Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  It’s not fear I’m feeling now—it’s anxiety. No one’s going to kill me up here in this parking lot, but I have no idea what my future holds. Best case scenario, I get the kill and make it out of here without being seen. Actually, if we’re talking dream scenarios, then perhaps I stop back by the apartment and whisk Piper away with me.

  Yeah, that has to stay firmly in the dream category.

  Worst case scenario—and to be honest, the most likely—is that I get caught and spend the rest of my life in prison. Until recently, I had accepted that as being inevitable, but now I’d quite like to make it out of here sight unseen.

  If I escape, I’ll have to leave the city for a bit. It sure would be nice to come back one day. Even if things with Piper can’t work out, I still need to get in touch with my brother. I know he’s alive and well. Shauna gave me an update. Daron had been involved in some dodgy shit, but he’s clean now.

  I probably have Felton to thank for that. Other than me, only one man from our unit made it out of Iraq alive and that was Felton Hirsch. He only survived because I took three bullets for him, and I had no qualms about calling in a favor with what I thought was my dying breath. I asked him to steer Daron onto the straight and narrow, and by all accounts he did.

  That’s three reasons not to get caught. Piper, Daron, and Felton. Three people I’d like to see again if I can. Fuck, I need to put more thought into my escape.

  The gun can’t be traced to me, so it’s an easy decision to leave that behind. It won’t give the police any information they don’t already have. The bullet and the angle of the shot will tell them everything they need to know about my gun and location.

  My plan had been to run downstairs after the kill and just hope I got out before police or the senator’s security got there. Now I decide to take a different approach. If I run up to the roof, I can jump over to the roof of the building next door. It’s not quite as extravagant as it seems. There’s barely a six-foot gap between the two buildings. Then I can sneak indoors and join the mindless office drones who will probably be panicking after the assassination of a US senator.

  It’s not a great plan, but it’s better than the one I had.

  It’s four o’clock. According to Shauna, the senator usually leaves between four o’clock and seven o’clock. It’s showtime. I grab hold of my sniper rifle again, but I use a small pair of binoculars to keep an eye on the entrance. Three hours might sound like a long window to remain vigilant for, but it’s nothing compared to what I did back in the desert. Half an hour flies past, and then I see a black car pull up outside the building. Its tinted windows and lack of official Illinois license plates are a big giveaway.

  I slip the binoculars back in my pocket and aim down the scope.

  It’s nearly here—the moment of truth. This man is single-handedly responsible for the deaths of five of my closest friends, and for me spending five years as a prisoner of war at the hands of people with a sketchy understanding of the Geneva Convention.

  Senator Robertson has blood on his hands. Not just that of my friends. He’s made a small fortune from ensuring that his friends get lucrative contracts to supply the United States military with weapons that aren’t fit for purpose. The weapon I’m currently holding is very much fit for purpose; its purpose being to end the life of the man I’ve hated ever since our weapons failed at the worst possible moment.

  The car door opens, and then so does the front entrance of the building. A young man steps out first—probably an intern who gets to take notes and make coffee. He’s going to have one hell of a story soon.

  I aim my scope at the door and suddenly the senator’s head appears right in the middle. I almost pull the trigger immediately, but the tiniest gust of wind forces me to take pause and re-aim.

  He’s moving slowly towards the car, so I take my time and hold my breath. My finger starts applying pressure to the trigger until it’s at the biting point. One more movement and the bullet will begin its short journey to Senator Robertson’s head.

  Then he stops. He ducks down to tie up his shoelace. Christ, he’s almost making this too easy for me. I take aim again, but then notice the young woman standing next to him. At first, I assume it’s another intern or his assistant, but she’s looking around nervously, as if she doesn’t trust anyone walking past her or the senator.

  Then she looks in my direction and I see her.

  Piper.

  Chapter Eight

  Piper

  Never have I deserved a weekend off more than this one. I’ve only worked for the senator for one day, and already I’m both mentally and physically exhausted.

  I’m always alert—with the aid of coffee—but when you need to be constantly ready for a killer who could appear any moment, you can easily drive yourself crazy with fear. I’m hoping the killer works evenings and weekends, because that’s when my replacements take over. The senator insisted on having an inexperienced young woman look after him during work hours, but he must have realized I wouldn’t be able to work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Arlene has compensated for my inexperience by sending two of her best men—one man and one woman, to be precise—to look after the senator when I’m not there.

  That means tonight I can go home and have a nice, relaxing bath. Well, I can have a bath, anyway. I can’t imagine anything about it will be relaxing. I’ve never been good at switching off, and I already know I’m going to spend the entire weekend worrying about what the next week will hold. It’s all very well and good my mom telling me not to stress about work, but when you might get killed on the job it seems only reasonable.

  I haven’t told Mom and Dad about my new assignment. They’ll only worry, and for once, it won’t be because they’re insanely overprotective parents.

  I know I’m not the target, but I can’t help but suspect every person who crosses paths with me on the way home. I’m seeing things. Earlier today, when Senator Robertson was bending down to tie up his shoelace, I looked up towards a parking lot and could swear I saw a man with a gun.

