Assassin (6 page)

“Not in particular,” Troy answers loud enough for her father
to hear. He feels like he’s under a microscope constantly. One more day of this
questioning and Troy might be calling up one of the agents to come get him.

“Are you going to entertain Hannah or shall I?” Grant sounds
impatient as he holds the door open. “The air conditioning is getting out.”
Troy cracks a grin at her father’s attempt in rescuing him, and glances
sideways when Cassidy walks past. Now
there’s
something he likes, but as
soon as he admits it to himself he pulls on the carburetor.

It comes out smoothly, and he begins the process of tearing
it apart to clean it. This should take up at least an hour so that he doesn’t
have to interact with the kid on the premises. As he’s tearing the carburetor
on the porch apart, he can hear Hannah inside explaining to Cassidy about how
to make chocolate chip cookies. The child is so engrossed in her explanations
that she doesn’t realize Cassidy is taking her out onto the front porch until
they’re sitting down in the swing seat together.

What is it with her and pushing me?
Troy faces away
from the two as he uses the spray cleaner to blast the gunk from the valves. Then
he uses an air can to blast out any remaining cleaner, and proceeds to put the
carburetor back together. The silence that meets his ears does not go
unnoticed, but he’s not going to break it.

 “What’s he doing?” Hannah finally interjects the peaceful quiet
with her high voice.

“Cleaning my carburetor so my truck works. Otherwise, I’ll
have to take pop-pop’s truck home!” Troy’s ears perk as he listens, and he can’t
help the shocked look on his face when he turns to Cassidy. “Jody’s a close
friend of the family. It was easier for Hannah to say pop-pop when she was
younger, and it stuck.”

“Can I help?” Her stubby fingers are picking up the screws
before Troy tells her, but he doesn’t scold, to Cassidy’s shock.

“I don’t need that one yet, but you can hang onto it for me.
Don’t lose it, or Cassie will be walking home.” Hannah’s nose wrinkles as she
leans back on her heels while she squats. She’s wearing a pair of brown pants
and a green shirt, which tells Troy that her mother is used to her coming home
dirty.

“She said she’d borrow Pop-pop’s truck, so why would you say
she has to walk home?” The way he smiles at the girl makes Cassidy’s chest
tighten in a way she hasn’t experienced before. Is that compassion on his face?

“You’re smart, kid. How about you put this one in?” He hands
over the screwdriver, but helps Hannah put in the screw. When it gets to the
part where he has to hold the cap over the spring, Hannah holds it while he
puts everything back together.

“Why’s your nose crooked?” The question takes him off guard,
and he chuckles at her bewildered face. Troy takes the cleaned and reassembled
carburetor from her small hands and lifts her up so that she can see where he
puts it back into the truck. Her hands cling to the grubby side of the truck as
she stands on the tire.

“Because I got hit in the face, and it was broken.” She
watches him reattaching the device, but doesn’t give up on getting a better
explanation.

“Why?”
Oh God, not that stage.

“I was in a fight.” Cassidy turns her head in interest and
watches the two interact as she listens to Hannah ask the questions she never
seems to get an answer to. So Troy Red does have a weakness during
interrogation, children.

“Why were you fighting? Mom says it’s bad to fight.” Troy
leans his forearms on the truck as he wipes his hands on the grease rag. He
only succeeds in spreading around the dirt on his fingers, and pulls off his
shirt to wipe his hands on. Apparently the man has no respect for clothing.

“It was my job.” That seems to peak both female’s interest,
and Robert Grant leans against his doorframe as he listens to Troy explaining
to a six year old why he had a broken nose. He’s good at giving just enough
information to have her asking more, but not enough to give away what he did
for a living.

“What’d you do?” Troy’s eyes focus on the engine in front of
him as he tries to come up with an answer that won’t put anyone in earshot in
danger. He also doesn’t want to scare the kid so severe she has nightmares for
the rest of her life.

