The Assassin's Prayer (11 page)

Without
breaking stride, Kain fired a right cross that Silas never saw coming. The blow
caught him flush on the jaw, whipped his head around, and sent him slithering
to the floor, out cold.

Kain
bounded up the stairs to the fourth floor and made his way to apartment 4C. He
reached inside his duster and wrapped his fingers around the butt of his Colt
.45 when he saw a blood-puddle seeping out from under the door. He felt
something deep inside him recoil and wither. He was too late. The woman was
dead.

He
drew the Colt with his right hand and nudged the door with his left. It opened
at his touch, revealing torn hinges and a splintered jamb. The coppery scent of
blood rushed out at him, the bitter taint biting into the back of his throat.

But
it wasn’t the woman’s blood like he had expected. He gazed down at the
blown-open carcass of a German Shepherd. The glassy eyes seemed to stare up at
him with a mute plea. Kain saw a glint of metal through the mess of blood. It
was the dog’s tag and even through the gore, he could read the name.

SIRIUS.

Kain
felt something dark and cold touch the edges of his heart. Then he heard the
desperate cry from the back of the apartment.

“No,
please!”

Kain
rushed toward the sound of Larissa’s voice, tracing its echo into the bedroom. Emotions
wrenched at him, screamed through his veins, ignited something deep within his
soul, setting his blood on fire.

The
bedroom door was half-open. Through the gap he saw Larissa bound, naked, and
spread-eagled. Pierre was positioned between her legs, on the brink of
penetration. Kain felt all control snap. Rage sliced through him like a million
hot razors, twisting his face into something feral. The very air swirled red
before his eyes.

He
kicked open the door. Pierre hesitated in mid-thrust, head jerking toward the
violent intrusion. “What the—” Then he saw the .45 in Kain’s fist. “Hold on,
wait a second, man, you don’t want—”

Kain
cut loose with the Colt, the bullets ripping out Pierre’s throat. Whatever he’d
been about to say vanished in a spray of scarlet froth. The impact hurled him
off the bed and onto the floor. Blood spattered onto Larissa’s face and chest,
the crimson shockingly bright on her pale skin.

The
sight further fanned the flames of rage burning in Kain’s heart, blinding him
to all thoughts save that of vengeance. He walked over to where Pierre writhed
and gurgled on the floor and emptied the clip point-blank into his skull until
there was nothing left but pieces.

When
his murderous fury finally ebbed, Kain realized he was still pulling the
trigger on an empty gun, his mind locked in a deadly rhythm of retribution.
Shock rushed in to replace the rage. What the hell had happened to him? He
looked down at Pierre’s savaged body and began to shake so badly that the .45
rattled in his hand. He stared at the corpse, at the shattered remnants of
Pierre’s head, and wondered how he had lost control so badly. His killing had
always been cold, methodical, dispassionate—he had controlled
it
, not
vice-versa. But even as his mind asked why, his heart knew the answer. But it
was an answer he did not want to face.

As
he slid the .45 back into its holster, Larissa said, “Who’s there?”

The
fear in her voice made Kain want to bring Pierre back from the dead just so he
could kill him all over again. “It’s all right, Larissa,” he said. “It’s just
me.”

“Travis?”

“Yeah.”
Kain plucked the dagger from its boot sheath. The steel blade whispered against
the leather and Larissa flinched. “Easy,” Kain said, doing his best to sound
soothing. “I’m just going to cut you free.”

Tears
spilled from her eyes as Kain began slicing through the paracord binding her to
the bed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but that man, he ... he did things to me ... with
a knife.” She broke down, her words dissolving into muffled sobs.

Kain
cut through the last cord and gathered her into his arms. She clung to him
desperately, sobbing uncontrollably into the crook of his neck. He didn’t pull
away. He just held her and let her cry.

After
a few minutes, Larissa lifted her head from his shoulder and brushed the tears
from her face. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I just … you know …”

“Yeah,”
Kain said, “I know. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” The wetness in her
unfocused eyes made them gleam like emeralds, but they were emeralds set in
raw, red sockets. More raw redness glowed angrily on her ankles and wrists
where the cords had scraped her skin. But these were simply surface wounds,
easily healed. Kain wondered how deep her inner wounds ran, how long it would
take for them to heal. Only time would tell.

“We
have to get out of here,” he said, letting her go and rising to his feet. “The
people I work for want you dead.” He was having a hard time wrapping his head
around the fact that just days after once again crossing paths with Larissa, he
now found her living next door to his latest targets and marked for death by
Frank Giadello, his client. The odds were astronomical. With that kind of luck,
he should go buy a lottery ticket.

