Ghostface Killer ~ M. Never

by Never, M.

  The Colorado air is cool and crisp and smells like snow. But not like New York snow. This is cleaner, void of pollution. You can actually feel the purity purge the contamination out of your lungs.

  I toss my bag onto the back seat of the Tahoe and punch in the hotels address in the GPS. I chose this particular establishment because of its high elevation and panoramic view of the town. I’ll be like a hawk on a perch searching for its prey.

  The drive is long, but the alpine scenery is stunning. High, white-capped mountain peaks follow me around every turn as I make my way to where-the-fuck-am-I Colorado.

  I arrive midday, so there’s still plenty of light to burn. I set up the suite—if you can even call it that. It’s more like an exaggerated hotel room—the way I need, keeping the shades drawn just enough to peek through with the chairs situated in front of the two windows. I order room service, make myself comfortable, and start my search for a needle in a haystack.

  It’s been three days, and there’s been no sign of Benjamin fucking Sabatino.

  This is what happens when Regina gives me next to no information. I’ve canvassed the town. Staked out the local post office, diner, grocery store, and pharmacy. Nothing. I have peered through binoculars for hours scanning the townspeople coming and going. Seeing the same faces over and over until they are branded into my brain. But no Benjamin fucking Sabatino. I pick up the blurry photo and study it again, trying to find any clue in the background I can. The jacket he’s wearing is even so generic I’ve seen it on a hundred other men. Finding him should be cake in a town this small, but he’s proving to be more of a challenge than I originally anticipated.

  “Are you a ghost?” I fan the picture and smile to myself. “I’ll find you even if you are.” I drop the photo back on the coffee table as my stomach rumbles. I’ve been holed up in this hotel room all day. I need some fresh air—I glance over at the six-hour old, half-eaten hamburger—and some fresh food.

  Maybe a change of scenery and a strong drink will give me some new perspective and refresh my eyes. Selfishly, I wish Claudia was here. At least then I would have someone to go out with. For a split-second I consider buying her a plane ticket, but reality kicks me in the butt and reminds me why I’m really here. It’s not for a vacation, it’s for an assassination.

  I take a long, hot shower, throw a little makeup on, and just for the fuck of it, smear my lips with some hooker-red lipstick. Benny would have a cow. He liked me fresh-faced. No bold colors overshadowing my natural beauty. That’s what he used to say. But he’s not here anymore.

  I wind my hair into a high, tight bun, lace up my snow boots, and throw on the heavy winter jacket. Lastly, I slip one of my small throwing knives into my back pocket. Mainly out of habit.

  I’m taking a trip to the islands after this hit, and Claudia is coming with me. I hate all the fucking layers.

  The small hotel is nice, but nothing extravagant. The lobby reminds me of someone’s living room with the roaring fire, wing-backed chairs and couches situated around it. There’s even pictures of wildlife on the walls. Hand-painted portraits of elk and deer and snow rabbit’s.

  “Excuse me,” I get the attention of the receptionist behind the desk. “Can you recommend some place to eat close by?” The woman with long, black hair and creases around her eyes smiles. She seems genuine enough.

  “Are you in the mood for anything particular?”

  “Just someplace I can get a strong drink and something other than a hamburger.”

  She laughs. “You’ll want to go to McDevon’s. Great microbrews, but the crowd can get a little iffy in the evening hours.”

  Iffy? “Sounds like my kind of place. Thanks.” I shove my hands in my pockets and head out to the truck.

  McDevon’s is a seven-minute drive away from the hotel, located just off the main road. From the outside, it looks like an overgrown log cabin, and the only sign is a license plate stuck to the front door. I hope the receptionist was right about the iffy crowd, because I wouldn’t mind finding some trouble. Ideally in the form of a hot, drunk local looking to get laid.

  I open the door just wide enough so I can slip through. I’m not one to make an entrance. Walk soft and carry a big stick and all. I survey the inside of the establishment. Lots of locals, it looks like. Hopefully, I won’t stick out too much, but we’ll see. Scanning the bar for a seat, my heart jumps when my eyes land on a particular patron. I walk around the long, rectangular bar slowly as if making my way to the bathroom. Spying behind two burly men in ugly flannel I finally find my target. Benjamin fucking Sabatino. Of all the bars in all the world . . .

