The HiT Series

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “In a parallel universe, where neither of us would constitute an unnecessary risk to a child, I think I’d like that. But let’s face the truth – as it is. We’ve both been born into lives we’ll never escape. Even if we wanted to leave that part behind.” I hold my hand out and point toward him, “We’ll always be involved. And even if we’re not directly involved, somehow we’ll be dragged back into it. Do you really want to risk the life of a child, because someone wants to use them against us?”

  Ben lowers his gaze, but nods. “I understand,” he mumbles. “Maybe we can figure out how we can still do what we do, but at a greater distance.”

  A laugh bursts through me.

  “What distance do you think I can put between me and a target?” I ask.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, maybe you can take on only a few jobs a year and I can work remotely. There’s no way you’ll be able to give up doing what you do, either. I know you. You love it.”

  “You’re right. Although I’d like to walk away from it all, there’s no way that can ever happen. There’ll always be someone out there willing to kill everyone close to me in order to make me suffer or manipulate me back into the business. So instead of leaving it, I’ll cut back. And I think you working your business remotely will keep you safe but will still keep your finger on the pulse.”

  Ben nods his head, acknowledging and agreeing with my words.

  “I’ll ask Emily if she wants to take on more. I’m think she would.”

  “Then it’s pretty much settled. We take a back seat but keep doing what we’re doing. It’s the only way we can stay alive and still be aware of everything that’s happening.”

  “What about Dmitri?”

  I look over the deck and stare into the dark, cold night.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And there’s also your sister, who’s a cop. A freaking FBI agent, no less.”

  “I won’t allow her to turn down this path.”

  “It may not be your choice,” Ben says, making me drag my eyes away from the still midnight sky, back toward him.

  I shake my head. “No. She’ll remain out of this world, regardless of what Dmitri wants. You and I have chosen this life. We were introduced to it while we were young, and we went into it willingly, eyes wide open. Ophelia can’t become involved.”

  “But Dmitri wants you to help him regain control, to run the Bratva, which means he’ll try and get Ophelia involved too.”

  “I don’t care. He’ll have to figure out something else. I’m not running it, and neither is she.”

  “You’re making a decision for her she may want to make for herself.”

  I look at Ben and can feel the anger rising in me, not at him challenging me, but at this whole fucked-up situation.

  “You said you investigated her. How dirty did she come across?”

  “Clean as a whistle. Matter of fact, the revelation that she’s FBI threw me. She seemed too naïve.”

  “Then she certainly won’t want to join the Russian mob. She’d likely pull her gun and try to arrest us all if we even tried to approach her with the offer.”

  Ben lies back in his deck chair.

  The coolness of the night air intensifies and I can feel my cheeks starting to dry out from the bite of the cold breeze.

  “There’s really only one way you’re going to know for sure.”

  Oh fuck, I hope he doesn’t say what I think he’s about to.

  “Ask her,” he says in a deadly serious tone.

  “Sure, let’s waltz up to her house and ask her if she wants to join the Russian mob. Then I can stop her from doing it. While we’re there, we may as well tell her you’re Ben Pace and I’m Anna Brookes, her sister, who killed our mother. Then when we finish, we can all sit around a campfire, make s’mores, and sing Kumbaya. Great idea, Ben.” I roll my eyes at his idea.

  “Or we take her.”

  We fucking what?

  “Are you serious?”

  A small smile dances on his lips. His eyes narrow and his chest puffs out with a deep breath.

  He is fucking serious.

  As in, the plan’s already taking shape in his head.

  “It’s the only way we’re going to know for sure.”

  “By kidnapping a FBI agent?”

  “By kidnapping your sister.”

  I sit back and get lost in the realm of possibilities.

  The small probability of success plays a huge part in my reluctance to embrace this completely crazy idea.

  But I didn’t get to where I am today without risk.

  “Dmitri is not to know,” I state with definition.

  “Dmitri is not to know,” Ben confirms.

