“Don’t worry,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”
And suddenly, my worry melts away.
We walk into the great hall and my jaw drops at the unfathomable opulence surrounding us. The room is filled with well-dressed guests chatting and laughing over glasses of wine. Waiters in black suits weave through the crowds carrying silver trays of champagne flutes and crudités. To one corner, there is a live band playing upbeat jazzy music, and there are some people dancing. Two staircases curve up to a second floor with a balcony in the center that overlooks the festivities. This place looks like a film set and feels like a cathedral. It’s difficult for me to process the idea that someone lives here.
“Is this… is this real?” I ask breathlessly.
Jake chuckles. “Yes. It is.”
He molds himself to the occasion, taking on an air of opulence and casual luxury himself as we move from gathering to gathering, mingling and chatting breezily with other guests. It stuns me to see how effortless this transition is. Jake morphs from motorcycle-riding, leather-jacket-wearing badass to soft-spoken, confident, formal man-of-the-hour with ease.
His confidence is contagious, and before long I find myself warming to the occasion, laughing and chatting as though I belong here. It’s exhilarating, this kind of extended roleplay, and after a little while—and after my very first glass of bubbly—I’m even having fun.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jason Hawthorne, and this is my wife, Charlene,” he introduces himself to a pair of middle-aged couples in tailored suits and designer evening gowns. I have to stifle a giggle at the made-up pseudonyms he conjures up for us. We all shake hands.
“My, my, you are just darling!” gushes one of the women, an older lady with a pearl necklace and frosty white curls.
“Oh, thank you!” I reply, trying not to get flustered. I’m not used to all the flattery.
“Isn’t she beautiful? Would you believe she did her own makeup?” ‘Jason’ says.
Both women gasp and exchange expressions of wonder. “Goodness. I never would have guessed. It looks downright professional,” compliments the other lady, who has dyed-red hair in a straight bob and bright green eyeshadow. A colorful feather plumes artfully from her fascinator cap. I find myself thinking that she looks a little like a peacock, but in human form.
“Do you not do your own makeup?” I ask them honestly.
They both titter between themselves, as though I’ve asked the silliest question in the world. Jake pats my arm reassuringly.
“Oh no, dear,” says the white-haired woman. “I have a makeup artist on retainer.”
“And my nanny moonlights as a makeup artist, so she does mine,” answers the peacock.
“Nanny?” I repeat, warming to the subject. “You have children?”
The peacock lady glows happily. “Yes, yes. Two of my own, both grown by now. But I also have three adopted children. They’re four, six, and nine. Lovely children.”
“That’s so nice, adoption!” I exclaim genuinely. “I’m sure they love having siblings to play with, too. I have six younger siblings myself.”
“Six?” gasp both couples. Jake gives me another little squeeze, and this time, I realize he’s trying to warn me.
“Yes,” I answer with a smile. Then I divert away, asking, “What are your children’s names? Do they get along well?”
The conversation wanders on easily, the women chatting with me while the men swap hunting stories with Jake. I wonder vaguely if Jake has ever been hunting or if he’s just an adept liar. Then I remember that he has gone hunting, in a way, but not for animals.
Finally, the conversation dies down and Jake politely says goodbye to them and leads me away. He leans in as we leave the area and says softly, “You might want to be more careful about handing out personal information like that, Charity. If you give away too much, you might be identifiable. And that would make me identifiable, as well.”
I wince, my stomach churning.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about it.”
He smiles gently and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay. This is all new to you. I don’t expect you to be perfect. You’re doing an amazing job,” he says.
I smile in spite of myself, my cheeks flushing pink.
“I’m trying.”
We continue on in similar fashion for what seems like hours, drinking champagne and mingling with the vapid, wealthy guests. Jake often gushes about how he’s the luckiest man alive to be married to me, complimenting me and discussing my made-up achievements. I know it’s all for show, but that doesn’t keep me from enjoying it. I’m actually smiling and laughing, having more fun pretending to be ‘Charlene Hawthorne’ than I’ve ever had as Charity Rivers.
I don’t know whether that’s proof of how intoxicatingly pleasurable it is to spend time with Jake, or if it’s just a testament to how boring and dull my life was before. Either way, I’m making the most of the evening, getting dizzy and giddy from champagne and proximity to Jake.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some figures appear at the balcony of the second floor, and I point it out to Jake with a tipsy grin. “Who’re they?” I slur in a whisper.
His smile fades as he turns to look at them, and I feel his body stiffening up beside me. Suddenly, I’m worried. “What is it?” I ask.
There’s a man in a suit, standing with a beautiful woman who seems to be his wife. But behind them are two other men—much bigger and bulkier, less opulently dressed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were bodyguards.
“Something isn’t right,” Jake murmurs, watching them hawkishly. He leads me away to a quieter corner, never letting his eyes drift away from that balcony. I don’t know what’s wrong, but the tone of the evening is quickly shifting into something totally new and frightening, and all I know is that I want to stay close to Jake. With him, I am safe. That much I know.
