Scars: A Killers Novel, Book 5

by Brynne Asher

One thing I’ve got going for me, I look fucking good in a tux. I’ll look even better with Bella by my side.

  I take my cell, hold it flat against my chest, and look at the tailor through the mirror. “It’s perfect. Can you have it ready by Friday?”

  He nods and moves behind me to slip the pin-filled jacket down my arms. “You paid the rushed fee. It’ll be ready.”

  “Perfect.” I put the phone back to my ear as I step into the dressing room. “Nick, I have my shit together but from the sound of it, you may not. We both know the work I coordinate cannot be rushed. And as far as having someone breathing down your neck? Well, I’ve learned how to work through it. So can you. From my experience, I suggest you smile, choke down that pride of yours, and move on. There are some things in life that are out of our control.”

  “Damn you, Carson. If you can’t get this done, I’ll do it myself.”

  “You know you couldn’t get it done even if you wanted to.” I unbutton my trousers. “I’ve spent years gaining the trust of my contractors and they are not going to rush a job for any deadline. They have more money than most people have sense and could stop working yesterday to live fat, dumb, and happy. Be patient.”

  “I’ll write you up for insubordination faster than you can blink,” he threatens.

  He has no leg to stand on and he knows it. What, is he going to put a letter in my file stating I’m dragging my feet on carrying out an order to kill an American veteran? “Do it and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Don’t push me, Carson.”

  “I’m not pushing anyone. I’m doing my job, Nick, and I’m killing it as far as I can see. No pun intended.”

  “Dammit.” His exhale hisses through the phone with sounds of honking and traffic acting as his backup band. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can. There had better be progress in the next two days.”

  “Do what you’ve got to do. See you when you get back from wherever you are.” I hang up, exit the dressing room, take the paperwork from the tailor, and head out.

  The big event is Saturday night, which is also the two-week mark of Bella living under my roof. Not going to lie, when I threw down the one-month gauntlet with Bella, I thought I’d be farther along by now. Good news is, things have gotten to the point where she, Red, and Abbott coexist with little angst while I’m at work.

  I know she’s still recovering, but hell, we haven’t done any more than sleep pressed against each other at night. I told her I’m not kissing her until she wants it and she’s holding out on me—white-knuckling her convictions like a devout nun would her vow.

  My other phone rings and I answer it immediately. “Asa. What’s up?”

  He laughs. “You sure can wind up your boss.”

  “You enjoyed that, huh? He’s a tool. What else do you have for me? Who’s pressuring him?”

  “I’ve listened in on every call since we got his personal cell tapped. What do you know about his direct-line supervisor?”

  I walk to the end of the block and wait for the light to change. “Not a lot, she came from the field. Her name is Wendy Sisson and she was promoted a while ago. She doesn’t mingle with case officers. I’m too busy to keep tabs on one more person right now.”

  “Since I usually rely on you to pull files for me, I had to get creative. I did some digging, found a copy of her application to the Agency two decades ago. She was hired right out of college as an analyst and pretty boring until recently. I had to dig even deeper.”

  I throw on my aviators as I cross the street to my car. “I don’t want to know who you’re getting your information from. Please keep me out of it so if this goes to shit I can answer honestly on a polygraph.”

  “I wouldn’t give up my source anyway, but you’ve got it. About four years ago she started attending a new … shit, I don’t even know what to call it. On the outside it looks like a church but once I learned more, it’s fucked up.”

  I beep my locks and climb in my truck. “Fucked up how?”

  “Fucked up, as in it’s no church, fucked up.”

  “No shit?” I turn the key and flip the AC to high. The humidity is a bitch today.

  “Yes shit. And this church does not operate on its own. This, I’m still looking into. Grady’s helping me. We think their funding is coming from a bigger source. They operate on about fifty acres west of our camp. Ozzy has taken the lead on this—he’s also a licensed drone pilot. We’re trying to get an aerial view.”