  I continue my trek around the room, attempting to draw as little attention to myself as possible as I close in on the man I’ve been searching for. Without his jacket on he doesn’t seem as big, but he’s still large, with broad shoulders and thick arms. His hair is tucked behind his ears just like in the picture, but in person it’s shiny and a pretty chestnut brown. His beard could use a trim. Facial hair has never done anything for me. After surveying him for a few moments, I notice he never takes his eyes off his beer, as if the amber liquid is holding him hostage.

  What is he thinking about?

  Why do you care?

  You’ve finally found your mark. Do your job.

  I can almost hear Regina sneer at me.

  It’s not like I can take him out right here in a room full of people, but I can play with my prey a little before I kill it. I head in Benjamin’s direction, plotting a way to break the ice, when a man steps right in front of me.

  “Hey there.” He gazes down at me with glassy eyes. “I noticed you over here, standing all alone, and I wondered if I could buy you a drink.”

  “Um.” I barely acknowledge him as I keep my full attention on Benjamin, not wanting to lose sight of him. “No, thanks.” I try to step around the guy in Levi jeans and cowboy boots, but he blocks me once again.

  “C’mon now, I’m just trying to be nice. I don’t bite.”

  I don’t believe a word of his fake sincerity. He’s a predator in the flesh. I can tell by the way he’s eyeing me and his intimidating stance. He screams attacker.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.” The guy sitting next to Benjamin gets up, providing me the perfect opportunity. I step to the left and then the right, throwing the guy off so I can get by.

  “You’re not very nice!” the drunk yells as I swiftly walk away. I throw up the middle finger at him. He has no idea how not very nice I can be. He’s lucky I’m letting him live. I hop on the barstool like a cute little kitten and look over at Benjamin. “Do you know what’s good here?” I unzip my jacket, making myself comfortable before picking up the menu from the caddy in front of me. It takes him a second to realize who I’m talking to, looking around before his eyes finally land on me. I wasn’t expecting such an effect as his sparkly green irises draw me in with no preemptive warning.

  Fuck, he’s hot. And a mark, I have to remind myself. A walking dead man with a target on his back.

  “The winter ale and the Big Lebowski.”

  “Huh?” I flip open the menu to see what exactly the Big Lebowski is. A grilled lamb burger smothered in Tzatziki sauce. “Mmm . . . I think I’ll go with a salad.”

  “Suit yourself.” He takes a sip of his beer but doesn’t take his hypnotic eyes off me. I shouldn’t like the fact he’s looking at me like all men do. Wait, let me clarify, I shouldn’t like it as much as I do.

  The bartender finally gets a second to take my drink order. “A Jack and ginger, please. With a cherry.”

  “With a cherry, huh?” He raises his eyebrows. It’s unconventional, but that’s how I like it. “Anything to eat?” He gets everything at once while he has the time. The place is pretty packed.

  “The steak salad.”

  “Coming up.” The middle-aged man with the perfectly groomed beard and bald head grins, tapping his pen on the bar top, ingesting me the same way Benjamin is. Ben takes notice, and I may be crazy, but I swear I see
a flicker of jealousy in his deep-green eyes. I shouldn’t like that either, but I do.

  After I order, several seconds of silence pass. I don’t want it to get awkward or lose momentum, so I plan a second wave of attack. But just before I can ask my next question, Benjamin beats me to it.

  “So, you ask my opinion and then completely ignore my suggestions. I’m a little insulted.”

  “Don’t be.” I press my lips together, trying not to smile. “I’m not a beer drinker, and I was looking for anything other than a patty between two buns.” The bartender drops my drink.

  “That’s on the house, sweetie.”

  “Why is that?” I question him out of sheer curiosity. I know why, but I’m interested to see how he sugarcoats wanting to get in my pants.

