Page 49 of Agent vs. Assassin

“Yes.”

I’d say good, but I’m not sure it matters. The crime scene has been exploited for evidence at this point. “I’m going to take another look inside.”

He immediately reaches for his phone.

“What are you doing?” I snap. “Nothing about what I said requires your phone.”

“Chief Taylor said to call him if anyone wants in the house.”

“Stay with him,” I order Kit, “and make sure no one, including Chief Taylor gets in until I say he gets in.”

Kit steps forward and takes the phone from the shocked uniform. I open the door and step inside, shutting the door firmly behind me, before I glove up and then lock the door.

But I don’t move. There’s a slight shift in the air, not even a creak of wood, just a shift. I’m not alone.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Adrenaline surges through me, the promise of conflict an aphrodisiac to me that most call fear.

I don’t pull my weapon. Some would say that’s exactly what I should do, but one of the things I did this morning before I ever got in the shower, was sit down and force myself to review my profile of Elsa and write it down this time. In a matter of a few minutes I wrote “she’s running on emotions” twenty times.

And “she’s alone,” another twenty.

I need to know if anyone else is helping her, preparing to take out one or more targets, and I can’t find out if she’s dead, or in a jail cell with an attorney shutting her up.

There’s a blade in my bag that I’ve been wearing cross-body since before I left the house. With a steady hand I retrieve it and slip it inside my pants pocket.

My speech during the news conference plays in my head, in particular the part where I painted Elsa as a scared loser who practically murdered her own brother. On second thought, I pull my firearm.

Only then do I ease left, and bring the piano into view, careful where my back is at all times.

The body is gone.

The blood tinging the tan carpet beneath black is not.

Mark Walker is now ice cold in a freezer in the morgue which is why there should be a uniform there as well. There better be.

I step further into the room, almost expecting Ghost to be right where he was yesterday, but he’s not there. Of course, he’s not there. He’s smarter than a dumbass and only a dumbass would sit in the open and invite law enforcement to find him.

For a long few moments, I hold my position, listening for another sound, but there’s nothing. And yet, therewasa sound. And thereissomeone here.

Ifeelthem.

I ease forward again, and then walk quickly toward the kitchen, inching past the archway to peer inside.

“Lilah.”

At the sound of Ghost’s voice, I breathe out, relieved when I should not be—he’s a killer, a far more lethal one than Elsa, as he’s practiced and lacking the weakness of an emotionally driven action.

Ever.

I step fully into the room to find him sitting at the kitchen island, a cup of takeout coffee in front of him, no weapon in sight but there’s plenty to see. Holy shit he sounds like Ghost, but he doesn’tlooklike Ghost and I remember Kane talking about his chameleon like qualities. “You’ve changed again.”

A smile curves beneath the dark brown of the mustache he’s sporting, a really natural looking mustache he didn’t have yesterday. “I did, didn’t I?” Pride rings in his tone.

He pats the table across from him but I don’t move. His cheekbones are higher than before, his brows thicker, his lips fuller. It’s makeup, skilled shadowing, a perfect hand, and maybe something more. “It’s fucking brilliant.”

He laughs, low and deep, and pats the table again and I note how much thicker his neck looks. There’s even some girth to his body, at least the part I can see beneath his long sleeved blacktee. “Come on,” he encourages. “I won’t bite. And you don’t need the gun.”

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