  “This is not what I expected.”

  “Us either. Sisson is so far up Peterson’s ass about this assignment, she’s got him shaking in his loafers. We’re working on the connection between Sisson and the veteran they want dead. But Peterson is having no problem throwing you under the bus because it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I mutter.

  “You shouldn’t be, you work for the asshole. But Crew isn’t going to take an assignment on an American, much less one he can’t prove is doing anything wrong. He’s pissed and wants to get to the bottom of it now that we’re all investigators. Let me tell you, this is time consuming as hell.”

  “I appreciate it since I can only do so much without anyone noticing. And there’s the fact I’m already buried.”

  “Crew would’ve done anything for Bella before she stepped in and saved the day with Jarvis. Now there are no boundaries he won’t cross.”

  I sigh. “Then he needs to do me a solid and quit contracting with her. I’m doing everything I can to keep her here. She doesn’t need to be in the middle of a fucking warzone to do what she does best.”

  “Talk to Crew.”

  I back out of my spot and head to Langley. “I have. And I will again. I need him to have my back on this.”

  “Crew has Bella’s back. He won’t go against what she wants. She’s too good and integral to his work. He respects her and my guess is you will not be a part of that conversation.”

  “Right,” I seethe into the phone. “I appreciate you digging.”

  “I’m all for pushing boundaries. Talk soon.”

  I hang up and veer onto the highway. I’ve never thought twice about Wendy Sisson. I don’t know what she’s up to but she doesn’t know me. I do not fulfill kill orders that aren’t vetted and I don’t take blind directives from my superiors. I’d rather ask for forgiveness later than live with something on my conscience that can’t be undone.

  My phone lights up again. Fuck me, I feel like a Super Bowl champion quarterback, I’m so popular today.

  I answer on Bluetooth. “Ollie, my main man. Tell me you found the Donnelly brothers. I need some good news.”

  “Carson!” he belts over background noise. “I miss the sound of your voice, my luscious fella. Why don’t we talk every day?”

  “Because I have a life.”

  “Huh?!” His voice booms through the cab of my truck. “I can’t hear ya.”

  I yell back. “Yes. We should talk daily.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Ya do love me!”

  “Ollie. What do you have for me?”

  “I’m at the pub so I can’t say much. But you’ll be getting a call from a certain brother sooner than later. How much do ya love me now?”

  I take a big breath because it’s finally time the ball falls in my court. I need something to go right for a change. “I love you, Ollie.”

  “Pinch me in the knickers, I knew it!” He angles the phone away but I can still hear every word. “Hey, love, I need another pint. Bless ya. Okay, I’m back. Listen, I’ve been watchin’ Dr. Phil. If you need my help or advice or simply a good rubdown to release some tension, I’m here for ya. I’m afraid ya could end up with some family drama made only for the telly.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good.” I keep yelling into my cab. “And I appreciate you getting me in touch. I owe you.”

  For a second, I only hear the party in the background. Then Ollie finally comes to life. “Carson owes Ollie? Fuck! I need to figure
out how I want you to pay this debt. I could use a good American handjob right about now. Why do we have an entire bloody ocean between us? I feel like the universe is plotting against us, Carson.”

  “It definitely is.” I silently thank the continental drift for the ocean between Ollie and me. “Like I said, I owe you. Have a good time, man.”

  “Love ya right back! I wish I could kiss ya!”

  I hang up. If Bella weren’t at my house right now with my father and daughter, I’d turn the damn phone off. A few moments of silence would be a gift but I don’t want to tempt the gods.

  Shoes will start dropping eventually and I need to be able to juggle those suckers. Not one of them will touch the ground if I have anything to do with it.

  When I open the door, the murmur of voices hit me in the chest. It comes out of nowhere, like a falling anvil in a bad cartoon.

  I don’t slam the door like I do every night when I return home from work, announcing my presence for all those who want to welcome me home to my crumbling castle. Easy on my steps because a mouse could make my floorboards creak, I make my way down the hall but don’t round the corner.