  “No reason.” He smiles charismatically. “I don’t need to give out free drinks to get laid.” The bartender winks and takes the drink order of the person standing behind me. I’m left a little flabbergasted. I look over at Benjamin. “Was that some weird, reverse psychology come on?”

  “Quite possibly.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Can we go back to talking about buns?”

  “Is it a subject that interests you?” I can’t contain my amusement.

  The devilish way his lips twist tells me buns is one of his favorite subjects.

  “I’m Baz.” He puts his hand out, and I look at it oddly. “Are you unfamiliar with the American custom of shaking hands?”

  “Oh, no, of course not.” I get with the program and place my hand in his. His skin is warm and smooth, and I feel the simple connection spread through my entire body like a hot shot of whiskey. How surreal.

  “And you are . . . ?” he coaxes a response from me.

  Don’t tell him your real name. Don’t tell him your real name.

  “Stevie.”

  “Stevie.” His tone communicates he approves. “That wasn’t so hard.”

  He has no idea.

  “So, Stevie. What brings you around here?”

  “Do I scream tourist that loudly?” I scrunch my nose cutely, keeping up with the act.

  “A little, yeah.”

  Truth? I’m here to kill you.

  “Hot springs,” I rush out.

  “Ah, checking out Pagosa Springs?”

  “No.” I suck on my straw seductively. “Too crowded. I read there are a couple of springs you can hike to in the area. I want to experience one in its natural form.”

  Am I good or what? Told you I did my research. Cover, ironclad.

  “That’s very adventurous of you,” Baz acknowledges.

  “Do I not look like the adventurous type?” I bat my eyelashes innocently, laying it on real thick.

  Baz sizes me up. I like that name so much better than Benjamin. It sounds like a guy who knows how to fuck. Who knows what he wants and doesn’t hesitate to go after it.

  Baz leans in closer. “I think a woman who looks as sweet as you and drinks Jack has secrets to tell.”

  I wonder how many shades of pink my cheeks turn from our proximity and his highly attuned instincts about people. I wonder if he can see right through me. If my ruse isn’t a ruse at all. The bartender drops my salad in front of me, and I suddenly feel claustrophobic.

  “Excuse me, can I get this to go?” I push the plate away. I’ve lost my appetite.

  Both the bartender and Baz share the same bewildered expression.

  “Everything okay, sweetie?”

  “Fine.” I feign a smile and suck down my drink. “It’s just time for me to leave.”

  “Did I say something to upset you?” Baz grips the fur of my hood lightly as I try to slip my coat on.

  “No. I just . . . It’s getting late.”

  “Don’t go.” He sounds a little alarmed. “Stay. I’ll buy you another drink, and you don’t even have to sleep with me.” His smile is sexy as he jokes, and all I can think is . . . oh, shit.

  My head, my heart, and my body suddenly go to war. My head telling me to get the hell out of here and execute my mission. My body telling me to stay so I end up in his bed. But my heart, my heart is the biggest surprise of all. It’s telling me he’s more than just a job. He’s a man. A man I’m wildly attracted to and intrigued by. A deadly combination for a woman in my position and my profession.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I shouldn’t, but I want to. I want to stay. With him.

  I hesitate for what feels like an eternity.

  “We can play some pool,” Baz offers in the most innocent way. In a way that tells me all he wants is some company. Some simple human interaction. And I secretly wonder if he’s as lonely as I am.

  “Do you care if you get your ass kicked by a woman?” I cave, like a damn idiot.

  “If you’re the woman, I have no issues.” He slides off his chair. Standing at his full height, I realize just how big and tall he is. Strapping is how I’d describe him. The mountain man look never really appealed to me before, but it’s starting to suddenly grow on me.

  And the way his dark-blue flannel shirt hugs and stretches over the crests and ridges of his arms, chest, and shoulders—I have to cross my legs just so I don’t come right where I sit.

  If tonight is a test of my willpower and restraint, it’s the fucking SATs, because I want this man. I want him more than I have ever wanted a member of the opposite sex. It’s like he’s the magnet and I’m the steel. I want him right here, right now, going at it like two animals on the pool table, and I wouldn’t give a shit who’s watching.