“I wasn’t always a good person, and my job wasn’t a good
one. But you’re mother’s right, Lil-” He stops himself before he can say his
niece’s name, and Cassidy sees the change come over him as his shoulders
stiffen and his arms bunch. Afraid that he’s going to lose control, Grant opens
up the door to get everyone’s attention.

“Hannah, why don’t you come in and help me color some of those
pictures your mom left?” Troy watches her clamber down off the tire and looks
at Grant with a mix of fear and relief. He’s afraid that the old man will no
longer want him around, and he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to answer any
more of the kid’s questions.

Troy hangs his head under the hood of the truck as he tries
to get himself under control. There was never a funeral that he could attend,
and he’ll never get to see their gravesites. Instead, he has to forget they
ever existed, but that’s hard when there are reminders all around him. His
chest feels as if it’s cracking in two as he squeezes his eyes shut in an
attempt to get the images to disappear.

Cassidy watches his hand choking the wrench to death and
studies his face. The people who usually show up at her father’s house don’t show
much emotion. In fact, most of them remain in the house and keep to themselves
as much as possible. But Troy Red immediately took to talking with Hannah like
it was second nature to him, and he only remembered where he was when he almost
said someone’s name.

“Who’s Lilly?” Troy’s pained look immediately disappears as
he slides out from under the truck hood and closes it. He sets the wrench in
the small tool box attached to the truck bed, and tries to retreat from her
towards the barn. But that’s the wrong direction.

“Troy!” She jogs after him to keep up, and ends up jogging
backwards in front of him. He reaches out a hand to stop her before she runs
into the side of the barn, and spins her around so that she’s facing forward.
The shiver that goes through her is unmissed by him, but he interprets it as a
shiver of fear.

“I don’t hurt women!” He brushes past her and feels her
shiver again, but Cassidy is biting her bottom lip as she looks away from him.

“I never said you did.” She follows him this time at a slow
pace, and keeps her tone neutral.

“Then why are you afraid of me?” His loud tone catches her
off guard, and she flinches away from him. Her hand snakes up to push her hair
out of her face as she straightens her shoulders in an attempt to look a little
less affected by the way he’s posturing.

“I’m
not
! Who is Lilly, Troy?” He grips one of the
stall doors at the top to keep grounded. Flashes of Lilly’s face assault him
and the sound of her laugh fills his ears as he’s tumbled into a memory. It’s the
one of her last birthday they spent together. He had bought her an Easy-Bake
Oven and her mother was teasing her that she had to cook her own birthday cakes
from now on.

“I can’t tell you that! I can’t tell you anything about
them, and I don’t understand why you give a rat’s ass! I’m a
killer
Cassidy. I’m not some broken man you can fix, so get in your damned truck and drive
home. Stay there until I’m gone, which won’t be long. Staying here is a
mistake
!”
His breaths are coming fast, but she’s as cool as a cucumber as she stares him
down.

“Who did you kill?” To her surprise, he begins to laugh as
he puts his forehead to the wood with his hands gripping the top yet. She
hadn’t expected him to be so muscular under the shirt, but it looks as if he’s
spent his entire life maintaining a body fat count of zero. Being near him
makes her feel a little on the fat side.

“Whoever the client wanted me to, as long as they paid
enough. I didn’t ask questions beyond where and who, Cassidy.” Her pretty face
blanches as she realizes what he’s saying and her lips part a millimeter as she
stares at him. He really is a lithe killing machine standing right in front of
her.

“How many?” This one comes out more like a whisper, and Troy
feels his heart sink as he thinks back to each mark he’s ever killed.

“Nine.” She quirks an eyebrow and puts one leg off to the side
a few inches as she thinks.

“So you killed one person a year since you were what,
eighteen, nineteen? Why not more?” It’s the oddest question anyone has ever
asked him, and one that the FBI agents never bothered to.

“I didn’t need to. The payment from one client was enough to
last me a year where I lived.” The truth hurts like an axe through the chest.
He waits for her to leave like any normal person would, but she’s studying him
like a lab rat.

