Assassin (11 page)

“Right this way, Jack.” She leads him into a conference room
with leather seating and a small, round table. He chooses the seat furthest
from the window and clasps his hands together in the table as he waits. The
woman is still hanging in the doorway and furrows her brows when she looks at
him as if she recognizes him. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Would you like some water, Mr. Evans?” It takes a full
second for him to realize that she’s actually speaking to him, and he shakes
his head.

“No, that’s alright.” He has his paperwork in front of him
when the manager of the dealership enters. Plastering on a fake smile, Troy
stands to shake the man’s hand before they get started.

“I’m Mike Foster, the manager of the service department
here.” He doesn’t wait for Troy to speak and continues on with his obviously
rehearsed spiel. “I see that you have six years of experience working with
BMW’s, and you went to a Technical School for mechanical work. How was that for
you?” His palms are already sweaty as he tries to come up with something to
say.

“The usual, I guess. It was kind of boring, honestly. We
didn’t get to think outside the box much.” Mike throws his head back as he
laughs, but Troy can tell that it’s not an honest sound. This man makes a
living from being dishonest with his customers. It’s written all over his face.

I don’t belong here.
Troy narrows his eyes as he
looks at the paperwork in front of him.
This was a mistake.
Before the
mistake can spiral any further, Troy grabs his papers and folds them neatly
before he stuffs them into his front jeans pocket. Mike stands up as if to stop
him with a confused look on his face, but Troy doesn’t hear a word the man is
saying as he steps out of the office.

I can’t make a living lying again.

He slips into the silver BMW M6 Coupe. The car was a
celebration gift from the agency for helping condemn Killian Yukon. It’s a
quick enough vehicle, but Troy does have one complaint. It’s a little small for
his taste. He shifts it into first as he peels out of the parking lot of the
dealership, and wonders how he’s going to make a living. Maybe he ought to sell
the car.

Thoughts slip through Troy’s mind as he streaks down the
road at reckless speeds to get home. He thought he’d hate the desert, but it
turns out that anything remotely close to a tree makes his chest constrict. It
reminds him of his first day in his new home, and he doesn’t want to have to
replace that porch post again. It was unnecessary.

Tumble weeds are the only things that are remotely close to
life out here, and he likes it that way. Cranking up the stereo, Troy drums his
fingers to the beat of a fast, harsh song while he heads home. And he’s made it
a home away from his true home. It’s decorated with all things manly, except
nude posters. Those are for teenagers.

He whistles as he opens up the driver’s side door and closes
it, and then he narrows his eyes when he sees a black sedan pulled around the
back. Cautiously, Troy climbs the front steps to the place that has been his
home for six weeks now, and doesn’t bother sliding the key in. The front door
is unlocked, and as soon as he swings it open he is hit in the face with a
memory.

It’s the scent of her shampoo that wafts over him first,
along with the scent of
her
. He doesn’t need to see her to know that
she’s somewhere in his house, and Troy wonders if he’s lost his mind. His heart
does a funny rhythm that has him clutching at his chest for an instant, and
then the fingers fall away in his shock as he sees the pretty blonde hair
chopped short with the pink streak.

“Troy,” She says with a tone of indifference when she turns
around to see him. Moonlight Rogers is sitting on his leather couch with one
ankle up on his leg as he reads Troy’s book.

“It’s Jack now, sweetheart, I told you that.” Rogers says
casually as he turns a page. The only change in his demeanor that lets Troy
know Rogers is nervous is the way his pulse increases in his jugular.

“It was never Jack to me,” Cassidy says as she looks Troy up
and down. He sees it there for an instant, the longing he’s felt for the past
six weeks reflected back at him. Then it’s gone, and Cassidy is like granite as
she looks into his eyes.

“What happened?” If she’s standing in his home, it can only
mean one thing. Her father’s cover was blown, and if he’s not here…

“You didn’t see the news? The barn burned down with my
father inside. Isn’t that right, Moonlight?” The man nods once, curtly as he glances
at Cassidy with worry on his face.

“This is not what you said you wanted to discuss when you
came here.” Rogers puts down the book gently and stands as if he’s going to escort
Cassidy away, but Troy steps in front of her at the last second. Changing his
mind, Moonlight decides to take a stroll in the desert sun. Troy might find
that amusing if he weren’t standing with his back turned to an angry woman.
There’s a rule book somewhere, and he’s just violated one of those rules.