Maybe
it’s not luck,
suggested some inner
voice.
Maybe it’s fate.

He
silenced the voice. No time for those kinds of thoughts right now. He needed to
focus.

He
drew the .45. Extracted the spent magazine. Popped in a full clip and jacked
the slide, injecting a round under the hammer.

“Dead?”
Larissa echoed. “Why?” Without waiting for an answer, she slid from the bed and
groped toward the dresser.

Kain
knew he shouldn’t look, but his eyes were drawn to her like metal to a magnet. The
sight of her naked body made him remember how long it had been since he had been
with a woman. Not since Karen’s death. He felt a twist of pain, the memories
like a nest of thorns in his heart. He watched Larissa dress, sleek muscles
moving with unintentional sensuality under her silken skin, and remembered a
time that seemed so long ago and yet like only yesterday.

Larissa
suddenly paused, one leg in her jeans, and looked at him with unseeing eyes. “Are
you watching me?”

Kain’s
bittersweet memories fragmented and spun away. “No,” he said, his voice huskier
than he had intended.

Larissa
remained still, head canted in his direction. Despite her blindness, Kain felt
like she could see right into his thoughts. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

Kain
didn’t respond to that. Just said, “We have to go. Now.”

Larissa
faced him for another heartbeat and Kain saw the emotions in her blinded eyes.
Then she turned away and continued dressing. She didn’t bother with a bra; just
pulled a dark green t-shirt over her head. She retrieved her Firestar .40,
tucked it into her waistband, and let the shirt fall over it. “Okay,” she said.
“I’m ready.”

“Let’s
get out of here.” But before they could go anywhere, Kain heard the creak of
the front door being pushed open. He quickly thumbed back the hammer of the .45
and moved into position in the bedroom doorway where he was partly shielded but
still had a clear view of the living room and front entrance. His finger
tightened on the trigger, taking up the slack.

The
door swung open all the way, but there was nobody there. Kain waited, adrenalin
thundering in his veins. He could hear the sound of Larissa’s breathing right
behind him.

Then
Silas called to him from out in the hallway.  “Kain? You in there? The hell is
going on? You just about broke my jaw.”

“I’ll
put a bullet in it next time if that’s what it takes,” Kain said. “Stand down,
Silas. One way or the other, we’re walking out of here.”

“I
can’t do that, Kain, and you know it. She’s a target.”

A
target. How many times have I used that term myself?
Kain thought. Using the word “target” dehumanized the
victim and made it easier to pull the trigger. But Larissa was not a target,
she was someone Kain had once loved, and it would be a cold day in hell before
he stood by and let her die. “She’s an innocent, Silas. You know that.”

“Doesn’t
matter.” Silas sounded hard and grim. “Step aside, Kain. Don’t make me take you
down. What’s she to you anyway?”

Kain
could sense Larissa close behind him, could smell the clean scent of her skin
and feel the warm whisper of her breath on the back of his neck. He remembered
their lunch date a few days ago, her confession that she had never stopped
loving him. He couldn’t return that love, but at least he could keep her alive.
His mouth twisted at the irony—he refused to love her, but he would kill for
her. The thought begged further exploration but now was not the time or place.
“She’s my friend,” Kain said. “But I guess that doesn’t mean anything to
someone like you.”

There
was a moment of silence from Silas, then: “Go to hell, Kain. I can’t change the
past. If you can’t forgive and forget, that’s on you. But none of that has
anything to do with this. My orders are to eliminate the bitch and that’s what
I intend to do. So either get out of the way or let’s get this dance over
with.”

And
just like that, talking time was over.

Kain
knew it.

Silas
knew it.

Kain
tightened his grip on his gun.

Bring
it on, you bastard.

Silas
spun into view with fluid speed. One minute the doorway was empty, the next
Silas was there, popping up like some pistol-packing jack-in-the-box. Kain
dropped to one knee in a combat crouch as Silas blazed away with a Glock 17. Unsure
of Kain’s exact location, Silas capped off rounds in a random spray-and-pray
pattern. A lamp exploded. Holes appeared in the walls. Sheet-rock dust billowed
into the air. A reproduction of
The Last Supper
fell to the floor, bullet
holes drilled through the heads of Jesus, Judas, and other assorted apostles.

Kain
had a distinct advantage—he knew right where Silas was. He looked at his former
friend over the open sights of the Colt and slammed back the trigger. Silas,
realizing he had exposed himself for a split second too long, tried to duck
back into the hallway. The .45 slug tore into the door jamb, shredded the wood,
and hurled a hellstorm of needle-edged splinters into his face. Silas let out a
horrible cry as one of those slivers drove straight into his left eye. Kain
caught a quick glimpse of spurting blood and then Silas was out of sight. But
Kain could still hear the wet and raw howls of a man in excruciating pain.

