Page 6 of Assassin's Game
Stop fucking with my sister, dickhead.
Something flickered in those navy-blue depths. His nod recognized my silent command without promising anything, but he and I both knew if he didn’t cool it, my steel-toed boot would end up somewhere a lot more vulnerable than his leg.
The guys discussed options while I finally fixed a plate. When I was seated, greasy food piled high—thank God for fast metabolisms—and an ice-cold Coke sweating in my hand, I reread the e-mail aloud. “Any thoughts?”
“It’s a single point of contact,” Titus said around a mouthful of food. “There’s not much we can do with the limited data we have.”
“There’s nothing in the e-mail that hints at how he knows about us aside from the reference to ‘connections.’ That could mean anything.”
Monty slurped on his straw, then wiped his mouth with his wadded-up napkin. My guys were nothing if not mannerly. “So we’re all thinking military, right?”
Murmurs of agreement came from all sides.
“Why would the military want you to do a hit?” Maris asked. I tightened my lips around my straw to keep from correcting heryoutous. “They have plenty of people who can do that for them; they don’t need someone outside...”
Monty was nodding as she trailed off. “Officially they don’t. But if they’re looking for an off-the-records hit...”
“Then we’re officially fucked,” Titus pointed out.
“Or,” Rhys added, “we’re looking at someone who has access to military information but is using it for a private agenda.”
Which was even worse. Shit.
I fingered up a few fries and stuffed them into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Okay,” I said after I swallowed, “we can’t track the e-mail. What else can we look at to lead us back to our friendly neighborhood Mr. X?”
“We can look at the target,” Maris suggested.
My eyes widened even as a satisfied smile curved my lips.See? We’re a team.“It’s the only solid piece of intel we have: a name and location. There has to be some connection between the hit and the man—”
“Or woman,” Titus interrupted, pointing a fry in my direction.
“Or woman,” I acceded, “that is targeting us.”
Half an hour later, lunch was over and everyone but Rhys was hunched around a computer, Maris and Monty at the desk in one corner of hotel room, Titus and me on the bed staring at a laptop. Our resident grouch had gone to scout locations for our next hidey-hole after pointing out the convenience of us already being in Atlanta, right where the target was. The rest of us scoured the Internet for everything we could find on Mr. Bram Sullivan of BSGA Holdings International. Maris and Monty were hacking what they could of Sullivan’s personal accounts, anything they could easily access. Titus and I gathered what public intel we could find.
“This guy sounds like a grade-A prick,” Titus muttered under his breath.
“Because he has money?” I asked, eyeing the suit Sullivan wore in a photo taken on a red-carpet premiere last month. The designer evening wear had to have cost the man a fortune. But then, he was president of a bank; he could afford it.
One hoped, at least. If not, maybe stealing from the bank was the crime someone was hoping to execute him for.
“Because his name is Bram and yes, he has money.” Titus clicked through the pages of the bank’s website, eyes scanning faster than I ever could. The man had a photographic memory and an ability to drill to the heart of intel so fast he left me in awe. Of course, he wasn’t without his prejudices.
I grinned. “What’s wrong with the name Bram?” It was good enough for the author ofDracula, right?
“I keep checking the man’s press photos for fangs,” Maris admitted. A snort escaped me as I superimposed vampire teeth on the red-carpet image I was staring at.
“He just sounds...arrogant,” Titus said.
“Sometimes arrogance is a good thing,” Monty pointed out.
Titus humphed. “Listen to this.”
I watched as he clicked over to Sullivan’s bio page on the bank website.
“‘Mr. Bram Sullivan was founder of BSGA Holdings International in the early 2000s and has been CEO for over a decade, leading our company into a new tier of national and international commerce, including rising to become one of the world’s top ten banks in revenue, profitability, net worth, and market share of deposits. We serve more than ten million customers worldwide, including individuals and small businesses, up to some of the most successful Fortune 500 companies in the world—all thanks to Mr. Sullivan’s skills and expertise.’ There’s a bunch of stuff here about awards he’s garnered, that the bank has won, charities and foundations and...” Titus made a sound deep in his throat that at once conveyed disgust, impatience, and suspicion. “He’s also last year’s ‘most eligible bachelor in Atlanta, who loves his purebred Pharaoh hounds, Cleo and Ra.’”
Okay, so he did sound like he might have a pole up his ass. I snickered behind my hand.