  I need to see this with my own eyes.

  An English accent mingles with a child’s, both counting in unison.

  In French.

  I peek around the corner and Abbott is sitting with her back to me, looking up at Bella who is laser focused on my daughter.

  Bella smiles when she gets to ninety-nine and points to Abbott to let her finish.

  Nothing.

  And then, finally, Abbott remembers. “Cent.”

  “Very good!” Bella beams. She fucking beams at my daughter. “I’m so proud, Abbott!”

  I can’t see her face but it doesn’t surprise me my daughter doesn’t share in her celebration. Instead, Abbott’s little shoulder rises once.

  I exhale.

  Abbott isn’t exactly throwing herself at Bella, but I’ll take it.

  “Let’s go over the months and days of the week. When your father gets home, you can show off your new skills!”

  “Okay, those are easy.”

  “Well, then. You’re a pro, aren’t you? How would you like to move on to food? I can teach you how to ask your grandpa to make you bangers in French.”

  “What’re bangers?”

  “Hot dogs or sausages. It’s what we call them in England.”

  I suck in a breath when Abbott’s tone changes—lighter than it’s been in days. “That’s so weird.”

  Bella’s blue eyes go big when she grins. “No, it’s weird that you Americans name them after poor, little pooches. Hot dogs? What is that? A puppy on fire?”

  Abbott giggles. It’s short lived, but I hang on to it like a desperate man.

  And then a grunt.

  My eyes shift across the family room. Red is hiding out, like me, watching his granddaughter and the woman I’ve been trying to tie down for years. Arms crossed over his gut, his dark eyes are intense as he takes in the same sight I am. He sees what I do.

  And he lifts his chin once before turning to disappear into the laundry room.

  Baby steps. Everyone in this house is fucking killing me, but we’ll get there.

  Chapter 13

  Rules

  Bella

  Rules.

  So bloody many of them.

  Time under his roof has clicked by at a slow, painful pace reserved only for waterboarding or torture chambers during medieval times.

  I have spent hours with Cole’s standoffish, yet equally brilliant, child. The girl is like the desert-cracked earth during a rare rainy day—it doesn’t matter how much I present to her, she soaks it up and turns around for more.

  I know what Cole is trying to do, forcing time together on me and his daughter. It’s what he’s wanted for years—to integrate me into his private life outside of spies, liars, secrets, and hidden agendas. This life, the one here in Virginia, where Cole Carson is a father and so protective of his child, he’s not willing for anyone to care for her other than her grandfather.

  If I had allowed Cole’s family to infiltrate my heart the way I would a terrorist cell, my defenses would shatter. It’s why I refused so many times. Why I said no to every request, every plea, and every proposal.

  Because Abbott Carson is about as perfect as miniature humans come. I assume, anyway. Not that I’ve had the privilege of knowing many beyond smiling at them and offering an afghani here and there, in hopes of bringing a light to their little lives.

  Okay, so she’s perfect aside from not wanting me in her home. But who can blame the girl?

  Not me. I feel as sorry for her as I do for myself. Cole is holding us both hostage in his picture-perfect American dream, more determined than ever to make it a syrupy-sweet reality.

  It’s clear Abbott wants none of it or me—even if she can count to one hundred in French and has moved beyond basic words to colors and foods. The way she can separate her indignation for me while learning a new language is proof enough she has Cole’s blood running through her veins. Her father was always able to separate his desires, frustrations, or displeasures from any assignment he was given.

  Speak of the devilish man himself, his voice booms at me through the thin walls. “Get a move on, sweetness. It’s gonna take us over an hour to get to the Kennedy Center in Saturday traffic.”

  I smooth the inky locks framing my face before sliding my hands down my breasts to adjust the dress. I’ve lost weight and that has unfortunately affected my cleavage, even though I never had much to begin with.

