Page 69 of Assassin Anonymous

Ravi: You don’t get days off.

Me: Then I want to talk to my union rep.

Ravi: This is serious.

Me: Call in Azrael.

Ravi: Azrael is on something else. And the Director asked for you.

Me: I’m not available.

Ravi: No one sees these chats but me, Mark. So I’m speaking to you as a friend when I say: this is not a smart move. There will be consequences.

Me: I’m sorry, Ravi. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important. After everything I’ve done, I think I earned a night off. Merry Christmas.

And I turn off my phone.

Breathe in for four, hold for four, out for four, empty lungs for four.

A laugh erupts in my chest. That was easier than I thought it would be. I just said the thing. And sure, there’ll be some fallout, but that’s for tomorrow.

Anyway, what if I just quit?

I have enough money to retire. I could get a job, something normal people do, just to keep myself busy. No more math.

I don’t even know what an exit strategy from the Agency would look like. If it’s even possible. Then there’s the question of the enemies I’ve made, none of whom know my identity, but if it ever got out, the danger I could put Sara in the path of…

Then I remember: I’m the Pale Horse. It’ll be fine.

This right here, this is what I want.

When I get in bed, Sara will wake up a little and stretch over to let me kiss her, like she always does, and I’m going to tell her I love her, and I’m going to fall asleep in her arms, and tomorrow after her family leaves I’m going to tell her the truth about me.

Simple as that.

I can do this.

The rocks glass is empty. Probably one more will put me to sleep by the time this movie is over. I hit the pause button and stand, my joints popping, and look at the present Sara placed on the pile. Pick it up and give it a shake. It’s small. Something rattles inside but I can’t tell what.

I’m about to put it back when I hear the subtle scrape of a careful footstep at the back of the house. Not wanting to create any noise, I slide the package into my pocket.

Everything drops away and I go into work mode, moving through the kitchen, grabbing a chef’s knife out of the wooden block on the counter.

My phone is encrypted. Can’t be tracked. I always watch for tails on my way over. There’s no real way to tie me to being here.

Right?

Probably just a neighbor, coming home late or stepping outside for a smoke.

Unless the Agency thinks I went rogue. Did Ravi have someone watching me and now he’s sending them in? In the sea of people I’ve killed, did someone figure out who I am and came looking for revenge?

Maybe not the first mistake this person has made, but definitely their last.

I move toward the sunroom at the back of the house, where there’s a door that opens onto the yard. There’s a figure jostling with the lock. I duck into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the open doorway.

If this were my own apartment, I would cut their throat and deal with the mess. But I don’t want blood on the floor to spoil our Christmas plans. I need to subdue him, quietly, and figure out what the hell is going on.

My hand hurts. It takes a moment to realize it’s because of how hard I’m gripping the knife. My vocation requires standing on the precipice of life and death, and usually I feel a vibration of excitement, something approaching serenity, like this is what I’m here to do.

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