Page 14 of The Ghost Assassin

“Okay, I know. I picked up some electronic chatter.” He offers me a piece of paper. “Those are the top five assassins per the dark web.”

I accept the paper and forget what a pain in the ass Jack is as I read the top name: Ghost.

I immediately remind myself that Kane has a deal with Ghost. He’ll double any offer on the table to take him out. But is it enough to draw a line in the sand Ghost won’t cross? I show the name to Kit, and while he doesn’t outwardly react, I can feel the shift in his energy. He’s not sure it’s enough.

His eyes meet mine. “You told him there was a threat from a professional assassin?” he asks.

“Told who?” Jack asks.

Ignoring him, I answer Kit’s question. “I told him.”

“Then he’s ready.”

Unless we didn’t warn him in time. “Go home, Jack,” I say and since he’s perpetually scared of Kane, I add, “Or I’ll tell Kane to kill you, and he’ll enjoy it.” I eye Kit. “I’m going to Mexico. You can stay here or come. I don’t care which, but no now means yes.” I start walking and if Kit thinks he can stop me, he’ll be staring down the barrel of his gun.

He’s instantly by my side. “What if you’re next?”

“I’m not. Whoever this is wants me to hunt him.” I glance over at him. “It’s become a thing since Umbrella Man. Me against them. Where’s the car?”

He motions forward, the direction we’re traveling, which seems somewhat compliant, though he’s about as good at that particular quality as I am, so I doubt it. He most likely just wants me out of the open space, where bullets fly and land on bullseyes when wielded by a skilled marksman. And this assassin is, without question, a marksman.

I’ll deal with Kit, no matter what that means, but I never get the chance.

Suddenly there are black SUVs everywhere. One blasts onto the sidewalk in front of us. One is to our right, one to the left and one is behind us.

Chapter Nine

Kit reaches for his weapon, and I grab his arm. “Don’t. This is Homeland Security.”

“You can’t know that, and even if it is, how do we know they didn’t kill Murphy and you’re their cover-up?”

“This is where you can learn from Jay,” I say. “Be paranoid. You’re connected to a drug cartel. Don’t pull on an agent unless I do.”

The door to the SUV to my left opens and I turn to a stout man with broad shoulders, wearing jeans and a Homeland jacket. “Agent Love-Mendez,” he greets. “Forgive me if I don’t know your name preference.”

“Together they tend to scare people, so I think I’ll keep them both.”

“Director Ellis would like to have you join him for a coffee at the diner a few blocks down,” he says, as if I never spoke. “You’ll need to come alone.” He motions for me to get into the car.

“She’s not going alone,” Kit replies. “I’m her personal bodyguard. Director Murphy’s dead. She isn’t going to end up the same way.”

“She’s a legend,” the agent replies. “Unless the stories lie, she can take care of herself for a few blocks.”

“I’m worse than any legend you’ve heard. I’m also walking. What’s the name of the diner?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you ride with us.” The doors to the vehicle in front of us open and two agents step out with their hands on their weapons.

I glance back at the one obviously in charge. “What’s the name of the diner?”

The agent’s jaw sets. “You’re going to need to come with us.”

“Let me be clear. As Kit here pointed out the obvious and you still missed it, I’ll try to go slow. Director Murphy is dead and no one seems to trust the entire body of the FBI. As Murphy’s direct report, I’m not sure why you think I would trust Homeland Security. Only an idiot would get into a vehicle with any of you of their own free will. And if you don’t understand that, you too, are an idiot. Call Director Ellis and tell him that either this gets messy, or I’ll walk to the diner on my own.”

He glares at me, a tic in his jaw, and I add, “Go ahead. Call Daddy. Everyone knows Homeland can’t do anything without asking permission.”

“You really are a bitch.”

I love how people say this to me as if they sit around a campfire and ruminate over my bitch status. It’s like a medal of honor. “A crazy bitch. You’d be less of an idiot if you remember that.”

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