  Gracie worked her personal-shopper magic and did what I needed her to do. I might not prefer red normally, but in this case, it’s perfect. Unlike the last few years where I’ve had to hide and blend into the rocky landscape to keep from being burned at the stake, tonight I need to stand out. I want the attention of everyone in that room if that’s what it takes.

  My neckline plunges deeply and a slit spikes up my leg, both to dangerously sexy levels. I said I wanted to show some skin, and this gown shows a lot while still hiding my scar. The halter clasps behind my neck and I’m bare to the small of my back.

  From the black wig that kisses my shoulder blades to the fire of my dress, they’re both a stark contrast against my fair skin. I finish painting my lips ruby and take a look at myself in the mirror.

  My gut twists a tinge and has nothing to do with my itchy, healing scar or insides which surely aren’t up to snuff yet.

  My mind wanders and I’m brought back to another time and another world. When I was new and nervous—but only inwardly so. I never allowed anyone to know that about me. Not even when I was thrown into the caldron with the arsehole American by my side who had no desire to indoctrinate me on how to cross the street, let alone to the ways of working undercover.

  Cole Carson owns so many of my firsts. Sometimes I love it, and others, moments such as this one, it may as well be a slash through my heart. Everything important to me will always be tied to him.

  Knotted and tangled.

  Tight.

  Like a noose.

  “Baby, did you hear me?”

  I look up from the stranger I’m staring at in the mirror who doesn’t even have my eyes, thanks to the dark brown contacts I asked Gracie to get me at the last minute. When my imposter browns meet his authentic ones through the mirror, the air in the room grows thick.

  I should have known when Cole insisted on butting his way into my plans he would play his role perfectly. As extra as I am right now, he’s utterly simple—if a man as beautiful as him could ever be referred to as basic. His raven tux is classic with straight lines, fitting his strapping frame like a second skin. His crisp white shirt has yet to be buttoned at the neck, and the black tie I know for a fact he can whip into a bow with his eyes closed, hangs loose and uneven around his neck.

  “Feels like I’ve been thrown back in time.” He snaps the silence in two, like a cracker on Boxing Day. His eyes drop to my arse before popping back up to m
ine in the mirror. “But I don’t remember your ass hanging out during our first operation.”

  My red lips thin and I snatch the silk clutch sitting in front of me and spin on my Louboutin heel, because Gracie does not fuck around when it comes to shopping. “I’m ready.”

  Now he gets a look at the deep V, taped to my shrunken breasts and below so it won’t budge. “You really think now is the time to attract the attention of the western hemisphere?”

  “I know whose attention I need. From my research, he’s a womanizing, misogynistic pile of cow shit.” I lift my naked shoulder and tip my wigged head. “I’ll be hand feeding him poisonous grapes in no time.”

  He stands rigid and his body goes wired. “You told me you wanted to get close to him, not shimmy up to him to make half his dreams come true.”

  I round the foot of his bed. “Darling, you sound jealous, and quite frankly, you look horrendous in green.” When we’re toe to toe, I slide my hand down his lapel and tip my head back an inch since my heels bring us close, just like our days on the job. “I do like you in black, though. It matches my soul.”

  He lifts a hand and it lands hot and heavy on the bare skin above my ass. He presses in before it slides south, where he cups my cheek and squeezes. “Don’t fuck around tonight. I mean it. I’m working another angle to clear your name and am making headway. This is not the time to dance close to the flames.”

  “I’ve never been burned and you know it.”

  “Then explain to me why you’re hiding out in my rundown farmhouse in the middle of the forest. You’ve been burned so bad, I’m surprised you don’t leave a trail of ashes with every step you take.”

  I narrow my eyes. “My being framed doesn’t count. And why didn’t you tell me you’re working another angle? Don’t you think that could’ve been a topic of conversation at your tense dinner table?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re working this alone. I’m working mine alone.”

  “I’m hardly working alone, hence you standing here in a tux with your hand down my dress, cupping my bum.”