  My heart is pounding and my skin is fevered as I watch him rack the balls. Spending a few more moments than normal to make sure they’re straight. I shouldn’t feel so uncontrollably tempted by this man. It isn’t natural. Not for me.

  I shouldn’t feel anything at all. I should be numb.

  Because no matter what, I was sent here to end his life.

  And no matter what, I will.

  “You want to break?” Baz offers me a pool stick.

  I need to pull it together. “You can. Let’s see what you got.” I have to keep it light, keep it fun, even though it feels like I’m sinking.

  “Suit yourself. I’m going to lose anyway.” He grins up at me as he leans over the table. Damn his boyish charm. And mischievous eyes and devilish mouth.

  God, that mouth . . .

  “You’re up.” Baz strides around the table as I grab a cue stick off the wall and chalk the tip. My head is in the clouds as I line up the cue ball with the six for a shot in the corner pocket. I hit the white ball too hard, and they both drop in. “Mother,” I curse under my breath. I wasn’t talking shit. I really can play. It’s one of the many skills Benny honed me in. Pool, darts, cards. I’m a master at each. He was adamant I be well rounded. Well educated. A girlie girl who could hang with the boys. That’s who I am.

  “Practice shot.” Baz retrieves the cue ball and the six.

  “Hell, no. Put it back. No special treatment. I scratched.”

  Baz lifts his hands in surrender. “What the lady wants, she gets.”

  I shoot laser beams at him as he sets up his shot. I watch as he sinks three balls before missing the fourth. Okay, it’s on now. No more dicking around. This game is about to be over.

  I bend over and line up a shot. Baz moves behind me, no doubt checking out my ass, but I won’t let his ogling fuck up my concentration. Look all you want, buddy. I hope you like, because I know you want me.

  I shoot, splitting the three and the five, sinking them both in a corner pocket.

  “Nice shot,” Baz hums behind me as I stand up straight. His beard tickles the shell of my ear, and I laugh. I laugh like a little fucking girl. Who am I?

  “Ticklish?” He grabs my hips playfully and does it again, a little harder this time, causing me to squirm as the octaves of my laughter elevate. For a split-second I feel completely free. Completely normal. Just a girl, with a boy, playing pool. No stress, no demands. No expectations.

  Is a simple laugh capable of unlocking s
uch things? Providing such freedoms?

  We’re both laughing by the time Baz is done with me. Our bodies relaxed and pressed comfortably up against each other’s. While catching my breath, I get high off his strong, woodsy, cypress scent.

  It shouldn’t be this easy. He shouldn’t be this comfortable.

  “Don’t go soft on me now. You still need to kick my ass.”

  I look up him flirtatiously as he holds me in his arms. “I didn’t forget.”

  With some reluctance, he lets me go, and I concentrate all my focus on the task at hand. I need to remember where my loyalties lie.

  Four strokes later, I clear the table, hopping the eight ball over the ten to sink it in the side pocket.

  Baz looks impressed. “You were trying to hustle me with that first shot.” He tries to circle his arms around my waist, but I subtly dodge his attempt. One more embrace and I’m putty in his hands. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him get to me or allow my desires to cloud my judgement—as much as I want them to.

  Taking the hint, he steps back. I see the sting of rejection in his eyes, and it eats away at me. I want to console him. Assure him that it’s me, not him. That’s like the worst breakup line ever, but in this case it’s the truth.

  “How ‘bout another drink?” My suggestion seems to optimistically re-engage him.

  “Bathroom run first. I’ll grab the drinks on the way back.” He places his stick on the green felt surface. “Save the table?”

  “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  Baz scrutinizes me as I lean against the edge, his big green sparklers holding equal amounts of hope and doubt.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re a slippery one?”

  I press my bold red lips together, trying not to look guilty under the big, bright spotlight he’s putting me under.

  “I’m not slippery. I’m just me.”

  He runs his fingers through his long, wavy hair. “I don’t know why I find that response such a turn-on, but I do.”

  “Maybe you’re interpreting slippery in a few different ways.”

  “Not maybe, definitely.” He chuckles, paralyzing me with his killer smile. I think I may be fucked.