  Looks like we’re going to kidnap my sister.

  Ophelia

  “Dad, can I come over and see you today?” I’m on the phone with him as I arrive home from the spa and walk in my front door, taking off my jacket.

  “Sure. Is everything alright? You mother told me you were looking for me the other day when you were here. Sorry I wasn’t home. I went out with your uncle to help him with something.”

  “That’s alright. I’ll be over in a while. Is Mom home, too?”

  “No she’s out with her friends. They’re having dinner then going to a show.”

  I let out a small chuckle because I know how much Dad hates anything he has to sit still for.

  “Then how about we order pizza when I get there? Got any beer?”

  “I do. I’ll see you soon, love.”

  I’ve had a luxurious two days off from work. I went to the spa today to get a massage, a mani–pedi, a facial, and just relaxed.

  Director Lomax was beyond pissed off when he learned how we had Ben and Anna on our radar in Hawaii and they got away. We actually had them literally in our sight, but then they vanished. He was so angry that none of us in the meeting room were brave enough to speak.

  Although we’re all working crazy long hours to get to Ben, they slipped away from us. Anyone would think there was an insider leak, and they knew we were coming for them.

  I check myself and know that I look like a hobo, but I’m in my t-shirt and sweats, too relaxed to give a shit. The spa today was beyond awesome, just what I needed to get my mind around all this shit going on.

  I leave my apartment, lock it up, go down to the garage to my bike and I put on my helmet, push down the visor and make my way over to my parents’ house.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say as I bend to give him a kiss.

  “Grab yourself a beer and come sit with your old man, Ophelia,” Dad says as he puts his feet up on his recliner. He’s watching some sports show on TV.

  Walking into the kitchen, I grab two beers, and look through the kitchen drawers for the take-out menus. When I get to the bottom drawer, I see a new gun sitting among the menus.

  I pick it up and check the magazine. It’s fully loaded and ready to go, but the serial number has been filed down. And only one type of person files the serial number off a gun.

  “Dad,” I say as I walk back into the family room carrying the gun.

  “Yeah,” he says, his eyes still glued to his show.

  “Why is this in the kitchen drawer? Shouldn’t it be locked up? And since when do you carry as a security officer at the mall?”

  “I’ve had that for a while.” He holds his hand out to take it from me.

  I pull the magazine out again and put it in my pocket. “Is that right?” I ask, looking the gun over again.

  “Yes, it is. Give it to me.”

  “So why has the serial number been removed?” I can’t stop my cop persona from switching on.

  “Don’t you dare try that FBI bullshit with me,” he says, indignant as he stands and straightens to his full height, towering over me.

  “Why do you need a gun?” I ask again, not backing away from this.

  “Because I do. Now give me the damned thing,” he says harshly and holds his hand out to me.

  I’ve ne
ver seen my father as angry as he is at this very moment. His face is red and his lip curls up into a snarl. His arms are vibrating with fury.

  “Give me the fucking gun,” he booms.

  “No, not until you tell me why the hell you have this.”

  Dad lifts his hand, and for a split second I’m actually afraid he’s going to hit me. I drop the gun to cover my face in an automatic defense. I know, rationally, he’d never hurt me, but this is just a natural reaction to protect myself.

  Dad picks the gun up and walks out of the room, leaving me completely stunned at what the hell just happened.

  Why on earth does he need a gun?

  Within moments, Dad comes back looking remorseful, maybe even ashamed.

  “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says as he wraps his arms around my shaking shoulders. “I’d never hurt you, ever. I just lost my temper for a moment. There’s no excuse for what I just did.”

  “You’re right, Dad, there’s no excuse,” I say as I let him hug me.

  “Come on, let’s order a pizza and we can talk.” Dad leads us back to the kitchen and grabs one of the menus I threw on the island counter. “What do you feel like?” he asks as he examines the menu.

