Page 44 of The Ghost Assassin

“I get that, but I can’t have this get out. I’ve got agents you can use.”

“It was leaked on the dark web. Your agents are talking. Houston’s not going to let that happen.”

“I’ll get you the notes and we can talk about Houston after we deal with Marie.”

The SUV halts in front of the door, and we exit. I hand Ellis a pair of gloves, which he accepts, and then motion around him. “You think the bastard is watching?”

“Assassins like to get in and get out. It’s not personal to them, it’s just a job. Unless, of course, the assassin has a personal vendetta.” I pull on my gloves. “Any of you piss off an assassin?”

“No one who admitted that job title to me.” He finishes pulling on his gloves. “Let’s get to this.”

We walk up the stairs, toward the door, where two agents guard the entry. “Agent Love-Mendez this is Agents Reid and Miller. They will both be at your disposal.”

Reid is a tall, redheaded guy. Miller is a bulky Black guy. “Have we interviewed neighbors?”

“If we do that, word will leak,” Ellis says. “It’s problematic.”

“What can we do to solve this crime?” I ask. “Stare at a dead body?” I look between my two helpers. “I don’t need you. I can wait for the next victim on my own.” I walk into the house to find Marie lying right smack in front of me, in the foyer, a bullet between her eyes. I eye the placement of her body and feet, and it’s an easy bet she was shot the minute she opened the door.

Murphy let his attacker in the door. Marie Rodriguez never got the chance. Her body position told that story. She opened the door. She was shot. She may or may not have let the killer in the gate. Her attacker could have dismantled the security system and gone over the top. The cameras at Murphy’s place were looped. There are clearly some tech skills at play here. Circling back to Murphy being found in the middle of his living room, that suggests he knew the person. Or he answered the door to a drawn weapon. He was CIA at some point. It could have been them. The CIA does some fucked up things. That said, if he knew his killer, then that means this isn’t a hired killer. The dark web says otherwise, but I can’t allow that to dictate my investigation. I’m at least opening my mind to the idea that the killer is not for hire, but rather, after revenge.

Director Ellis steps to my side and I kneel down next to Marie. She’s in a pantsuit and I check her pockets, looking for a clue as I had with Murphy, but I find nothing. That includes a phone. Just as it had been with Murphy.

“I’m going to look around,” Ellis says.

I push to my feet and watch him walk away.

He was in New York when Murphy died, and restricted all my familiar resources. He was here when Marie died, and he won’t allow me to conduct even a basic investigation.

I thought he was nervous over being a potential target. Maybe he’s nervous because he’s guilty. And maybe, just maybe, I was right to pull my service weapon and wrong to put it away. We’re also the only ones in the house. If this is a setup and he intends to come at me, I’m okay with that.

Killing killers has become what I do.

I vowed to start arresting people instead of killing them, but old habits are hard to break.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I find Director Ellis sitting at the victim’s desk with his face down and hands in his hair. He seems to sense my presence and he glances up, his eyes bloodshot, expression strained. “She was a friend. I’d known her for years. That’s why I couldn’t stand there over her dead body. I should be able to. I’m the damn Director of Homeland Security, but I couldn’t do it. I can’t.”

I’m not a touchy-feely person by any means, but I’m pretty good at ranking bullshit tears and the real things. His are real, but guilt can be a powerful emotion. So is fear of what you have become, which I know far better than I do guilt.

“Homeland isn’t homicide,” I say. “I’m sure you knew that when you called me in to investigate.”

“In the role of director, we offend or upset people every single day. The suspects are many.”

“That’s why we need evidence, and your need to shut out the press shuts us out of our own investigations. I need case files, I need witnesses, I need intel on staff that crossed agencies. I need stuff. Lots of it. What’s in the desk?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

I plan to see that for myself, but first I decide to go at him head on, not mincing words.

“You asked if he was here watching.”

“Yes. Why?”

“Maybe you are.”

“What does that mean?”

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