Page 15 of The Ghost Assassin

“That’s the truth,” Kit mumbles under his breath.

I ignore him. “Name of the diner,” I say.

“Red’s. Two blocks down and turn right. You and only you.” He lifts his chin at Kit. “He’s a hard no.”

I lift a hand in front of Kit before he can object. “The irony of that statement is that everyone feels more comfortable with me than Kit, but then badges are deceiving now, aren’t they?” I glance at Kit. “Stay here on your own unless you want to get cuffed and play a kinky game with these guys. They might enjoy that more than you.”

“Lilah,” he bites out.

“This is not going your way, Kit.”

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath of acceptance. Kit has to be excessively intense and alpha to stand with me and Kane, and it’s very hard to be forced into submission. It’s actually kind of comical. I start walking, aware that I will be followed, and at close proximity, but I have willpower of steel. I will not shoot them just because they’re assholes. I guess Kane is right. I need this badge that tells me I can’t do things like that.

I can only fantasize about it, but I do follow their directions.

Two blocks up and turn right, then I keep walking straight.

And bingo. I have arrived at my destination.

The two agents wearing suits and standing on either side of an upcoming location to my left are a dead giveaway. The windows come into view, and I scan the inside to find the patrons have been cleared. How selfish of the director. Doesn’t he know people need to eat? I step to the door and clearly, my photo has been circulated because neither ask for a badge.

“Director Ellis is waiting on you.”

“And here I was sure I was meeting with Taylor Swift.”

The agent gives me a deadpan stare and opens the door but not before I spy the red dog on it. I like dogs. As incredible as it might seem, they like me, but I’m never home and I can’t be responsible for the living. The dead are another story. I’d like Pocher much better dead. We’re about to find out if I’d like Director Ellis to be just as dead.

Chapter Ten

I enter the diner that is suffocating in red and am literally blinded by the glow of it all—red chairs, red booths, red barstools. Red tablecloths. Red, red, red. It’s like Fifty Shades of Grey vomited a Fifty Shades of Grey red room that serves coffee and diner food. I blink away the damn hypnotic effect and scan for Ellis. I find him sitting in a back booth facing forward, where he can spy on the entire restaurant, which is exactly what I would do. That doesn’t make him smart in my book, but it doesn’t make him stupid either. The smart ones are the dangerous ones but also worthy adversaries.

My path toward him is a weave in and out pattern through all the red-covered tables. He watches my approach, and I size him up. He’s fifty-something, and much like my father—fit, with dark, salt and pepper hair. Also much like my father, he’s wearing an expensive suit, but director or not, he shouldn’t be able to afford the price tag this one demands. Not on his wage alone, but I won’t judge him on this point quite yet. I have money. I still do this damn job.

Because who I am without it? I wonder who he is beneath the armor of his badge.

Is he a killer?

I reach the table and sit down in front of him.

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask because I like to start things out with a shock and awe moment, and it’s a question that plays to my mental dialogue.

“The name is David Ellis.”

“Boring and unforgettable. Your parents weren’t overly creative now, were they?”

His eyes light with amusement rather than agitation. “If we follow your thought process, I can then assume yours liked strip clubs.”

“Based off all I know of him these past few years, I’m going to say yes, at least on my father’s behalf. Most likely, I am, in fact, named after some hooker obsession. Who the fuck are you?” I repeat.

He reaches into his pocket and sets his badge on the table. “Director Ellis. Does that sound more memorable?”

“Titles only matter until you’re dead, and it’s interesting to me that you’re suddenly reigning king, powerful enough to boot the FBI from investigating their own.”

“It’s a necessary evil in these circumstances. Murphy’s murder is an attack on our nation.”

“Or on a man who was more than his badge, as are you. Much more, in fact.”

“Tell me,” he urges.

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