Page 4 of Assassin's Game
The girl sagged with relief. “Of course.”
“We’ll wait right over here for that order and a new receipt, m’kay?” I jerked my head to the left, shot her a genuine smile, then shoved my new dickhead friend to the side. His protests were lost as I gripped his arm just above his elbow, digging into the pressure point in the underside of his biceps, and his uncooperative legs buckled unexpectedly.
A smattering of applause registered vaguely as I led Winker—forcibly—to an out-of-the-way corner.
“What the hell—”
I squeezed down on the pressure point again, satisfaction pulsing through me as the asshole’s knees did a jig that forced him to grab hold of the wall next to him. “I’d suggest you be quiet,” I told him, allowing all emotion to leach out of my words. That dead tone, the emptiness in my voice, had started more than one enemy pissing in his pants. Score points for the guy in front of me—his eyes bugged out and he started to tremble, but no acrid smell hit my nostrils, thank God. It was so embarrassing when they did that.
“Now let me tell you what’s going to happen.” I leaned close, nose not quite touching his, and narrowed my eyes. “You’re going to take your food and walk out of here. Quietly. Courteously. Do you understand?”
“Who the hell are you? Let go of me!”
I squeezed again, adding a sharp twist, and Winker whimpered as the pain shot through his body. “Maybe you don’t understand then.” I allowed a small, grim smile to curve my lips. “You’re going to take your food and leave, or I’m going to follow you to your car and make sure you’ve been circumcised the Woody Allen’sRobin Hoodway, if you get my drift?” One raised eyebrow and the flick of my knife opening between us made my point. The way the guy’s thighs squeezed together made my smile genuine.
“You’re... I... What...”
“Did you have something to say?” I asked.
He shook his head, his gaze trailing over my shoulder. Whatever he saw had him cringing back away from me. Titus, no doubt. The guy was mellow, but when he put on his soldier face, he was even better at getting guys to piss their pants than I was.
And there was that scent hitting my nostrils, damn it.
Titus shoved a bag of food at the guy. “Looks like you’re all set,” he said, menace somehow dripping from the words. A drink carrier came next.
Winker stuttered and shook, but took the items Titus handed him. One embarrassed glance down at his now wet pants and he shot for the door.
Titus chuckled in my ear. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
“Sure you can.” I shrugged. “Saves you wear-and-tear on your chill.”
He laughed louder. “True.”
A number being called registered in my ears, and Titus turned toward the counter. One big fist caught up the five bags waiting there, while the other grabbed the drink holder. “Ready?”
“I was ready ten minutes ago,” I said, but my step was lighter as we headed for the door. In fact I was pretty sure I smiled the whole way back to the hotel suite we planned to temporarily occupy. Being out of the States for several years meant finding a new hidey-hole, a task we hadn’t had time to accomplish yet.
Maris opened the door at our knock. My kid sister was ten years younger than me and light where I was dark. Her honey-colored hair was twisted into a messy bun at the back of her head, leaving the displeasure on her face in full view. I glanced toward the corner as I entered, noting that Rhys’s expression matched Maris’s. The man rarely spoke and even more rarely smiled, but I could usually count on him to be on an even keel—unless Maris was around. Something about the two of them in the same room seemed to push all his buttons. We’d been confined for hours, traveling, and now...
I frowned at him, a warning to back off. He gave me a minute nod.
Titus’s long legs brought him to the table across the room before I got there. He dumped the food on the surface and began ripping into bags. “Heaven is here.”
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Monty said. Our fifth team member sat up and peered over the back of the couch at us, his hazel eyes sleepy. “Just tell me you got enough Big Macs this time and I won’t kill you.”
“And two whole bags of fries,” Titus crowed.
I stood back to let everyone grab their fill, pulling out my phone and clicking over to e-mail to see if any of the real estate “brokers” had gotten back to me with leads on a location for us. A couple of replies waited, and I read through them before coming to an e-mail from an unknown contact. The subject line,Welcome Back, had my heartbeat ticking up a notch. No one knew we were here in the States. No one.
I clicked on the e-mail.
Good evening, Ms. Nixon.
I’ve been an admirer of your team’s success for some time. The problem, of course, is exposure—you don’t want it, but I have the means to make it happen. The tie between your team members and the unfortunate events surrounding Jay Nixon’s suicide might seem deeply buried, but it would, in fact, be easy for me to expose to the very people you don’t want informed.
Neither of us want that, I’m sure. A partnership would easily solve the issue.
Your target is Bram Sullivan, CEO of BSGA Holdings International, headquartered in Atlanta. Natural causes are imperative. Contact me within two weeks when the job is done, and the information I have will remain between the two of us.