“Why would someone get into that business?” Troy stands up
and looks at the wall of the barn ahead of him. The muscle in his neck is
jumping again with his pulse as he tries to determine whether or not he should
tell her the truth. If he does, she might look at him with pity like the female
agent, Maggie, did. If he lies to her and tells her that it was fun and games
for him, then she’ll find him disgusting and never talk to him again. Yet he
doesn’t want either.

“You could say I was born into it.” That should suffice for
now. Cassidy seems to make some sort of decision about him as she stands there and
turns to walk out of the barn. She stops and turns her head without turning the
rest of her body so that he can see her cheek and the pink streak in her hair.

“That’s a shame, Troy because I think you could be better
than that.” It’s not pity, but it’s not hatred either. She sounds understanding,
and that makes Troy curious about her upbringing.

“Cassidy,” he calls out her name before she can walk away
and she stays where she’s at, “what happened to your mother?” It’s been nagging
him since he arrived. Her father doesn’t wear a wedding band and never mentions
a previous wife, and Cassidy has never mentioned her mother.

“She’s dead.” Her retreat is a little more hurried than
usual, and Troy feels guilty for asking. It’s obviously a sore spot with her,
so he figures he’d better ask Grant those nagging questions from now on.

Hannah insists upon finding Troy before she leaves, and Jody
walks in on him grooming Beethoven with a soft bristled brush. He didn’t want
to tear apart any of the equipment that he didn’t know, and the only thing left
that he could think of to keep himself from Hannah’s sight was grooming a
horse. Jody’s brilliant smile tells him that she’s more than curious about him.
She’s interested. Suddenly he wishes he had grabbed another shirt before the
kid’s mom got back.

“Now say goodbye so that we don’t interrupt Mr. Red too
much, sweetheart.” Hannah’s shy wave is altogether different from her behavior
earlier at the truck, and Troy feels a little guilty for reacting the way he
did to her last question. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he forgot who he was
speaking to.

“I’m coming back on Friday, will you be here?” Jody has her
hand on her daughter’s head, and he watches her long fingers pull Hannah’s hair
back from her face.

“I’m sure that he will, now say goodbye so that we can get
to Natalie’s house on time.” Hannah’s wave looks a little forlorn, and Troy
wonders who Natalie is. The kid seems to have a pretty busy life. Cassidy waves
to him as she passes by the barn doorway, and he automatically waves his hand
before he can stop himself. He hears her truck start and breathes a sigh of
relief when he realizes that everyone but Grant is gone.

His stomach rumbles to tell him that it’s getting close to
dinnertime, so he checks to make sure that the horse’s feed bins are full and
starts leading the rest of them inside. If he stands off to the side, they meander
to their stalls on their own. Grant pokes his head through the barn door that
leads to the driveway, and has a small grin on his face when he sees that Troy
has gotten the hang of letting the horses in.

They both walk up to the house in silence, and during dinner
they discuss the different tools and equipment in the barn. Grant shows Troy a
few of the larger pieces of equipment and how to take them apart after dinner,
and then they head in to go to their separate quarters. Troy ends up falling
asleep rather quickly after a warm shower and a hundred push-ups. He’s hoping
that going to bed exhausted will get the nightmares to disappear.

It’s been seven, long, hard days without seeing her. The hay
has been harvested and stored in the loft of the barn, all with the help of two
men from in town. Troy wasn’t open enough to strike up a friendship with Blake
and Evan, but they included him when they stopped for lunch or talked about
their wives. He learned a lot about the town and their close-knit community
during their long discussions about the ladies book clubs. Apparently there’s a
community day coming up next week, and Evan asked if Troy would be attending.

He’d said he wasn’t.

“Hey Troy, you awake, son?” Grant’s voice breaks through Troy’s
reverie as he lifts the hammer up to hit the nail on the head again. He’s
building a new trough for Violet’s stall. The poor thing lost all her feed
yesterday morning on the stall floor.

“Yeah, I’m here, what’s up?” Grant takes the hammer from Troy’s
hands before he hits himself on the thumb, and places it off to the side.