  My eyes are solely on him, my mind still reeling with his reaction to me questioning him about the gun. But the only thing I can think of is why a mall security guard would have a gun with the serial numbers filed off. I don’t like any of the answers.

  “Pepperoni good with you?” Dad asks without looking up to meet my gaze.

  “Fine,” I answer, still not entirely sure what the hell is going on here, and not liking it one bit.

  Dad grabs the phone and dials the pizza parlor, while I go into the family room to sit and wait for him. The low hum of the TV isn’t annoying yet, but if it gets heated in here again, I might just throw something at it to shut it up. I look for the remote and turn the TV off, and continue to wait.

  He comes in a few moments later, and sits in his designated ‘Dad chair’. He flips the bottom part up so it reclines, and he takes a swig from his beer.

  “Pizza will be here in 45 minutes to an hour. Now, what did you need to talk about?” he asks. Clearly, he knows I’m now going to have questions for him.

  “I’ll leave the gun alone, for now. I have other questions, though.”

  “What else is on your mind? Need some advice about work?” He takes another sip of his beer, seeming eager to leave the topic of the gun behind.

  “No, nothing like that. I want to know everything you know about my birth mother.”

  He momentarily hesitates while lifting the glass bottle to his lips, and his eyes widen. I think I see fear in his face for just a moment, and then he continues drinking, as if nothing happened.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I want to find out who killed her, and I want them to serve their time.” I carefully watch for any movements Dad might make, using my training to look for signs that he’s hiding information about her. And so far, between Mom’s reaction the other day, the whole business about the gun, and the way he just hesitated for a split second, I know there’s a lot more than they’ve told me. “I need to know more about her if I’m going to find her killer.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.” Dad turns his head so I can’t see his face. “She was assassinated at the ballet, I believe. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

  “Yes, I did. She was shot by a sniper, along with her husband, who happened to run an ‘assassin for hire’ business. I’ve been trying to find any information I can on her, and I keep coming up with nothing. Natalia Murphy. Nothing prior to her becoming Mrs. Murphy. No social security number, nothing. Every corner I turn I’m met with silence. Can you tell me anything about her?”

  “No, nothing.” Dad takes another swig of his beer. I haven’t touched mine. I’m too hyped up from the business with the gun and now from the lack of information about Natalia. “Oh, I’ve finished. Want another?” Dad asks as he stands to go to the kitchen, waggling his suddenly empty bottle.

  “No, I’m fine.” I grab my beer off the coffee table, sit back on the sofa and start to drink it. I can’t focus on anything, distracted by the tumbled and erratic ideas flying around in my brain.

  Why is information about Natalia’s past so elusive? Who was she? Was she a criminal? A celebrity?

  Dad and I sit in silence for a while, both lost in our thoughts. The ringing doorbell snaps us both out of the quiet, sullen heaviness surrounding us both.

  “The pizza must be early. I’ll get it,” I say to Dad as we both start to get out of our seats at the same time. I’m quicker, so I get to the door first.

  Opening the door, I reach around to get the fifty I had in my back pocket to give to the delivery person.

  But someone pushes past me and knocks me flat against the hallway wall. I look up to see Ben standing in my parents’ house, followed very closely by Anna.

  “What the fuck? Ben Pearson, you’re under arrest,” I yell and reach for my gun.

  Which is at home. In my safe.

  Fuck!

  “Sweetheart, what the hell’s going on?” Dad yells from behind me as he comes to see what the commotion is about.

  “Henchman?” Anna questions, but moves quickly to punch my father, knocking him down.

  “Who the hell is the ‘henchman’?” I call after them, watching Dad try to get up, but Anna has a gun pointed at him.

  Ben’s got a gun pointed at me and I’m still stuck in the fuzzy state of ‘what the fuck is going on’.

  “Anna,” Dad says, as he holds his hands up in surrender.

  “You know her?” I scream at Dad.

  “Let’s take this to the family room,” Dad says to Anna, completely ignoring me.

