Page 9 of The Assassin
Chapter Four
Derrick Roslyn was a prominent Atlanta politician. Most citizens couldn’t tell you the name of even one of their local city councilmen, but anyone who watched the news or read the papers would recognize Roslyn. A prominent businessman for the last three decades, he’d stepped into politics about ten years ago, and rumor had it he would be announcing a run for the Georgia governorshipin the very near future.
Which was exactly when most politicians began cleaning up their pasts. Looked like Roslyn was acting to type.
I watched as the man’s black town car pulled from their five-car garage and around to the front of the house. Roslyn stepped outside a few minutes later, his formal evening wear looking sleek in the lights framing the front portico and corners of the yard. Thedriver stepped to the back passenger door and opened it for his boss, who nodded as he slid into the back seat. No talking. Roslyn felt the staff was beneath him, only there to command or to berate. I’d seen it several times on the video clips I’d managed to dig up off the Internet in the past twenty-four hours.
Roslyn’s Google calendar was shared between himself and his most pertinent staff,which made it easy to hack. The councilman had a standing appointment at the Patriots Club every Thursday night. With a bit more digging—i.e. bribes—I discovered that the household staff was also off every Thursday. It was the emptiest I would find the house, so I took advantage of it.
After seeing the front gate close behind Roslyn’s town car, I circled around to the back of the grounds. Thegates required a six-digit code to open, as did the outside doors to the house. The codes were changed once a week, and I’d paid handsomely for this week’s code to the back gate and the side garage door. Carefully I entered the numbers on the keypad next to the gate’s lock, then waited for the small light to turn green before pulling the gate open enough to slip through.
With a median net worthof almost $800,000, the residents of Peach Tree City were used to opulence, but even here, Roslyn’s hundred-acre estate was unusual. I entered the gardens first, an area lush with hedges and flowerbeds and trees. One in particular caught my eye, a huge oak that had to have been here before Roslyn had even been born. Its branches spread out, blocking the moonlight, providing cover as I stopped tosurvey the grounds.
“Come on, Levi! Come see. It’s perfect.”
I flinched as Remi’s voice echoed in my head. A glance up assured me I was beneath Roslyn’s tree, not that long-ago oak Remi loved to climb.
“Dad says he’ll give us all the wood we need. Don’t you think it’ll make the perfect tree house?”
I could hear his excitement, swore the scent of vegetation steaming in the heat of a summerafternoon after a hard rain filled my nose.
“Come on, Levi!”
“Shut the fuck up!” I needed my head in the now, not some long-ago memory that didn’t matter anymore. Forcing my legs to move, I jogged lightly across the grounds until I hit the open lawn along the back of the house. Security cameras scanned the property regularly, though they weren’t a concern now—I’d hacked them before I’d evenattempted Roslyn’s personal computer. I knew from watching that no regular patrols guarded the grounds, but just to be safe, I waited a few minutes, eyeing the back windows, searching for movement, for light. Any indication that the house wasn’t as empty as it seemed.
It wasn’t completely empty; I already knew that too. But the one person occupying the 5000-square-foot building wouldn’t be aproblem.
Letting out my breath, I made my way to the door on the side of the garage, entered the code, and walked inside. The garage was dark. Several bays held a sedan, a sports car, what appeared to be a work truck, probably for the groundskeepers. The bay for the town car was empty. I moved through the area quickly, making my way to the door that led to the mudroom.
More darkness met me onthe other side.
Doors to my left and right led to basement areas according to the layout passed on to me by my source. The door directly opposite the garage led to the kitchen. I crossed to it, listened carefully to make certain the room was empty, then entered.
The kitchen was massive, easily large enough to cater the lavish dinner parties for which Roslyn was known. The space was almost painfullyempty as well. No appliances out on the counters. No bowls of fruit on the massive center island workspace. No cookie jars.
“Can I have oatmeal?” Remi asked, bouncing on his eight-year-old feet as our mother took the lid off the cookie jar. Oatmeal was his favorite…
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “For fuck’s sake, stop!”
The words were no more than a harsh whisper, but still they echoed inthe empty room. Narrowing my eyes, I moved across the tiled floor, noting the glaring whiteness of the cabinets, counters. The only color was the stainless steel appliances and the faint veins in the countertops. The room was clinical, stark, so much so that I would’ve doubted anyone lived here if not for the faint scent of cheese and warm bread that lingered in the air. Not the scent of Roslyn’sdinner, since he would eat at the club tonight, but the scent was there, meaning the occupant I expected had been here recently.
I searched the area until I found a trash bin beneath the sink. There, right on top, lay a to-go bag from Fratelli’s. Italian food. Explained the scent. I closed the cabinet door, attached a bug under the lip of the center island, and moved on.
The downstairs was mostlyliving space: a massive dining area that could seat fifty, a formal living room devoid of personal mementos and family photos but full of stiff furniture and an excruciatingly neat atmosphere. I stopped here and there to plant the occasional listening devices, then made my way via the back stairs to the second floor. Roslyn’s living quarters.
The hall I entered was lit by night-lights every fewfeet, just as the halls downstairs had been. The first set of doors I came to were wide, heavy wood. I added a bug to the underside of a night-light, then moved to the doors and grasped the knob of the left one.
Inside, a massive bed dominated the room.
Blood splashed the white walls. Soaked the bed. Even in the dark I could see it. And my uncle, Amos, standing at the foot of it, his gun nowpointed at me. “Speak and you’ll join them. Then your brothers. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
I sucked in a shaky breath, blinked my eyes back into focus. This room was dark, masculine, not white. The bed was a heavy four-poster, the covers neatly in place, not mussed and crumpled from the bodies beneath them. I pointed the differences out to myself, one by one, and yet couldn’t shakethe weight of the memories crouching in my head, waiting to attack at the slightest hint of weakness.
I knew what it was, of course. I’d been back to the hospital. It had been almost two days since the fall, and Remi wasn’t awake. The longer he remained unconscious, the more I worried that he’d stay asleep for good. I couldn’t escape the worry, couldn’t block out thoughts of him, the feelingof responsibility, the weight of needing to fix this somehow. But I couldn’t fix him; I could only make certain it never happened again. Walking to the bedside table with a neatly bookmarked biography and a pair of reading glasses, I stared down at Roslyn’s bed. His days of sleeping easily, unhindered, were numbered. He didn’t know it, but I did. I’d make it happen or die trying.
Another bug,another room. This floor got more attention than the first because it was Roslyn’s private space. Opposite his bedroom was the office he used when he worked from home. Completely dark. There were no night-lights in here, and the heavy shutters were closed to protect his privacy. I snapped on a penlight and swept it across the massive desk he sat behind to work.
The desk was small, cramped, likethe room. Garrett’s sun-worn face was ravaged from worry, from stress. From fear. But he no longer had anything to fear. The men who’d taken his daughter’s innocence were dead; I’d made sure of it.