“I said, Cassidy called and said there’s a foal at her place
that needs a home. I’m going to pick it up, but I was hoping you could come
help me.” With one quirk of his eyebrow, he hopes he conveys just how much he
doesn’t
want to help with a foal. It doesn’t deter Grant from waiting for a verbal
response.

“Fine, but if it bites me or kicks me, I’m not feeding it!”
The spot where Beethoven kicked him still smarts from time to time, and he’s
not soon to forget about the incident. A foal that’s just lost its mother might
be inclined to have a tantrum.

“You won’t have to. She’s going to stay here for a while
until she can find a suitable replacement mare.” Troy heaves a sigh as he
follows Grant from the barn to his pickup truck. He slides into the passenger
seat, and glances back at the trailer attached to the truck. They’re going to
put a shaky-legged foal in that?

“How is this going to go down? We’re just going to swoop in
there and shove it into a trailer? Won’t the ride be too bumpy?” Grant glances
over at Troy as he starts his truck and starts down his bumpy driveway. He
doesn’t answer until they hit the pavement, and Troy’s already immersed in
studying the scenery as they pass. This will be his first time in town.

“That’s why I’m bringing you. You’ll have to hold it steady
in the trailer. And try not to be seen by a cop.” Troy puts his hands on his
face as he has flashes of tiny hooves stomping on his face. He’s silent the
rest of the trip.

At the end of the driveway, that’s surrounded by nothing but
forest there are more trees. Troy looks relaxed in the passenger seat, but
Grant can tell that the man is on edge about having to get into a trailer with
a horse. Cassidy told him about Troy’s confession that he killed people, but
she remained mute on the issue ever since. Yet a foal makes the man’s guts
twist.

He turns onto the road that will take them into town, and
keeps up a steady pace with the truck. It’s slow enough that Troy can get a close
look at the townsfolk going about their business in their small homes. Their
houses might be small, but they have at least a quarter of an acre they’re
sitting on, and it looks nothing like home for Troy. He tries not to let on
that he’s studying the residents as Grant takes them to Cassidy’s home.

Grant turns onto a side street that turns into a small, dirt
road about halfway up the mountain. The house they pull up to is a little
larger than some of the town homes. She’s painted her shutters black, and the
stucco is bright white, it’s a strange contrast. Troy wonders why she hasn’t
built a barn of her own, but doesn’t have a chance to ask as Grant steps out of
his truck and closes the door.

They wander around to the back of the two-story home, and
the scene they come upon is enchanting. Both men halt in their footsteps as they
watch Cassidy feeding the tiny horse with a unusually large bottle. She’s
whispering to it about how adorable it is and stroking the length of its face
as it eats lovingly. Troy wonders what it would be like to feel her hand
stroking his face and chokes on the thought. He has to turn away as he coughs
and attracts her attention, but by the time he turns back the scene has been
ruined.

“Dad, Troy, this is Reese’s Pieces.” The foal shies away
from Grant as he steps forward and tries to hide behind his adopted mother. His
little tail twitches with his nervousness, and Troy marvels at how tiny the
hooves are. The small foal must weigh only sixty to seventy pounds.

“Okay, now you’re going to tell me exactly how you came
about taking this horse before I let it on that trailer.” Cassidy looks
guiltily at the foal and her cheeks flush as she purses her lips. Troy
recognizes the look of a young woman being scolded by her father and feels a
smile coming on. Perhaps this is not the first time she’s brought home a stray.

“It’s from the Peterson farm on the other side of town. The
mother died two nights ago, and they were going to put this little guy down.”
Cooing at the foal, Cassidy pulls it close to her and strokes its nose to comfort
it.

“And why are they not taking care of it themselves? Why put
it down?” Her fingers stroke along the blaze on the nose and down to the small,
twitching nose.

“They can’t afford to feed him, and he’s underweight as it
is.” Her father lets out a long breath and sucks in another. He looks upset by
the entire situation, but it’s obvious that telling Cassidy ‘no’ is not a smart
idea.