And
then … silence.

Drops
of Silas’ blood dripped down the splintered doorframe as Kain waited for Silas’
next move. It was so quiet Kain imagined he could actually hear the smoke as it
curled from the barrel of his .45 in a blue-gray twist. A long minute of
silence ticked by, as if the Reaper was holding his breath, waiting for the
next burst of violence. There were no sounds from Silas.

“Is
he gone?” Larissa asked.

“Not
sure.” Gun ready, Kain crossed the living room to the wrecked doorway.
Carefully, not wanting to get his head blown off if Silas was still out there,
he looked out into the hall. A trail of blood droplets led to the stairs.
Looked like Silas had fled to lick his wounds. Kain holstered his Colt and
returned to Larissa as sirens wailed in the distance. “We have to get out of
here,” he said.

She
slipped her hand into his. “All right, let’s go.”

Kain
led her toward the exit as the sirens grew louder. He figured they had three
minutes, tops. He picked up the pace, pulling her along, then paused as she
stumbled over Sirius. “Hold on,” she said, her voice soft and fragile as
butterfly wings. She knelt beside the dead dog, stroking his fur with a
familiarity that came from years of companionship. “I can’t just leave him like
this.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

Kain
said, “We don’t have a choice. I’m sorry.”

“I
have to say goodbye.”

The
sirens were shrilling in his ear, but Kain simply nodded. Larissa had lost her
best friend. Only the coldest of hearts would refuse her a final farewell.

She
leaned over and kissed the top of the dog’s head as she hugged his neck for the
last time. “Goodbye, Sirius,” she whispered tearfully. “I’ll never forget you.
Never
.”

The
sirens were critically close. They were out of time. Kain touched her shoulder.
“Larissa, I’m sorry, but…”

She
nodded, brushed the tears from her face, and stood up. As he led her away from
the shattered remnants of her life, Kain knew that neither of their lives would
ever be the same again.

CHAPTER 12

Kain
steered the Grand Cherokee down I-87 as quickly as he dared without risking
getting pulled over. A couple horns blared and a few middle fingers shot up but
he ignored them. Right now all that mattered was putting some distance between
himself and Larissa and the carnage back at her apartment.

He
took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Larissa, silent as stone in
the passenger seat next to him. She gripped the dashboard so tightly her
knuckles were white. So was her face, all pale and ghostly. Maybe it was his
driving, but Kain suspected she was in post-traumatic shock. The loss of
Sirius, her attempted rape, the explosion of violence … it had all crashed down
on her, leaving her shaken, dull, and lifeless, her blinded eyes void of their
usual spark. Kain wanted to reach out and comfort her, but his heart rebelled.
Besides, he needed both hands on the steering wheel.

He
kept the needle pinned at ten over the speed limit. He whipped around a
slow-moving Volvo and then darted back into the fast lane, tires thrumming as
they devoured the road. Larissa just slumped in her seatbelt like a rag doll.

Kain
felt a dark streak of anger run through him. He wasn’t a religious man, but he
did believe that God, in one form or another, existed, and right now Kain
wanted to ask Him just how much crap He was going to shovel down on Larissa’s
head. He wanted to look God dead in the eye and ask,
How much is enough?

In
his anger, he punched the gas a little harder. The sudden acceleration pinned
Larissa back in her seat. Her nails dug deeper into the dash but still she said
nothing, maintaining her haunted silence.

About
twenty miles outside of Albany, the traffic thinned out and Kain soon had the
fast lane to himself. He set the cruise control at a respectable, non-attention-grabbing
speed. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror, but his mind turned to thoughts
of Macklin and Black Talon. Their dawn strike at his apartment a few days ago
had failed, but believing that was the end of the matter would be as foolish as
trying to find a pot of leprechaun gold at the end of a rainbow. From all
reports, Macklin was a ruthless machine who lived for the thrill of the hunt
and the rush of the kill. He would just keep on coming, the Energizer Bunny of
assassins.

Kain
knew there would be no peace until either he or Macklin was dead. The thought
caused a crushing weariness to settle over him and sink deep into his bones. He
was tired of killing but there was so much more of it to be done.

“Where
are we going?”