“You’re going to tell me every detail of what happened, Cassidy.
Set your rage aside for the time being, we’ll deal with that after this is
taken care of.”
This
is who he was met to be. He tried to blame it on
his upbringing when he was at the Grant farm and when his sister inquired about
what he did for a living, but those were excuses. Troy Red is met to be a
killer. It’s just a matter of which side he’s playing on at the time.

“The hell I am!” Her screech makes his ears prick painfully,
and he turns around to face her, towering hover her like she’s nothing but a
blade of grass before him. It enrages her and her hand snakes out to slap him.
She’s imagined doing it hundreds of times as she was shuffled from one hotel
room to the next, and while she was begging Moonlight to bring her here. Now
that she has the chance to do it, it’s not as fulfilling because Troy guesses
her intentions.

His fingers curl around the tiny wrist, and he grabs her
other fist when it comes up to hit him in the jaw. She’s winded, and he’s
barely moving an inch to keep her from harming him. The muscle in his jaw is
twitching, though, and that means she’s gotten to him. Somewhere inside, he’s
feeling a strong emotion. Cassidy just wishes she could be as stone cold as him
in a situation like this. Just as she thinks about kneeing him in the groin,
Troy turns his body slightly to the right as he stares at her.

It looks as if he’s done this before.

“Fine, but after I tell you what happened we’re going to have
it out! You and I have some very,
very
important unfinished business!”
Cassidy struggles against his hold, and just to get his point across, Troy
holds on for a few more seconds before he lets go. She sits down on a stool at
the small bar adjacent to the living room and tries to fix her hair, which is currently
sticking up on end.

“You look…different.” Troy tries to figure out why he feels
this way, but it must be the fact that he’s never seen her so distraught. “How
is Reese’s Pieces?” Her face pales and he regrets asking.

“He’s at some farm in New York being raised by a jockey. The
guy said he has potential, and he seemed nice. I couldn’t bring him with me. I
couldn’t bring
anything
with me!” Her eyes begin to fill with tears, but
she sniffs once so that they don’t fall and turns her head away from his gaze.
This isn’t how he imagined it would be if they ever saw each other again. There
were a lot of clothes ripping off in his fantasies.

“Cassidy,” He starts, but she holds up a hand to stop him
and turns her expressionless face towards him. He recognizes the moment when
someone shuts off their emotional thoughts and settles down on a stool at the
other end of the bar. Moonlight’s going to be tan by the time this discussion
is over.

“I’m going to tell you what happened the night my father
died. And then you’re going to listen to what I have to tell you about us. But
first things first, business. I’m hiring you, Robert Trenton, to kill the man
who killed my father.” His heart rate increases substantially, his chest
constricts and his worst nightmare becomes a reality. Troy’s body is completely
motionless on the outside, but on the inside, he is attempting to keep the
scream of outrage in. How could she ask him of something like this? After what
happened to his sister and his niece because of his actions, how could she ask
him to kill again for money?

“No.” Troy grates out the word between his clenched teeth,
and Cassidy turns so that she’s facing him in the stool. They’re at least four
feet apart, but he can feel the undeniable hatred wafting off her.

“What did you say?” She asks in a quiet tone, her fingers
gripping the edge of the mahogany bar so tight that they’re losing all color.

“I said no.” Troy tells her again, this time with a little
more force. She opens her mouth to contradict him, and for the second time in
his life, he loses his control. Her neck is as soft as he remembered it, and
her pulse increases under his fingers as he applies a little bit of force. She
can still breathe and speak, but it’s obvious that Troy will break her neck if
she tries to struggle. “I will find your father’s killer and rip him limb from
limb, Cassidy Grant, but I will not accept
payment
for it.”

His nose is touching hers, but there’s no softness in his
eyes when he looks at her, only sweet, cold rage. Cassidy swallows painfully
and moves her chin minutely in a bob to let him know that she understands. As
soon as his hand is gone from her throat, she puts her own hand over the warm
spot and massages her Adam’s apple.

“Whatever, why don’t I just start talking?” The fight seems
to have left her for the time being, and in front of him is a weary woman who
has seen too much in her lifetime. Troy doesn’t know how he feels about her in
this moment, but he does know that he doesn’t
hate
her.

“I got a phone call,” She starts, and Troy automatically
interrupts.

“The number?” He asks softly.

“Unknown. The cops traced it back to a payphone, and they’ve
found no prints. I didn’t even know payphones still exist, but they do. Anyway,
I was suspicious because the man on the other end asked for me, and when I
responded he hung up.” Troy gets a sinking feeling in his gut as he listens. “I
called my father, and he said he just received a phone call like the one I got,
so I didn’t think beyond that. I hung up, and called Moonlight for help. When I
got there, he was already dead.”