“You know that he’s probably not going to make it.
Underweight foals are hard to care for when their mothers are alive, and this
one is alone. I’ve never done this before, Cass, so it might not work out.” By
the hopeful look on her face, Troy would have thought her father just said she
won the lottery, not that her foal might die.

“I know, I know, but I’ll stay with him if that’s okay?
He’ll need to be fed overnight, and during the day. I’ll have to bring my
laptop along so I can keep trading, but the rest of the house ought to be fine!
You’ll see, he’ll grow up to be a Champion!” She tweaks one of the droopy ears,
and Troy attempts to hide his grin. Is she always this upbeat about an animal
fighting against the odds?

“Fine, let’s get him loaded up. We’ll talk about socializing
him on the way back to the farm, alright? He needs to see other horses. I think
Lightning might be a acceptable substitute for Reese to learn from.” Cassidy
corrects her father about the name, but he pretends not to hear. Grant lets her
lead the foal into the trailer, and Troy leans in the opening as he watches her
trying to get a harness hooked up to him. The poor thing is too small.

“I’ll hold him if he knows how to lie down.” Grant fetches a
blanket from Cassidy’s home to put underneath the foal as she tries to get it to
lie down. It has a mind of its own as it starts to nibble at her shirt with the
milking teeth barely showing through the gums. As Grant starts the truck,
Cassidy tries with more gumption to get the foal to cooperate.

“Here, let me,” Troy takes the little horse’s legs and
gently bends them as he picks it up. It feels like a bag of feed to him, which
is pretty light. He slides down the side of the trailer and sits down with
Cassidy across from him. She closes the door without a word, and they sit in
the dark trailer as Grant tries to take it easy down the dirt road. As soon as
he hits the pavement, the ride is much easier.

“How often do you have to feed it?” Cassidy glances up as
Troy starts talking and looks back down at her new responsibility.

“Mothers can feed them up to eight times an hour, so the
more often I feed him the better it will be for his health. I was reading that
over feeding them in an attempt to get more time in-between is detrimental to
their health. So I guess every half an hour I’ll have to get up.” Troy shifts
the weight of the newborn so that only its front is resting on his thick
thighs, and he leans his head back.

“That’s going to be impossible for one person to do. Why
even bring the laptop when you won’t be able to do anything but drool on
yourself after two days?” Cassidy crosses her arms over her chest in the
signature ‘I don’t have to listen to this’ move and Troy hears it before she
even starts talking. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“I can do this for a few weeks. Besides, what else am I
going to do? Shoot him because he’s not perfect?” Troy looks at the floppy ears
and the ribs showing through the skin. He has a feeling it’s not going to make
it, but again, he keeps his mouth shut on the matter.

“I’ll help you. If you fall asleep and forget to feed him
for hours, it’ll all be over with.” Cassidy has a look of disbelief on her
face, and Troy wonders if she thinks he’s that unfeeling he would let Reese’s
Pieces die.

“You’ll need instructions on how to feed him. I’ll have to
teach you that when we get back to Dad’s farm. And I won’t let you stay with
him the first night alone, what if something went wrong? You can barely handle
Beethoven, and he’s an adult. Reese’s Pieces might get upset and kick you, what
would you do then?” She reaches a protective hand over and strokes one of
Reese’s ears. Troy’s more interested in calling the foal Reese rather than
Reese’s Pieces, but it’s Cassidy’s horse.

“I wouldn’t hurt him if that’s what you’re implying.”
Cassidy studies him for a long time, and wonders why he wouldn’t be angry over
the accusation. Maybe he understands why she made it, and finds comfort in the
knowledge that he didn’t hurt Hannah. But Hannah wouldn’t be able to cause severe
bodily harm with a tantrum.

Although, with someone Troy’s size, he might not have to
worry about bodily injury with a foal.