  Slowly, Dad stands. Anna still has her gun trained on him, obviously ready to shoot if necessary.

  I look at Ben and the look I read in his eyes can only be described as deadly. There’s no doubt at all. He’ll kill me if I try to stop Anna.

  Dad takes a cautious step toward the family room, holding his hands up and out in front of him. Anna follows him. Her stare and her completely steady hand holding the gun, are clear indications to me she’s done this before. Maybe a lot.

  I study her as she sidesteps behind Dad to keep watch of what’s happening both behind and in front of her. She acts like a seasoned professional, undoubtedly an expert and highly trained. She knows precisely what she’s doing.

  So again…what the hell is going on?

  “Sit,” Anna’s tone is cold. A frisson of panic rushes straight through me. Her eyes are dark with power; her stance screams confidence and deadly competence.

  Undeniably, she’s a machine. A woman who can take a life with no effect on her whatsoever.

  “Will someone please tell me what’s happening?” I ask. My heart is telling me to say my final goodbyes and prepare to meet my maker. My mind wants to know how my father knows Anna, and why she’s here with a man I should be arresting.

  And where is Katsu?

  “I think it’s time I tell you about your family,” Dad says with a sigh, as he looks to Anna for confirmation.

  She nods her head once, and keeps the gun trained on him.

  I look at Dad, whose own eyes are filled with tears, and there’s something else radiating from his entire body.

  Shame.

  Anna

  Dmitri’s henchman is Ophelia’s adoptive father?

  Well, this situation just took a turn I didn’t expect.

  When Ben spoke to Emily to get information on where Ophelia would be today, she hacked into police records, got the shift roster and saw Ophelia had the day off. The jury’s still out on whether I can trust Agent, and until I know for sure, I won’t use his services.

  With one phone call to the police department, I pretended I was a friend of hers and asked if they knew where she was.

  Idiot rookie cop fell for it. He should be pink-slipped b
ecause he violated such a basic rule of information security. I found her home, waited for her, and followed her here.

  “Sit,” I say to both Ophelia and Henchman. They obey me and sit, not causing me a bit of trouble.

  “Will someone tell me what’s happening?” Ophelia asks, her voice getting shrill now. She looks rapidly among the three of us, stunned, and apparently confused.

  “I think it’s time I tell you about your family,” Henchman says, then turns to me for approval. I give him a small nod, because he can fill in some parts that I don’t know.

  Like how Ophelia ended up here, with him as a father.

  He drops his shoulders and buries his face in his hands before looking up with a deep sigh.

  “As you know, we adopted you when you were eleven.”

  “How old are you, Ophelia?” I ask, interrupting his story.

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  Makes sense, I’m twenty-nine which gives us roughly three years’ difference.

  “Your grandmother came to America because she was pregnant with your mother.” He stops talking and takes a deep breath. “She was a prostitute who got pregnant by your grandfather.”

  I look at Ophelia, and her eyebrows have furrowed together, though her eyes are large and attentive. She soaks in everything Henchman is saying.

  “Your grandmother died when your mother was very young. Anyway, your mother met and married her father,” he says as he points to me. “Henry Brookes.”

  “I have a sister?” Ophelia shrieks in a higher tone than what she would normally use. She stands at the same time and Ben grabs her shoulder to push her back into her seat. “You’re my sister?” she asks again as she looks at me.

  I nod once, and the biggest smile passes over her lips before it quickly turns back into a concerned scowl.

  “Just listen,” her dad says. He looks at me to seek my approval, obviously wanting to tell her the entire story.

  “Tell her all of it,” I instruct him.

  “Natalia married Henry because she got pregnant with Anna. When she went to hospital to have her, she just left her in the hospital and disappeared. No one knows why, she never gave an explanation, that I know of. She turned to drugs, and when the drugs became too expensive, she became a prostitute to support her habit. She became pregnant with you while she was hooking, so we don’t know who your father is, but you were born an addict.”