“Describe the scene for me from the moment you stepped out
of your vehicle.” Cassidy sucks in a large breath and lets it out slowly with
her cheeks puffed before she continues.

“I got out of my car because the porch light was on, wait, no;
I sat there for a while. I couldn’t see any other lights on inside the house,
and I was suspicious because the horses were still out in the pasture. Then I
got out of my car, and I was going to the barn first because of the horses. I
was on the phone with Rogers when I was at the barn’s entrance, and then I saw
him. I saw him h-hanging from the rafters in p-pieces.” Her voice cracks and
her face crumbles as her shoulders hunch forward. Cassidy tries to hide her
face with her hands as she loses control. Robert Trenton and Jack Evans don’t
care about Cassidy Grant, but Troy Red does. He slips off his stool silently,
and she jumps when his arms encircle her, pulling her into an embrace.

“I’ll find him.” Troy tells her as he stares at the man in
the mirror across from him. The eyes are hardened like obsidian, and his jaw is
locked to hold in the repressed emotions. This time he will take revenge on the
killer that hurt Cassidy and him by killing her father himself. There will be
no trial.

“Troy, there’s something else.” She pulls back just enough
to look up at his determined face, and she tries for a smile. It wobbles
horrendously as she tries to open her mouth to say something. Thinking that the
proximity is making her nervous, Troy takes a step back from her.

Moonlight Rogers chooses that moment to open up the front
door, and Cassidy clams up immediately.

“It’s time for us to go, darling.” He pulls out his
cellphone and flicks through a few messages while he waits for Cassidy to jump as
she should, but she’s not moving.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rogers. I’m staying here. I can
stay here, right?” The undeniable rage from earlier is not gone, but it’s been
transferred to the person who killed her father. Cassidy puts the small of her
back against the bar as she sits down on the stool again, and waits for Troy to
say that she can stay.

“Cassidy, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.” He starts,
and her face plummets along with her heart. “It’s not that I don’t want you
here, God, I’ve been dreaming of the moment you could be here with me for
weeks!” His face flushes with his admission in front of Moonlight, but he
decides he’d better say his piece before Cassidy stomps out of his life
forever. She was just about to tell him something important.

“Then why can’t I stay?” He would rather have her screaming
at him now instead of this small, frail woman in front of him trying to look
tough. The pink streak in her hair falls forward as she looks down at the
hardwood floor. Cassidy studies the grains in that floor in an attempt to keep
from crying.

“Don’t you get it? Your father is potentially dead because
he helped me. If you stay here, then it’ll put you at an even greater risk!”
Frustrated that he has to push her away just as soon as he could have her back,
Troy turns away from her to look at Moonlight for a confirmation.

“He’s right, Cassidy. Blake’s waiting at the airport right
now to escort you to a safe house until we can get this straightened out. If
Robert’s, I mean Troy’s, shit, Jack’s cover is blown, then your cover is
blown.” He pockets the phone and tries not to huff with his impatience, but
it’s starting to show on his face.

“But-” She opens her mouth to argue, yet Troy silences her
with one look and helps her off the stool. Just as they get to the front door,
he spins her around to look down at her as Moonlight climbs into the driver’s
seat of the sedan.

“What were you going to tell me?” He asks quickly. Cassidy
shivers at the proximity of his face to hers, and debates whether or not she
should tell him the big secret. But it wouldn’t sway him, and she wouldn’t want
to use something like this against him.

“It can wait.” She tells him quietly as their eyes meet, and
Troy sees the lie there. He lets his hand trail up her arm until it’s resting
on the back of her neck, and tilts her head for adequate access. Cassidy
doesn’t fight what she knows is coming and lets herself go for those few brief seconds
that Troy kisses her. It’s rough and full of promises that she knows he may
never be able to keep, and then she’s hurrying down the steps before she starts
begging him to come with her.

They both have unfinished business to take care of before
the personal business between them can be discussed. Moonlight waves once
before he starts the sedan and disappears with Cassidy by his side. Troy looks
at the new porch post and tries to remind himself that screaming and tearing
things apart did nothing the last time his heart ached this much. It won’t help
now.

The first thing he does when he gets inside the house is book
a flight to Los Angeles. He chooses an obscure, small airport on the outskirts
of the city and packs two changes of clothes. It shouldn’t take him more than
two days to track down the hitman who was hired to kill Robert Grant. Troy
knows exactly who the man is due to his signature of leaving the porch light
on. It could be a coincidence, but he’s ninety nine percent sure it’s an old
colleague of his.