  How ludicrous is that? This isn’t a movie. If someone’s going to kill the senator, they will likely run up to him and do it at point blank range, too crazy to care about whether or not they are caught. The death threats the senator has received all sound like they’re from a complete lunatic, not someone calm and collected taking a shot from the fourth floor of a parking lot.

  I went in the parking lot after work and had a look, because I wouldn’t get any sleep otherwise. There was absolutely no sign of anyone being there earlier, although I’m hardly an expert at the forensic stuff. It’s better to be too paranoid than not paranoid enough, but at a certain point, it becomes counterproductive. I need to keep an eye on the real threats, not the imaginary ones.

  As I step inside my apartment, I think back longingly to this time last week when I’d come home ready to enjoy my weekend. Work had been challenging and stressful, but that seems like nothing compared to this. I could have spent some Netflix-and-chill time with Alec, or maybe met up with a friend for cocktails. I should have enjoyed normality while I still had some.

  There’s no way I can meet up with a friend this weekend—I’m still on edge. Likewise, I’m hardly just going to sit down and read a book. I walked home tonight from the bus stop with an audiobook playing in my ears and didn’t take in a word of it. At best, I might be able to watch television, but even that seems taxing.

  One step at a time. First the bath, then an early night. No, first bath, then wine, then an early night. I’ll deal with Saturday when it arrives.

  My apartment may be a bit of a dive, but one thing it does have is a massive bathtub. I practically took the place on the spot when I saw the tub. It takes a while to fill, but it’s totally worth it. I start relaxing the second I turn on the taps.

  The apartment is tidy enough right now that I don’t stress about it, although I do decide to take out the trash. Along with a large bathtub, the apartment also came with a few mice. I t
hink they’ve all been dealt with now, but I’m not about to take unnecessary risks.

  I grab the bag and head out to the trash cans out front. The thought of a nice hot bath has made me relax a little too much, because I don’t notice Phil sneak up on me.

  “Hey, Piper.”

  “Oh, hi, Phil.”

  Oh, Phil. To think I felt sorry for him not all that long ago. When I first moved in, he introduced himself and said that he used to be a cop. I quickly figured out that he had a drinking problem, but I offered to spend some time with him if he needed a shoulder to lean on. Two of my Dad’s brothers are alcoholics, so I try not to judge.

  Turns out Phil isn’t an alcoholic—he’s just an asshole. An asshole who likes to sneak up on me. He tried it the other night and ended up with a bruised knee to show for his efforts. If he doesn’t behave tonight then he’s going to get a lot worse.

  I throw the bag in the trash can and step back towards the apartment, somewhat mindful that the mice might still be nearby. Phil has come out empty-handed. He’s not even pretending to be out here taking out the trash.

  “When are we going to watch that movie?” Phil asks.

  “What movie?”

  “You said we could watch a movie together. Remember? Last time I came to your apartment for a cup of coffee.”

  Shit, did I say that? Back then, I’d thought of him as an innocent, harmless middle-aged guy, who was going through a rough patch.

  Now I know better.

  “Listen, Phil, I’m really busy right now, so I’m afraid I just don’t have time for a movie. Maybe in a few months’ time when things are quieter at work.”

  I go to walk past him, but he steps to the side and blocks my way. A year ago I might have found this vaguely threatening, but I can handle myself now. Phil might have a few inches on me—more like a foot—but he doesn’t scare me.

  “So you lied,” he says angrily.

  “I didn’t lie,” I say calmly. “I just changed my mind.”

  “You lied. I hate it when women do that. Hate it.”

  “It’s nothing personal. Now you need to get out of my way.”

  “I’m always falling for sluts who don’t know what’s good for them.”

  “Yeah, we just don’t know when we’re missing out on a good thing. Now, get out of my way.”

  “You’ll end up with some big, muscular guy who treats you like shit. You’ll probably come crying to me when it happens. Well, don’t expect any sympathy from me.”

  “I won’t. Now move.”

  He’s turning red, and starting to spit when he talks. How did I not know this guy was an asshole right from the start? I’m such a shitty judge of character when it comes to men.

  “Do you want me to be a bad guy, is that it? If I treat you like shit, will you be interested in me then?”

  He steps forward, close enough that I can smell his breath. I wait for him to reach out or make a move. I’m much better at dealing with aggressors when they try to start something. So much easier to get them off balance that way.

  “Phil, get out of my way. Right now. I mean it.”

  “You get off on this, don’t you? This is exactly how you want—”

  There’s a loud thud behind me, and I hear one of the lids come off a trashcan. I quickly jump to the side and look around. Instinct tells me that if something is disturbing the trash cans it’s usually worth moving away.

  The noise didn’t come from a rodent.

  “Hi, sweet cheeks,” Alec says, a smile visible in the light shining from our apartments.

  “Where did you... how did you…?”

  I look up and see an open window about twelve feet above me.

  “I jumped,” Alec replies. “I just find the stairs so boring, you know what I mean?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  Alec turns to Phil, who’s standing there awkwardly looking confused and a little scared. “She said no. Now leave.”