The trailer hits the dirt road at a slow speed up to Grant’s
farm, but Cassidy bounces around like a ping-pong ball as she tries to hold on.
Troy reaches across and grabs her before her head can bang against the side,
and pulls her to his side in front of the foal’s face. Her cheeks are flushed,
but she still giggles when Reese’s Pieces tries to nibble on her shirt.

It’s a long, fifteen minute ride up to the farm going at a
snail’s pace. The moment the trailer comes to a stop, Troy lets go of Cassidy
and helps the foal to its feet. It’s still wobbly, and the way it stands hints
to Troy that there might be something wrong with the legs.

“Did you have him checked out by a vet?” He asks Cassidy,
trying to forget about the way her small body felt against his side. The entire
trip up the driveway, he could think of nothing else but the warmth of her and the
smell of her shampoo.

“Not yet, he was checked out at the Peterson farm by the
woman who helped to deliver him, but she didn’t have anything good to say. I’ll
have to call Doctor Brunson to set up an appointment.” Grant opens up the back
of the trailer, and they both squint at the bright light. Cassidy’s hair is
mussed from being under Troy’s arm, and her cheeks are flushed from the heat. It’s
the way her eyes glitter in the light that tells Grant something happened in
the trailer on the way here, but he doesn’t say a word since he has no idea if
it’s anger in her eyes or passion.

Troy looks as cool as a cucumber as he hops out the back and
lowers the ramp for the foal. When Cassidy slips, he immediately reaches out a
hand to steady her, and Grant sees the betrayal of Troy’s emotions on his face
for a split second. In that moment, Grant realizes that it was a lousy idea to
bring someone like Troy Red here. He could hurt Grant’s daughter in an instant
without realizing it.

He remembers the conversation with the agent on the phone
and grits his teeth.

“This guy’s a womanizer. He managed to sleep with one of
my agents and she’s claiming he harassed her into it. Now, I don’t believe that
happened, but I’m just warning you Grant. Keep a tight leash on this one around
your daughter. He’s not the usual drug dealer scum we send your way.” Grant
tries to loosen his grip on the receiver as he sits down on one of his kitchen
chairs.

“Then what is he?” He’s afraid of the answer, and the agent
seems afraid to tell him.

“He’s not a good person, just remember that. He could
kill in an instant and walk away as if nothing happened.” Grant looks at the
pistol sitting on the table next to him, and wonders if he’ll need to use it.
Taking in people who need to start new lives is not charity work for him, it’s redemption
for failing to help someone before. But sometimes he wonders if he’s putting
Cassidy in too much danger by allowing these criminals to stay at his home.

“I’ll remember.”

Yet as he watches Troy help keep the foal in line as they take
it to the barn, the man doesn’t seem as dangerous as the agent had warned him
of. He’s been here ten days total, and even with the attitude, Troy works
harder than any of the other men and women who have passed through. This is a safe
house for Troy until they’re able to find somewhere more permanent, when the
hunt dies off.

“You kids better make sure he’s not too hot out there! I’m
going to call Doctor Brunson for you, Cass, and mix up some of that formula!”
Grant turns on his heel and tries to stifle the feeling that he shouldn’t be
leaving those two alone. He looks back once after he has the gate to the
trailer hooked back up and is unable to see them in the shade of the barn
aisle. Cassidy has to make her own decisions. He just hopes she makes the right
one.

“No! You’re holding it too high, and he’ll aspirate. Here,
like this.” Cassidy takes the bottle from him for the third time and tries to
show him how to hold it so that the horse’s nose is not above his eye level.
Reese’s Pieces is getting agitated by all the fuss over how he should eat, and
his little hoof tries to stomp on the floor.

Troy takes the bottle back and tries to hold it in the right
position, but even when he’s squatting it’s at an odd angle. He’s actually
trying
here, but Cassidy’s doesn’t seem to understand that. The bottle dips and her
hand comes up on his wrist firmly as she pushes it back up into place. Maybe if
she understood that he cannot concentrate with her body so close to his, she’d
back off. But he can’t tell her that because it would be a sign of weakness on
his part.