Two hours pass by with him sitting inside his home, and
three times he almost backs out of the plan. He could just let this go and
continue to run, but if he sends a message to his pursuers, may hap they will
stop chasing. All the while, Troy tries to figure out what Cassidy was
attempting to tell him. He still is clueless by the time his departure draws
near, and he decides to put it on the back burner as he loads up his duffle bag
of belongings.

A scribbled note resides on the stool that Cassidy sat on
merely hours before. Inside the folded flaps of that piece of paper are three
words. They’re the three words that Troy has yet to mutter to her, and he
wonders if he will ever get the chance.

The BMW purrs to life, and he barrels down the road at the
same reckless speeds as before. He has to admit the car is fun, even if he
didn’t want it in the first place. The airport is almost deserted, save a few
elderly people boarding the same flight as Troy, and a young couple who look as
if they’re on their honeymoon. His bag passes as a carry on, and his
identification clears.

Troy pulls the one device he missed for the past two months
from his pocket and smiles as he puts the ear buds in. They’re purple because
they were Lilly’s favorite color, and there are a few songs on the iPod he
won’t ever listen to. But it’s nice to have it back.

The flight is not long, and it’s rather smooth. Troy pulls
his headphones out as soon as the plane touches down and pockets the device. He
doesn’t go anywhere without it, and even when it stops working he won’t get rid
of it. This is the only artifact from his old life that was worth saving
because it reminds him of the good times he had with his family. Now he has to
avenge someone else’s.

He’s pleasant to the flight attendant that smiles at him and
wishes him a good day. Troy is also amicable towards the man that pulls him
aside to check is bag one last time, and then he’s stepping out of the airport
onto the busy streets of L.A. Unable to help himself, he hails a cab and slips
into the back.

“76 N. Rochester Street.” He tells the driver as he slips
the man two twenties. It’ll take them a long time to get back to his old
haunts, but Troy needs to find closure for the man he was, Robert Trenton.

Brick buildings and skyscrapers both compete for space as
they reach for the sky, and Troy feels himself falling into old habits. He
pulls out a sweatshirt from his duffle bag. It’s not because the air is
slightly chilled in the late, summer weather, but because he does not want
anyone to recognize him. The hood comes up as they pass through the traffic
like water through the cracks.

“Keep the change,” Troy tells the gentleman as he exits the
vehicle.

In front of him is the dingy building that he spent his
adult life in up until almost two months ago. His old apartment has already
been rented out to someone because he would never have flowers on the tiny
balcony three stories up. There’s also a plastic chair with a tiny stand that
holds another vase of flowers. Troy stares at the balcony for an exceedingly
long time as he wonders if the locks are different.

This isn’t why he came here though. Turning on his heel, he
walks four blocks down with the hood up to cover his face. People glance at him
sideways, but it’s not because they recognize him. The man walking amidst them
is tall and even under the sweatshirt he looks like a killer. It’s not hard to
fall into the old habit of moving lithely and deliberately.

The faces on this street are unfamiliar, but the building he
stops at is extremely familiar. He lets the accustomed rage and self-loathing
fill him as he stares at the entrance to his sister’s old apartment building.
Unable to bring himself to look up at the balcony of this one to see if there
are flowers on it, Troy turns away from the glass, revolving door and shoves
his hands into his pockets. He needs a weapon.

“Robert!” The voice stops him dead in his tracks, and Troy
feels his back muscles bunching as he waits for a bullet to hit him there. When
none comes, he starts walking again in an attempt to deter the person from
pursuing him. Her squeaky voice washes over him again. “Robert Trenton!” The
woman calls out to him.

He hears the footsteps on the sidewalk and increases his own
until he’s almost at a power walking pace, but the young woman catches up
anyway. Her cheeks are flushed prettily as she puts an arm on Troy’s forearm to
grab his attention. He tries to shake her off, but her friendly demeanor
quickly vanishes.

“You have some fucking nerve showing up here after what
happened!” The day he was told he would be entering the Witness Protection
Program, Troy was told to stay away from the city he grew up in. He should have
heeded the warning, and yet here he is.

“Go home, Tracy. Otherwise, you’ll end up like my family.”
Her face becomes gray as the realization hits her that she’s hanging on the arm
of a killer and a wanted man. The woman with alluring caramel eyes and peach
flesh glances around nervously. She runs a hand through her curly, brown hair
and lets go of Troy’s arm.

“So it’s true? None of that was just a ruse?” Did he really
hang out with her and bang her a few times? She’s dumber than some of the
bricks surrounding him.

