Page 9 of The Darkest Half

I look back at her standing near a booth seat; sunlight surrounds her body from the windows.

“Niklas or Fredrik?” I ask.

“Niklas,” she says. “And there’s no time.”

“Where is he?”

“Pennsylvania. A mental institution. Vara is waiting for us about a mile away from the facility.”

“A mental institution?” I laugh quietly, coming up with all kinds of Niklas-worthy insults. “What the hell is he doing there?”

“Not sure, but that woman you told me about—Hollis, the one Javier gave up information on—”

“Lysandra Hollis,” I say, though more to myself.

“Yeah, she’s holding him hostage.” She glances at Dee. “What are you going to do with her?” she asks.

I stand up and then put a bullet in Dee’s head; the shot echoes throughout the restaurant. I put my gun away and then retrieve the one I’d dropped.

“You said there’s no time, so I have to leave her here.”

Rayna gives me a shocked, confused look.

I had been following Skanky Bonnie and Clyde for days. I’d first met Dee in the parking lot of this restaurant when Levi had beat the hell out of her after closing. I intervened, gave him back the punches he gave her, then warned him not to touch her again—or any woman, for that matter. Yeah, I don’t know what possessed me to get involved in a lover’s quarrel, and I’ll never do it again, but that’s beside the point. After I “rescued” Dee that night, I’d told her to call me if he beat her again. She’d agreed. But when I left that night, something about those two didn’t sit right with me. So, I started following them, and I did my research. Turns out Dee and Levi had had plenty of run-ins with the law, mostly stuff like theft, bar fights, and petty things that don’t usually interest me. But two things stood out: they always did them together, and Dee had been in jail four times for assaulting young women.

But the police didn’t know those four women were fortunate to be alive. Dee and Levi had already killed three other women—I know of for sure—and no telling how many more. They had photos of the women they’d killed on Dee’s smartphone, and the cops never thought to look when they’d confiscated her phone the numerous times she’d been arrested. But there they were, beaten and terrified, sitting against a cheap trailer park paneled wall with their hands tied behind their backs and tears streaking down their faces. Sixteen women total—all of them missing.

I never intended to take either of them to the police, but I didn’t want to have to kill them here, either.

But as Rayna said, there’s no time, and we need to get out of here. If the information is good and Niklas is at this mental institution, that doesn’t mean they won’t move him.

Lysandra Hollis. Supposedly, Vonnegut’s liaison. Someone important to Vonnegut, who makes decisions without first consulting him, which leads me to believe she is related to him somehow.

I want this all over with. I want Vonnegut dead and his Order destroyed. I don’t even want to see Victor controlling The Order anymore. Just destroy it!

Ah, Victor. The love of my life and the thorn in my side. I hate myself that I still love him after he left me. I despise myself and all I supposedly stand for because I can’t be a stronger woman and just let him go. Part of me has let him go—the angry, unforgiving part. But the rest of me still aches for him, still searches for him, though not directly anymore. I don’t spend time or resources hunting him down; I don’t go out of my way to investigate rumors of his possible whereabouts. Hell, part of me hopes I never see him again. Because, like with this whole Vonnegut and The Order thing, I just want it to be over with so I can get on with my life. I don’t want to love Victor, but I do. I don’t want to find him, but I do. Sometimes I think he’s watching over me from the shadows, as he always did. And sometimes I give him the finger. Other times, I say things out loud like, “How long are you going to hide from me, Victor?” And “I hate that I love you so much.” I wonder if he ever hears me.

I leave the bodies of Skanky Bonnie and Clyde on full bloody display and exit through the back door next to the dumpster.

I hop inside Rayna’s car.

“Let’s go to Pennsylvania,” I tell her, and we speed away.

Rayna and Vara aren’t new to the assassin’s life, but they are new to me. I found them through a clandestine government database after an arrangement with Kenneth Ware, a man who works for a secret activities division in the United States, gave me access. Kenneth Ware is also the same man fascinated with Fredrik Gustavsson and has been using Fredrik to help him track down an elusive serial killer. Now, he’s looking for Fredrik, too.

I needed—well, wanted, anyway—company in my quest to become my own boss because nobody can do everything. So, I employed Rayna and Vara as my assistants. Since they were under the U.S. government’s thumb, trained by them, and paid by them, they were more than willing to seize the opportunity to break free from low wages and the restrictions of government rules to work for me instead. Thankfully, Kenneth Ware had the authority to break their government contracts. The only thing Kenneth Ware wanted in return was that I help him find Fredrik.

Fredrik had gone missing around the same time as Niklas about three weeks ago, and we’ve been neither hot nor cold on either’s trail—until today.

Two hours later, Rayna and I meet up with Vara in Pennsylvania, one mile from a mental institution near Scranton. Unfortunately, Vara thinks Lysandra Hollis and her entourage made off with Niklas about forty minutes ago.

“I saw a blond-haired woman getting into a car,” Vara explains, “and two men dragged someone else into the backseat of another car, and they all drove away. His head was covered with a suit jacket, but I’m assuming it was Niklas. I waited around, watched the place a few minutes longer, then after no movement, I came back here to wait for you guys.”

“Are you sure no one saw you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I was hiding in a tree with binoculars. There was no sign of anyone else. And if someone saw me, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“True.” I purse my lips. “But it bothers me they felt the need to cover his head if they didn’t suspect anyone was watching.”

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