Page 51 of The Ghost Assassin

“You want Kit to call Rich?” His tone is flat but his irritation pulses through the phone.

“Kane,” I say softly.

I’m greeted with silence.

“What do you want me to do here? Two people are dead in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll tell Kit to call, Lilah.” I don’t like how he says my name, but he moves on, “What’s going on in Washington?”

“Things I can’t talk about on the phone. I’m going to head out now. I need to be in Purgatory figuring all of this mess out.”

We say our goodbyes and I glance around the room. Murphy’s office is as sterile as his temporary apartment in New York City. Of course, he was rarely here. He spent most of his time in LA which never made sense to me. Even after talking to the President about Murphy, nothing about Murphy quite makes sense.

I order my Uber, but Secret Service insists on driving me and it’s fairly painless, and in fact, quite a speedy trip. It’s not long before I’m at the security gate of the private airport, which has a strange setup. No car, no entry, except a long walkway that is not all that well-lit. I’m not afraid of the dark, death, or people, but there’s a warning in my belly that is screaming like a wimp who just saw a spider.

I’m three-fourths of the way down the walkway when a male figure steps into my path, legs spread, hands by his side. And he isn’t moving. All right then, I think. We’re doing this, but if he draws his weapon, I’m drawing mine. I draw closer and halt a few feet from the man shrouded in shadows. That is, until he steps into the light. It’s Ghost.

“Hello, Agent Love. Or is it Agent Mendez now? I liked you better when you didn’t hide behind his name.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Are you hiding behind Kane now, Lilah?” Ghost presses.

I laugh at that. “Really? You think I hide behind Kane but I’m standing in front of you?”

“Not by choice.”

“I sent for you, asshole. As for the name. Mendez is my gangster name,” I say. “When I’m Lilah Mendez, I don’t give a fuck about my badge.”

He doesn’t laugh.

He just stares at me.

He’s dressed in all black and there is no question in my mind his weapon is within reach just beneath his jacket. Just as mine is under my own jacket.

There’s a combative energy between us reading a little like me and Rich. He has some weird tug in my direction, an attraction he feels for me, I think, that I don’t quite understand but it reeks of volatility. Like he’s that lover who would suddenly decide you irritate the fuck out of him and then slit your throat in your sleep.

He’s bigger than I remember, but then this is the closest I’ve stood to him without my weapon pointed at him and his at me. I’ve been close enough to him before to consider myself familiar with the sharp line of his jaw, but not intimate enough to identify the green of his eyes or the scar above his lip. To allow me this much lingering knowledge of his features, one might think this means he intends to kill me so I’ll never talk, but I don't think that at all.

It’s the energy between us and he enjoys it.

But I also don’t miss the fact that he’s here, in Washington, during the time Director Rodriguez was murdered. Ellis asked if the killer was watching. The answer is maybe, if this is personal, and a guy like Ghost could easily have a military background that says it is.

“Did you kill Director Murphy and Director Rodriguez?”

“I did not have that pleasure,” he says.

“Do you know who did?”

“I do.”

“Can you tell me?” I counter.

“I cannot.”

“Are there more names on the list?”

“Yes.”

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