“Why the hell would it all be a ruse, Tracy? Of course it’s
fucking true! Now scat home before you get a target on your own back, and
forget the name Robert Trenton.” Her bottom lip trembles as she takes a step
back from him, and he sees her hand rest on her abdomen. The gesture seems
awkwardly familiar, but Troy can’t remember where he’s seen it before.

Before he can ask her what she’s doing, Troy turns away from
her and ducks into an alley to see if anyone else is following him. He reaches
the end and glances back, but there’s no one. Still suspicious, he waits about
thirty seconds with his back to the wall just outside of the alley. No one
comes through, so he heads off to the right into the dying light of an L.A.
sunset. He knows just where to get a gun without exposure.

Seven blocks away from his sister’s old apartment, Troy is
in the part of the city that no one dares wander into without a purpose. He
fingers the cash in his pocket and keeps his gaze on the sidewalk as he moves
along, effectively keeping anyone from seeing his face. A few kids are playing
on one corner, and what used to be comforting and familiar is not just sad to
him. Kids shouldn’t have to grow up in places like this.

The scent of hot dogs wafts from a window as he passes, and
his stomach grumbles. But he doesn’t want to have to perform what he’s going to
do tonight with a full stomach. He’ll have to wait until after he can live with
himself to eat. That may never happen.

A small convenience store with a glass door awaits him at
the end of the street, and when he opens it up a tiny doorbell overhead jingles.
The cashier at the register looks up, and as soon as his eyes meet the obsidian
gaze looking out from the sweatshirt hood, he cracks a smile. Before he can
alert any of the other customers, which consists of mostly kids, Troy raises a
hand for silence and starts heading for the back.

The balding man in his fifties locks up his register as
quick as he can and trails after Troy with a warning glare to the kids. He
doesn’t want any of his candy stolen while he’s gone, but that’s inevitable in
this part of town. Half his shelves will be empty while he’s making his money
from Troy in the back. But the convenience store is not what keeps his family
fed. It’s the selling of illegal guns.

“Robert!” The man says when they’re in the safety of the
back room. Boxes of food items line the walls, and then there’s the small door
between those boxes. The balding man opens up the padlock on that door, and
motions for Troy to follow him.

“How is business, Mick?” His voice is neutral as he picks
through the selections. There are the automatics, the pistols, and then the
classic shotguns. But he’s not here for shotguns or automatics; he’s going to
need a Glock with a silencer.

“It’s good, kid. How’s yours?” Troy pauses as he looks
around the table for a silencer for the Glock in his hands. When he finally
finds one, he unscrews the tip of the barrel and screws on the silencer to
gauge the weight. He won’t be shooting from a long range, but he doesn’t want
something hard to handle either, just in case.

“I’m doing alright. Life’s a little different now. In fact,
you’d best keep your mouth shut about me being around, Mick. If anyone knows
you sold me a weapon, they’ll off you as they did my family.” Mick’s face grows
a little paler as he purses his lips. The man looks as if he’s reexamining the
decision to let Troy into the back of his convenience store.

“You find what you needed?” He asks hurriedly, and Troy
unscrews the silencer. It’s a wet one, so he’ll need to grease it before he
uses it. But that can be picked up at any local hardware store.

“I did. How much?” Mick takes only a few seconds to decide
how much he’d like for the stolen goods.

“Three thousand.” Troy’s laugh echoes around the room as he
pockets the weapons. Then he scoops up a packet of bullets off the table and pockets
those, as well.

“I’ll give you fifteen thousand dollars, and that’s
generous!” His lips twitch up at the corners as he waits for a rebuttal.

“I’m taking a huge risk having you here right now! You said
so yourself! Three thousand is enough to overrule that risk; otherwise, I might
have to make a phone call after you leave.” Troy’s fingers twitch at his sides
as he looks at a man he used to consider a friend, and he wonders why he ever
thought that.

“How will you make a phone call if you’re dead, Mick?
Eighteen hundred dollars is my final offer, and you retain your life.” The
decision is a tough one for Mick, but he nods his wobbly chin once and Troy
forks over the cash. He doesn’t say goodbye as he waltzes from the back room
and crunches over the bags of chips that were scattered about the place. It
looks as if a hurricane came through.

The grease for the silencer costs a lot less than the weapon
itself, which leaves him with barely enough money for a flight home. He’ll be
staying on the streets tonight, but that’s alright. Troy does his best hunting
when he’s wandering, and he’s sure to come across some details about the
whereabouts of a specific hit man.