he was sleeping. I kept expecting his chest to rise, for him to soon wake from his deep slumber. But his chest is hollow, his heart silent. My remaining teammates helped me bury him in the backyard. I took a rock and a Sharpie, making a gravestone to mark his final resting place.

Jacob Harrington

Beloved Brother

Once I was left alone, I knelt to the ground in front of the mound of dirt, and sobbed.

My twin is gone, my other half, the only person I could ever truly trust or depend on. Despite all the precautions we’d taken to ensure his safety, he was taken from me by a hired hitman and his blonde bimbo assistant.

They took the only person I’ve ever loved, the center of my world, right from under my nose, and now they’re hiding out somewhere like the cowards they are.

But I will find them. I will not rest, I will not eat, I will not sleep, I will not surrender. Even if it kills me, I will bring the two of them down. Whatever it takes.

Journal Entry 189

I fell asleep on the couch last night with Beth in my arms. If I had a dream, I can’t remember it. I slept throughout the entire night.

Jarring of Judgement and Reasons Defeat

“It’s been silent—no sign of anyone lurking about or asking questions,” Ian informs me over the satellite phone. He’s made his base of operations in a motel in Haiti; it’s where he stays when he’s not exploring the islands as a seemingly innocent tourist. His surveillance has been greatly appreciated over the last few days. I hate being blindsided, which is what I would be without him.

“Make some friends, preferably ones that travel around the area. A fisherman, a tour guide, anything.”

He sighs, clearly not liking the idea. “I’ll see what I can do. How is training Beth going?”

“She’s a quick learner.” I’m currently watching her on the security cameras in the office. I told her to practice with the punching bag while I talked to Ian. She is positioning herself the way I taught her, and her aim is good, but it will take a while for her to build up the strength needed to make an impact. “She just needs practice.”

“Must be weird being in such close quarters. You haven’t had a roommate since the service, have you?”

“No. I haven’t.”

Weird isn’t the word I would use. Living with Beth is easy. She’s very clean, likes to have alone time in her room, watches our show with me—she’s been great. She’s still sleeping with me at night, always spooning me, and it makes it so much harder not to touch her. I swear she’s teasing me on purpose—caressing my stomach and chest when we lie down, making any excuse to touch my hand or arm, always lingering longer than necessary, and she somehow manages to turn every single one of our training sessions into something sexual by rubbing against me or slipping innuendos into her taunts.

She’s driving me insane.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Ian observes, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

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