Page 9 of The Ghost Assassin

“Also, you’re scared. You’re not a chicken shit. Chicken shits don’t throw themselves in front of bullets they could have avoided.”

“I’m sick of hearing about that bullet. It’s old.”

“But you won’t be if you keep working for us. Keep looking.”

He kneels to look under the rug the table sits on. “I don’t think you really want me to quit.”

“Thinking is where you usually go wrong. You think too much about the wrong things.”

He ignores that obviously accurate statement. “I’m scared but I’m not a chicken shit?”

I unstack ceramic plates, looking for a hidden gem I don’t find. “You took that bullet because you were afraid to play the Umbrella Man’s game.”

“I didn’t want you to get shot, Lilah.”

“Exactly my point.” The plates were a bust. I’m now searching the bottom side of the drawers. “You were afraid of making a mistake and getting me killed. Fear ruled your decision. The Umbrella Man was never going to shoot me. You would have seen that with a clear head.” I turn to face him. “You’d think you’d just embrace pushing the limits. You’re kind of a good-looking guy, Jay. Learn from us. It’ll help your love life.” I open the fridge and start checking the bottom of soda cans.

He pushes to his feet. “Kind of good-looking? Really, Lilah?”

“Don’t act shocked by the compliment. I give compliments.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“I’m not sure what you want from me, Jay, but you obviously aren’t going to get it. Check the pantry,” I order.

He opens the door. “Empty.”

Everything is too sterile, I think. Murphy didn’t live here, but anyone who stays anywhere for more than a few days has stuff. “Keep looking,” I order, texting my cousin the address and pertinent information like apartment number: I realize you’re potentially fleeing for your life, but I need security footage asap.

I’d have asked Tic Tac to check the cameras, but he will be so freaked out right now there will be no chance of him thinking straight enough to help me. My cell rings with my cousin’s number, damn it. I walk down a hallway I assume goes to the bedroom. It’s a weird set-up, having to go through the kitchen to the bedrooms.

I grit my teeth and answer, “Why aren’t you texting me?”

“What the hell is going on, Lilah?”

My brother. Of course, it’s Andrew. I didn’t tell him or Lucas what was going on. “Murphy’s dead. It’s a professional hit. Read between the lines. I’m working the case, on scene now. Call you later.”

“Wait,” he orders roughly. “First, holy shit. Murphy’s really dead?”

“Do I seem like a girl who jokes about death?”

“Actually yes, Lilah, you do. They didn’t pull you from the case?”

“Homeland Security wants me involved.”

“They don’t trust the FBI,” he assumes.

“No one trusts the FBI.”

“You’re FBI, Lilah.”

“Exactly my point. They hire people like me on purpose. Murphy sure did.”

“Murphy had a motive I can’t say on your open line.”

He’s talking about Murphy’s drive to take down the Society—or supposed drive. Maybe he was after their destruction, or maybe he was after mine is where I land on this, and now we’re going to find out over his dead body. It makes me realize that if you snooze, you lose. If I don’t kill Pocher soon, someone else will get the pleasure. Maybe that’s the bright side in this turn of events. We’ve stopped playing cat and mouse and now, we’re just going to see who kills who first.

Someone got the first kill and that wasn’t me.

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