But when one of the bodyguard’s eyes scan the room and lock onto the two of us, my blood runs cold. Jake’s right. Something is off, and I have a feeling that our pleasant evening masquerading as a happy couple is coming to a swift, ugly end very soon.
Jake
As soon as the two body guards’ eyes land on us, as seamlessly as if I’d been planning on doing so before they even entered, I turned to Charity and kissed her. She let out a soft murmur of surprise, and I brought my hand to her chin to hold her there a moment as I savored her lips again. My heart pounded harder, despite the situation. I bent her at the waist, leaning into the kiss so hard that I felt a few of the people around us watch, an approving chuckle coming from some of them. Charity was starting to have a lasting effect on me.
I needed it.
When I finally break the kiss, she blinks at me with confusion in her eyes, cheeks blushing. “What was that for?”
I lean in close to her ear and whisper, “No reason, I just wanted to taste your lips again, since this isn’t the best place to taste your other ones.”
Her blush goes deeper. Watching her sparkling eyes get shiny with wonder makes my cock throb, and if I weren’t on a job, I would already have her halfway to the nearest private room to make good on that desire. Hell, if this were a lesser job, I might still do just that.
But a face worth $500,000 just appeared at the top of the stairs with a small army of bodyguards, and I need to think carefully about what’s about to happen next.
“Are you always like this?” she asks, smiling and quirking a brow at me as I get us moving slowly again.
“Like what?”
She tries to fight off the smile on her face, and she glances away for a moment, blushing, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“A little more forward than some of the men you’ve been with? Maybe not on purpose, but yes, I think I am,” I say smugly.
She giggles, and I know she’s thinking which men? That’s good. We should keep it light and easy between us. I need to keep her from getting too involved in the mission at hand. If her m
ind is focused on less serious matters, she’s less likely to crumple under the pressure of our precarious situation. Meanwhile, my own mind is fully trained on the task in front of me.
It’s Gerald Callahan, no doubt about it, and his young wife about half his age. He’s the kind of man who gives out so many fake smiles I don’t think he knows how to give a genuine one. He can smile with his eyes well, even though it’s all a sham, and the cameras eat it up. As a state politician running for office and a friend and partner of my last target, he’s every bit as much of the same scum as him. The world will be a better place without him, and I don’t have a scrap of remorse for what I’m going to do tonight.
But security is everywhere. As Gerald starts smiling and handshaking his way down the stairs to mingle with the guests, I see security start to make its way out after him. I glance around us to the other exits and entrances of the building and see that the ones coming out with him aren’t the only guards he has. The security detail is coming out in full force, and I know the look in their eyes.
They move from person to person, occasionally following lone men with steely eyes, occasionally speaking into their headpieces and communicating with each other. They’re pretty well organized, and I spot more than one captain among them.
Word must have spread very quickly for my target to have this much security beefed up already. That complicates things. But they’re not expecting my ace in the hole: Charity. A lone man like me walking around this place would have been tackled and escorted out already. It might have made local news, and my target would have been regarded as a hero and probably had a better time with the election coming up because of it.
But Charity makes me almost invisible.
She carries herself well in a place like this. Like me, she doesn’t seem to come from money. We haven’t talked about ourselves hardly at all, but women from affluent society usually don’t take jobs as maids at local hotels, no matter how nice the hotel may be. The way she walks and stands doesn’t draw attention to herself. She has dignity, but she doesn’t seem like she’s looking to make waves. Her beauty can just breathe on its own, her rich brown hair hanging past her shoulders in a luscious braid, and her warm eyes drinking in the evening’s good cheer.
In other words, she’s a perfect cover.
The bodyguards are looking for a lone man. They aren’t looking for couples.
“Let’s get you another drink,” I whisper, and I tug Charity toward the nearest server. As we go, I start scoping out potential places to make the shot I need.
There are a thousand factors to consider during something like this. I can’t risk hitting anyone else, which is a fine concern to have, in a room absolutely packed with people dressed similarly. My target reaches the bottom of the stairs and quickly forms a small circle of other socialites to start chatting and schmoozing, and a server brings them all glasses of champagne in an instant.
As we get to a server of our own and I get a glass for Charity, I wonder if any of my target’s suck-ups and acquaintances have any idea what a horrible man he is behind closed doors. He did an incredibly thorough job of keeping his first divorce under wraps, thanks to a hefty alimony that kept his ex-wife quiet about the bruises he gave her. It was even enough to keep his children in therapy. I have a feeling my last target’s inheritance will leave his wife and children with enough for the same.
The music’s airy, dreamy lilt carries through the room as Charity looks around with growing anxiety in her eyes, and I can’t help but check in on her every few seconds as I look around, trying to seem inconspicuous. Watching my target without looking like I’m watching him is even more dangerous now that there are guards searching for a man who’s doing exactly that. If I’m caught staring at the target too much, even Charity’s presence won’t hide me.
And that’s not the only thing I have to worry about tonight.
