Page 9 of Taking Care of the Target

I’m going to change that.

Knowing herself the way she did, it’d take baby steps.

Maybe eventually I’ll become more like Mom was.Cassie ran her fingers over the line of stitches on the quilt, thinking about how much time it must’ve taken to piece the fabric together and loving the few “mistake” squares that didn’t go with the rest of the pattern. The pink couch reminded her of Dad, and the patchwork bedspread was her link to Mom.

Nearly every one of Dad’s stories about Mom made it clear that she marched to the beat of her own drum. Cassie always wished she was more like her—but at the same time, she liked that she and Dad had so much in common.

Still, it was time to stop holding back and put herself out there. Her mind flashed to the stack of medical bills she’d found. Her risk-taking might be slightly hampered by her budget, and finding a job was imperative, but she vowed to do more with the hours she wasn’t working. And silver lining, the amount due showed she’d at least taken a minor bite out of the staggering sum these past few years. That couldn’t have been easy while paying for college.

Go me.

Speaking of college, tomorrow she’d go to the TCNJ campus and see if she could salvage anything. Maybe her brain would recall her classes, even if she didn’t remember taking them. Even if she needed a semester off to get her educational feet back under her, so to speak, she’d find a way to jump back in as soon as possible.

Cassie lifted the frame that held a picture of her and Dad on one side and Mom and Dad on the other. She ran her finger over her parents’ faces. “I’m going to try to make both of you proud. Be bold and get my degree. Go on some adventures and eventually find someone, the way you guys found each other. I need some happy stories to mix in with the tragic ones.” She set the picture aside, then took off her glasses and sat them next to it. Despite it being early for bedtime, she lay back on the blanket, completely exhausted from her afternoon and in severe need of rest.

Sleep tugged at her, promising to take away her worries, but right as it started to pull her under, a knock on the door startled her awake. She sat up, completely disoriented as she blinked at her fuzzy surroundings, trying to ground herself with where she was. Eventually she’d get used to her current life, right?

She reached over to where she’d left her glasses, patting the area and trying to find them so she’d be able to see whoever was at the door.

Chapter Six

After knocking on the door to apartment fifty-four, Vince stepped to the side so whoever came to answer—Cassie or the cop escort who might still be with her—wouldn’t see him before he got a chance to make a move. He reached inside his jacket and gripped the handle of his pistol.

This is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.Bad ideas used to be his specialty, so that was saying something. He tried not to think about how much time he’d get for taking out a cop.Last resort only.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy.

He hadn’t seen any sign of someone watching the apartment. Not even unmarked cars with cops pretending to be regular people who just liked to sit for hours behind the wheel. It’d be really convenient if she was alone, but he doubted he’d get that lucky. Not after what Cassie had seen. Theyshouldhave a swarm of cops watching the place.

After two or three tense minutes that made a cold sweat break out across his forehead, he took out his lock pick set and, as quietly as possible, inserted the torque wrench. He slid the pick into the keyhole with his other hand, applied pressure on the wrench, and raked the pins, searching for the correct alignment.

Every couple of seconds he paused to listen for movement behind the door. When there was nothing, he moved to the next pin. Breaking and entering used to be a hobby. While he’d tried to turn his life around, it was too late to un-teach his brother the same skills. Of course there’d been no way of knowing Bobby would turn to harder crimes and drugs—first dealing, and then mostly using—but Vince felt responsible all the same. That was the reason he could never leave him in jail, or let the bookies and dealers he owed take him out. He’d spread the word that anyone who hurt Bobby would have to deal with retaliation from him personally, and luckily he had enough cred for people to take the threat to heart. Bobby would always be his little brother, out-of-control addict or not.

Vince tried not to think about how what he was doing tonight might hurt Bobby in the long run. He’d have to warn him somehow and hope he was coherent enough to listen.

A junkie brother and a mob boss uncle who sends me to kill a sweet, innocent girl. I really hit the family lotto.

The last pin clicked into place, and he held his breath, listening again. Maybe they’d moved Cassie to a safe house or were quickly entering her into the witness protection program. It would be the smart thing to do, as long as none of the agents Carlo had in his pocket found out the location. But his uncle’s contacts ran long and deep, which gave him little faith in either option.

After taking a quick glance around, Vince drew his gun and eased the door open. He supposed he should’ve worn some type of mask, but he was afraid it would scare Cassie and make everything more difficult. Of course, he was fairly certain she’d seen him the day Carlo shot Eduardo Alvarez in the alley, so she’d be scared anyway, and that meant he’d probably have to end up using force.

Another thing to push to the back of his mind—it wouldn’t do him any good right now. First find her, then deal with the other part.

Complete darkness greeted him, the blinds drawn tight enough to shut out the almost non-existent lights of the ghetto apartment complex she had no business living in in the first place.

If she’s already asleep, this might be easier than I thought.His foot hit something solid, thethunkloud in the quiet. Boxes. All over the floor. Carefully stepping over them, he made his way to the living room. More boxes and the dark outline of a couch.

He crept down the hall, gripped the knob to the bedroom door with one hand and his gun with the other, and then pushed it open and moved inside.

The few missing slats in the blinds let in enough light to see the bed was empty—stripped of its bedding, too, only a bare mattress remaining. Vince checked the closet just to be sure, and then flipped on the light to get a better look.

More labeled boxes sat on the floor.Of course she’s not here. Cassie’s smarter than that.

He put the safety on his gun and slid it back into his holster.I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

He poked around, trying to find something that would clue him in on where she might go, and then moved to leave. He had his hand on the knob when a knock came at the front door. He quickly flattened himself against the wall, drawing his gun again.

“Cassandra Dalton?”

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