The
sound of Larissa’s voice pulled Kain out of his grim thoughts. He glanced at
her. She didn’t look much better than she had the last time he looked at her,
but at least she was talking. That was a good sign. “We’ll hole up at a hotel,”
Kain said.
Which
hotel remained to be seen. He knew enough to avoid the
big chain hotels that lined the major highways, but how far from home should
they run? His instincts said not far at all. They were being hunted by multiple
parties—not just Silas and the Giadellos, but Macklin and Black Talon as
well—and Kain figured it was better to face a fight on familiar turf. By
sticking to home ground rather than running, they might just gain an edge in a
game in which every edge counted. Plus their hunters might not anticipate such
a move.

Kain
glanced at Larissa again. She had lapsed back into silence, blinded eyes staring
lifelessly out the window. He hated to see her this way. She was a strong,
vibrant woman, always ready with a laugh, and seeing her spirit broken like
this infuriated him. He wondered if he would ever hear her laugh again. The
thought that he might not was sobering, like the taste of ashes in his mouth.

Impulsively,
he reached out and touched her shoulder. Just a gentle, comforting touch, and
then he pulled his hand back.

Larissa
turned toward him and Kain saw tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Kain
nodded. No more words were needed.

******

Twenty
minutes later, as Kain pulled the Jeep into the garage and hit the remote to
lower the overhead door, he felt uneasy. No woman had stepped foot inside this
house since Karen’s death and it felt a little strange to have one here now,
especially one that he had once loved. A vague sense of guilt gnawed at him; he
felt like he was betraying Karen’s memory. Sure it was foolish, but that didn’t
make the feeling go away.

Once
the garage doors finished rumbling down on their rails, he turned to Larissa.
“I’ve got to grab some gear. We won’t be here long. This is one of the first
places they’ll look for us, so we’ll be in and out in five.”

Larissa
nodded. “Whatever you say. I’m just the passenger. This is your field of
expertise, not mine.”

He
helped her out of the Jeep, up the stairs into the kitchen, and guided her to a
chair at the table. “Here,” he said, “have a seat.”

“I
think I would rather just walk around, check out the place.” Her head swiveled
from side to side as if she could actually see. Only her unfocused eyes gave
away her blindness.

Kain
tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could. “Listen, Larissa, we don’t have
a lot of time and right now saving our asses is a bit more important than giving
you the ten dollar tour.”

A
look of mild hurt came over her face. “You can take that condescending tone and
shove it up that ass you’re trying to save,” she said. “I don’t need your help.
Just go about your business and let me wander around.” She smiled to take the
caustic edge off her words.

Kain
let go of her arm. “All right,” he said, “make yourself at home.” As he went
into the bedroom, he heard the shuffle of her feet as she explored the kitchen.
He admired her fiery independence. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone
had told him to shove something up his ass. Life might have kicked Larissa in
the teeth, but she was a fighter.

He
went to the closet, pulled out a large duffel bag, and began loading it up. As
he did, he heard Larissa make her way into the adjoining bathroom. He glanced
at her as she passed the bedroom doorway. Her hands were stretched out in front
of her, guiding her through the unfamiliarity of her surroundings.

Kain
felt a fresh surge of anger at Macklin. Executing rogue assassins, men with
blood on their hands, was one thing. But putting bullets into innocents was
something else, something wicked, a violation of all that Kain held sacred. He
tossed some spare magazines for the Colt into the duffel bag. Some people
packed extra socks; he packed extra ammo.

Larissa
called to him from the bathroom, her voice soft and hesitant. “Is this
where...” She let the question hang there, perhaps realizing she had no right
to ask it.

Kain
felt the sting of the question, but he also knew Larissa had not meant to hurt
him. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s where it happened.”

“Kain,
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“It’s
okay,” he said. “Really.”

She
appeared in the doorway as he added boxes of shells for the shotgun to the
duffel bag. “Todd and I wanted to come to the funeral,” she said, “but we
weren’t sure if you wanted to see us or not, so I just sent a card. I’m sure
you don’t remember, but...” Her voice trailed off and it was clear she didn’t
know what else to say.

“I
remember,” Kain said, but it was a lie. He remembered a lot of things about
that day. He remembered the feelings of loss and grief that had torn his heart
in two. He remembered hating God for taking Karen away and he remembered
thanking God for the cold rain when they buried her because it hid his tears. He
remembered how few people had turned out to pay their final respects to his
wife. He remembered thinking that he had done this to her, forced her into a
life of isolation, without a real family, without children, without friends,
and now there was nobody to stand beside her grave and say goodbye. He did not,
however, remember who sent him sympathy cards. But there was no reason to hurt
Larissa’s feelings by telling her that. She had enough problems of her own. He
took some fragmentation grenades from the top shelf of the closet and added
them to the growing pile of firepower.