I notice Charity watching my target, and I remember that she has seen his face in the dossier. She knows exactly who he is and what I plan to do. Her eyes turn to me for a moment before she busies herself with a long drink, eyes turned away from me. I clench my jaw, knowing there’s nothing I can talk to her about regarding all this right now. There are too many ears around.
So, if she wants to blow my cover and save my target’s life, she has the chance now.
All I can do is hope she sees reason.
I fully believe everything that I told her when I was first talking her down in the woods. These men deserve to die, and they’d almost certainly never face justice if they were allowed to roam the world freely. They aren’t the first to live happy lives doing heinous evil deeds, and they certainly won’t be the last. But if I can put the fear of god into some of these rich assholes, maybe that will change their tune, if only for a short time.
Soon, I notice that people are starting to turn, and I follow their eyes to my target, who is now standing in a semi-circle of his peers and clinking a fork to his glass to get everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all again so much for being here,” he says in his usual smooth voice and friendly candor. “Let’s not delay things any longer—we’ve already missed America’s birthday, so let’s make up for it with a fireworks show worth the wait! If you’d be so kind, make your way in an orderly fashion out to the yard, and we’ll get things started properly before dinner.”
There’s a mild but thorough applause throughout the room that Charity and I take part in, giving the man a smile as fake as his. I glance sidelong at Charity, who appears uneasy. I wrap my arm around her waist and draw her in to my side, smiling at her lovingly and kissing her on the forehead.
She smiles back, but I can tell her nerves are ramping up. I’m going to have to make this quicker than I would like.
Callahan and his entourage are the first to leave the main room. The guards start to clear a path gently for them. They can’t be too forceful, because everyone here is the same kind of high society as my target himself, but they have to make it clear that he’s still the most important person in the room.
If Gabe wants to make a splash, this is going to do it, that’s for damn sure.
Once they reach the doors, a pair of servers push it open for them and let the warm air inside while they go. Outside, I can see that a real treat is prepared for the guests. There are many white tables set up for everyone on the lawn, and I can barely make out where some of the fireworks are already being prepped not far from a huge tent where my target and the guests of honor will be seated. It’s shaping up to be a romantic evening, and the smell of grilled food is already wafting into the building and making stomachs rumble.
As my target heads outside between his wife and a bodyguard, I notice that some of the workers by the fireworks are getting ready to start getting the show off to an early start. It occurs to me that Callahan probably arranged it so that the fireworks will start as the guests are coming outside to wow them, not after.
I have to move quickly.
Taking Charity’s hand in mine, I start pushing my way upstream with the rest of the crowd that starts to follow everyone outdoors. There are four guards at the doors, and I see them watching the crowds carefully. The gun I have concealed is burning a hole in my side. They’re looking for me, but I have to bank on Charity keeping me from being noticed. We reach the doors, and the guards give me a glance up and down…
...and we walk through to the other side, untouched.
Callahan is saying something to his wife up ahead, and further on, I see the sparks of one of the first fireworks being lit.
It’s now or never.
I clutch Charity’s hand tightly and pull her to the side, making our way as close as possible to him without leaving the safety of the crowd. Everyone’s attention is on Callahan and the fireworks. And when I see the wick get lit and the spark work its way up to the rocket, I finally reach into my coat and clutch the handle of my gun, silencer already attached to the barrel.
The sound of the rock
et taking off is loud and sharp, so much so that some of the people in the crowd wince or duck. I hear Callahan’s laugh as he watches the thing go up high into the air just as I make it to the edge of the crowd and see my opening.
The burst of red lights high up in the air is the last thing Gerald Callahan sees before my bullet flies from the gun barrel and hits him right in the back of the head at the base of the skull.
One of the guests not far from my target frowns and looks down at his clothes as he feels something spatter onto him. His mind hasn’t even processed what the flecks of red on his white shirt are before Callahan’s wife screams, and her husband’s body hits the ground.
“Run with me,” I growl into Charity’s ear.
But her face is frozen, jaw hanging open, expression shocked. She’s white as a ghost. She saw the entire thing from start to finish.
The next thing I know, I see her tense up, and she lets out a shrill scream that joins the chorus of other screams sounding all around us. In truth, it probably helps throw suspicion off of me—nobody is looking my way, it seems, but I can’t bank on the idea that nobody saw me.
“We have to go, now,” I hiss, giving her a tug. She looks at me, horror in her eyes as chaos starts to break out all around us. Guests start panicking, some start running or ducking, and bodyguards are spilling out into the yard, chattering into their headpieces feverishly.
I clutch Charity’s hand tight and bolt.
My instincts kick in. Like so many other guests currently losing their shit, I make a break for the parking lot, and I try to blend in with them as conspicuously as possible. If I look too professional, move too carefully, then the guards will see me as the assassin I am. Charity is running and keeping up with me just fine, but I won’t rest easy until we’re in the car and blazing out of here.
“Don’t let go of me,” I urge Charity as we hurry through the sea of cars. I can’t hear police sirens yet, but it’s only a matter of moments.
The Assassin’s Heart Page 10