Page 13 of The Assassin
Chapter Six
I had motive and means; now I simply had to wait for opportunity.
“How is he?” I asked Eli, my gaze on the screens in front of me. On the central monitor, I was busy hacking the foreign bank where one of Roslyn’s many accounts was held. To one side, the cameras showing the grounds surrounding Roslyn’s mansion played out, no movement except the sway of branches in the wind. Onthe other screens, I had views of the hospital hallway Eli walked every six hours to get to Remi’s room, and Remi lying in his bed. I could see he was no different, but I needed to hear the words.
“The same.”
My brother’s voice was beyond tired. The weight of Remi’s condition was wearing on both of us, but it was Eli who was stuck at the hospital. Neither of us was used to doing nothing. Atleast out here, I was able to take action.
“He’ll wake up soon.” I believed that because I wouldn’t allow myself to believe anything else. Remi was going to heal, he was going to wake up, and he was going to come home. Period.
“Will he?”
Before I could reprimand him, Eli moved on. “What have you got on Roslyn?”
I grunted. “Plenty.” Conversation after conversation from both his home and businessoffices. A wealth of online data he probably thought no hacker could access. All waiting for me to do something with it. But the opening salvo of this war had to be big, unmistakable, a declaration Roslyn couldn’t ignore and sure as fuck couldn’t mistake for anything else. “All I need now is the perfect opportunity to make the play—and I’ll find it, Eli. I promise you.”
“I know you will,” hesaid with weary resignation. “I’d be satisfied with a bullet to the brain.”
Fuck no. This was going to take much longer than a head shot. Roslyn would feel the same agony we’d felt before he died. There’d be no coming home to that fancy mansion after I was through with him. And from what I’d observed of the private man, the one not on camera or in the interview chair, not many people in his lifewould grieve for the bastard.
Certainly not his daughter.
“They’re about to let me back to sit with him.” The sound of a hand rasping over stubble came through the line. Eli barely took time to come home and shower, much less shave. “I’ll get an update from the day nurse, then let you know what she says.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Then, because he needed it, because it needed to be said over and overuntil we all truly grasped it, “He’ll get there, Eli. Believe me.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Love you, bro.”
“You too.”
Eli clicked off. I sat for a moment, staring at my cell, worry flashing through me, before tucking it away. I couldn’t do anything to make Remi recover faster; I could do something about making sure he and Eli were safe.
A couple of hours later, the sound of a knock on the massivewooden doors of Roslyn’s home office came through my headphones. Abigail. Roslyn had summoned her after dinner. I knew from the bug in her living space—one of the maids had delivered the message. The feed from Roslyn’s rooms was a constant buzz of noise; it seemed like the man never stopped talking. The daughter’s was just the opposite—if the woman said five words a day while at home, it was a surprise.A few text messages came through her phone, mostly school assignments and the occasional text from a fellow student, but nothing else. Even when called on the carpet in her father’s office, she was mostly silent.
I recognized self-defense when I saw it. Or maybe Roslyn had beaten her down to the point where she didn’t fight it anymore.
I hoped not, not with the plans I had for her.
“Dad,” Abigailsaid, her voice getting louder as she approached Roslyn’s desk.
“I assume you have the dress I sent for tonight’s appearance,” he said without greeting his daughter.
“I do.”
“Good.” The click of fingers typing on a keyboard came through. “You’ll sit with Kyle tonight.”
Abigail didn’t respond, but I could feel the tension in the room ratchet up, even secondhand.
The clicking stopped. “KylePellen is the perfect companion, and I expect your demeanor to reflect that, do you understand?”
Pellen was Roslyn’s right-hand man. Tall, blond, and wealthy. A man Roslyn had made a deal with. Obviously Abigail didn’t know about that deal.
“Dad—”
A loud slap echoed in my headphones—a flat palm hitting wood. I narrowed my eyes on the lines of code filling my monitor.
“Be. Silent.” The creakof Roslyn’s chair came through as he stood up. “You will get used to him, or you’ll have a miserable future. Your choice.”