“Why
do you have roses in your fridge?”

The
question came out of nowhere, catching Kain off guard. His mind raced. How much
should he tell her? He decided to keep it simple. “They’re for my work,” he
said, putting a few bricks of C-4 into the bag. “I use white roses to mark my
kills.”

“Why
white roses?” Larissa asked.

Kain
threw some spare clothes into the bag and zipped it up. “They were Karen’s
favorite. I guess I use them to remember her.”

“Do
you think she would approve?”

“Don’t
know, and she’s not here to ask,” Kain said, unable to keep the bitterness from
his voice. He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s
get out of here.”

Once
they were back on the road, Larissa said, “What about this car? Won’t they be
looking for a vehicle matching this description?”

“That’s
why we’re ditching it,” Kain said. “I’ll drop you off at a motel, then go find
another set of wheels.”

They
crossed a bridge which took them over a canal and into the town of Fort Edward,
named after the colonial garrison that had once stood nearby. A mile up the
road they came to the White Pine Motel, a seedy establishment located off the
town’s main drag, a scant two miles from Kain’s house. Kain had no clue why the
place was named the White Pine Motel, for it wasn’t white and there were no
pine trees in sight. All he knew about the White Pine Motel was that it served
as a flophouse for the local whores to turn their tricks, the kind of place
where cash was king, you paid by the hour, and you didn’t want to examine the
bed sheets too closely.

Kain
was acutely aware that no matter where they holed up, Silas would eventually find
them. The best they could hope to gain by staying close to home, at ground
zero, was a little time. How much, he didn’t know. At least a few hours, a
couple of days if they got lucky. But sooner rather than later, they would have
to run.

The
clerk—and probably part-time pimp—behind the desk was a short, fat man in his
late forties. A small fan whirred away on the corner of the desk but it didn’t
seem to be doing much good; the man’s few stray wisps of black, sweaty hair
clung to his otherwise bald head like a wet cobweb and his grime-white t-shirt
clung to his fat rolls like sausage skin. He glanced up from his dog-eared copy
of
Hustler
as Kain and Larissa walked in. He looked at Kain with boredom,
but stripped Larissa with his eyes. Kain wanted to break his face.

“I
need a room,” Kain said, glancing around at what passed for a lobby. Cigarette
butts and condom wrappers littered the floor.

“I’ll
betcha do,” the clerk leered. His right hand was out of sight behind the desk, no
doubt massaging the bulge in his pants. With his left hand, he slid a thin,
hard-cover book across the desk. “Care to sign the register?”

Kain
shook his head.

“Why
am I not surprised?” the clerk drawled sarcastically. “Nobody ever wants to
sign my register.” He pulled his hand out of his crotch long enough to reach
behind him and pluck a key off the rack. He turned back to Kain and jerked his
double chins toward Larissa. “So what’s her story, huh? Her eyes look all screwed
up. She blind or something?”

“Obviously
you’re
not,” Kain replied with an edge in his voice. The clerk’s
crassness was as repulsive as his body odor. “Give me the key.”

“Jeez.”
The clerk gave Kain an
excuse-the-hell-outa-me
look. “What’s up your
butt, pal? I was just making conversation.”

“If
I want conversation, I’ll join a chat room,” Kain said. “So do yourself a favor
and mind your own business.”

The
clerk held out his hand, room-key dangling from his fingers. But when Kain went
to take it, the fat man jerked it back just out of his reach and gave Kain a
taunting grin. “This place
is
my business, pal, and I wanna know what
kind of girl you’re en-ter-tain-in’.” He jingled the key mockingly. “After all,
I can’t allow some skank ho to ply her trade here, now can I? Not in a fine,
upscale establishment such as this.” He jingled the key again.

Kain’s
asshole tolerance levels had bottomed out. “This place is full of skank
whores,” he rasped, “so cut the crap and give me the key before I kick your
balls through the bottom of your spine.”

“Oh,
my.” The clerk held out his hand and shook it with an exaggerated motion,
making the keys jingle yet again. “I’m so scared I’m shaking. I … I … I think
I’m gonna piss my pants, you scared me so much.”

Kain
struck like a cobra. His fingers closed around the clerk’s wrist so tightly he
could feel the man’s pulse.

“Hey!”
The clerk’s piggish eyes bulged from their sockets. “Let go of me, you
motherf—”

Kain
wrenched the man’s wrist, grinding bones. The clerk’s obscenity became a hiss
of pain. His fingers spasmed open. The key clattered to the desk top. Kain
reached for it with his free hand.