  Phil stands there for a few seconds until the intensity of Alec’s stare gets a little too much for him. He flees back into the building, although I hear the word ‘bitch’ leave his lips.

  “I don’t like the idea of him living on the same floor as you,” Alec says.

  “I can look after myself. Speaking of which, I didn’t need you jumping in from the heavens like a superhero. If he tried to lay a hand on me, I would have ripped it off.”

  “I believe you. Doesn’t do any harm to have backup, though. Anyway, I need to feel useful.”

  “By playing a knight in shining armor?”

  “We political correspondents don’t get many opportunities to be heroes.”

  “Fine.” I put on a sweet, admiring voice. “Oh Alec, you’re my savior and I can’t possibly thank you enough.”

  “I can think of a way for you to thank me.”

  I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t sound like a very heroic thing to say.”

  Alec shrugs. “Even heroes have needs.”

  “Yeah, well unfortunately for you, all I need right now is a nice… oh shit.”

  I run into the building with Alec close behind. He follows me into my apartment, as I head straight for the bathroom, only just about able to turn off the taps in time. The water is so near the rim of the bath, it almost overflows when I stick my arm in to pull out the plug and let some of the water drain.

  “This is nice,” Alec says from the bathroom doorway. “I was going to offer you a drink, but I’m all for a nice romantic bath.”

  “You don’t look like the bath type.”

  “I’m not. Haven’t had one in over ten years. You could change my mind, though.”

  A bath followed by a good fuck would help me relax. I wouldn’t have to do much. Alec looks like the take-charge type. He could have his way with my body and leave me a panting wreck on the bed.

  That would be fun. It would also be complicated. If there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s another complication in my life. I need to keep my energies focused on the small matter of making sure no one kills the United States senator I’m supposed to be protecting. Just because I supposedly have the weekend off, doesn’t mean I can forget about it. This isn’t a normal job; I don’t get to spend the weekend screwing around in bed with the guy from upstairs, and then going to work on Monday morning like everything is normal.

  Life doesn’t work that way. Not for me.

  “You’re going to make me leave, aren’t you?” Alec asks.

  “Yes. And I hope you’re a lot better at accepting rejection than Phil.”

  “Damn straight. Although, this isn’t rejection. This is just a delay. See you soon, sweet cheeks.”

  Chapter Nine

  Alec

  I picture her naked in the bath, bubbles floating on the surface of the water occasionally obstructing my view of the good bits.

  Normally that would be solid wank bank material, but there’s another image that keeps floating into my mind whenever I try to get myself off. It’s the look on Piper’s face as she stares directly at the scope of my sniper rifle. A hair’s-breadth movement of my finger and she’d be dead right now.

  She stared at me for far too long. Logically, I know she couldn’t have seen my face, and probably couldn’t even see the gun, but it still freaked me the fuck out. No sniper wants to be spotted. After that, I put my gun away and headed straight back home.

  At first, I was angry. I thought she’d lied about being a cop when she was actually working for Senator Robertson. I put in a little anonymous phone call to the police station asking to speak to her, and they confirmed she was unavailable and on assignment right now. Looks like that assignment involves protecting the senator. It was hard enough getting my head around the fact that she was a cop, but a bodyguard? There must be a story behind that, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.

  Why does Senator Robertson have police protection anyway? According to Shauna, US senators get certain privileges like a small Security Service detail and an armo
red car while they are in DC. However, when back in their home states, senators are supposed to be relatively unprotected. If he has a police officer with him during the day, then there must’ve been threats against his life. That’s nothing to do with me. The only people who know I want the senator dead are myself and Shauna. Shauna can be linked to the crime, so she’s hardly going to tell anyone about it.

  The only conclusion is that someone else has been sending death threats to the senator. I could leave the job to them, but I’d much rather do it myself.

  My mission is on the back burner now. There’s no way I can kill him while Piper is working as his bodyguard. Not because she’s in any danger; I could easily make the shot before Piper has time to react. The whole ‘diving in front of bullets’ thing is just for the movies.

  I could make the kill, but I’m not going to. Not until she goes back to her regular job. Piper’s career will be fucked for the rest of her life. If someone you’re supposed to be protecting dies on your watch, it’s a permanent stain on your record. Even in death, Senator Robertson will take another person down with him.

  Looks like I’m going to be in town longer than intended. That should be a bitter disappointment, but I’m happier than I have been a long time. Ever since I arrived back on US soil, I’ve been so consumed with desire for revenge that I haven’t taken the time to be happy for the fact that I’m alive and well.

  I’ve screwed my fair share of women since then, but I can’t say it’s brought me much pleasure. I’ve smiled more in the few short conversations I’ve had with Piper then I have done in the last couple of weeks since my return.

  I’m not convinced she feels the same way. She looked stressed as hell last night, although if she’s the senator’s bodyguard then I can hardly blame her. How old is she? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Either way, she’s fucking young to be thrown in the deep end like this. No wonder she needed a relaxing bath.