Page 13 of The Ghost Assassin

Certain I’ve made my point, I start walking. Kit falls into step with me. “Have we talked to Enrique?” I ask, since he’s the man who went with Kane when it should have been Kit.

“Neither he nor Kane are answering.”

I swear it’s like the Hulk reached inside me and yanked my insides just for the hell of it. “Then we’re going after him,” I say.

“Lilah, I swear to God, I’ve always known there would be a day you’d make me come at you, and this is that day. It’s not what he wants, and if I have to make you hate me to protect you, I will.”

I punch the elevator button. “This sounds fun, Kit. I’m all in, but you better make sure you win whatever battle you start, or I’ll be going to Mexico alone.” The doors open and I step into the elevator.

Kit joins me and punches the lower level. “You’re a pain in my ass, Lilah.”

“You must be a pain in every woman’s ass you meet, because you never have a woman.”

“I don’t date because I don’t want the woman in my life to end up dead, which is exactly what Kane doesn’t want for you.”

“What if Kane’s dead?” I demand, and the squeeze of that Hulk fist is brutal, and my eyes are burning. Holy fuck. What is happening to me? I rotate forward, a raw sensation in my throat. Damn you, Kane Mendez, I think. You’re making me soft.

Kit steps in front of me. “Give him more credit than that, Lilah. No one is going to track him down where he’s at right now.”

He means Mexico, in the middle of a cartel operation. He’s being discreet about his word choices because there are cameras in the elevator.

“You obviously have never met this kind of killer.” Translation: an assassin.

He snorts. “Are you serious? This barely qualifies as a job well done. Murphy was alone.”

“But the killer had to come up a public elevator to get to him.”

“I’ll guarantee you the cameras were off.”

The elevator behind us dings, and he grimaces before he steps aside. The doors open, and I exit the elevator with him closely following. “The biggest problem you have right now is Homeland Security,” he says, as two agents wearing Homeland jackets walk by us. “They kicked out everyone that wasn’t them but they’re all over you. Have you considered they think you did this and they’re playing a cat and mouse game with you?”

“Does everyone think I’m a killer?” I ponder. “Maybe. But no one believes I’d be as gentle as that killer was on Murphy.”

“How was that gentle? He took a bullet between the eyes.”

“The last guy I killed dismembered one of his victims with a chainsaw. In comparison, this was as gentle as a nun in a nursery with kids she actually likes.”

“I don’t think looking into the eyes of a killer and knowing there’s no escape is gentle at all.”

No one believes I killed Murphy, I think, but they clearly believe it’s an inside job. Kit’s right. There are absolutely no NYPD personnel aside from the ME or even an FBI presence when one of their own was murdered. I’m actually shocked Chief Houston hasn’t called me at this point, but he will. He absolutely will. Inside jobs get attention, and that hits a little too close to home when I think of Kane, off to kill his uncle.

We exit the building and despite the late hour, well past midnight, I’m certain, the exterior of the building is practically glowing. Law enforcement lights are virtually blow-torching the place, and I spy a wide line of yellow tape and barriers as well as way too many lookie-loos, for this time of night for comfort. I’d love it if I thought the killer was in the crowd, but assassins don’t hang out to enjoy the havoc they created. They move on to the next payday.

I cut right toward a sidewalk that’s had the crowd pushed back and a barrier installed when suddenly someone is standing in front of me. That someone is familiar—a skinny, brainy type, who’s appointed himself my assistant. “Agent.”

He’s geared up, wearing a jacket that reads “Forensics” and carrying a case. “What the fuck are you doing here, Jack? And how did you even get past the line?”

“I got in before they started pushing out the locals. I’ve been dodging them. If you tell them, you need me—”

“No.”

“I came to help.”

“No.”

“You know I’m good at this stuff. The buzz is out. We all know it’s Murphy and a professional hit.”

“Who are we?” I demand.

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