Last Hit: Reloaded

by Jessica Clare

  My desire is to drive the butt of my gun into his windpipe and wrench his head around until his spinal cord snaps. “My family moves from Russia so that they can live free of the intrusive police who look at everyone with suspicion. Are there so few crimes in this area that you are free to harass innocent citizens?”

  Red splashes across his high cheekbones, and I know then that this is no authorized investigation. Regardless, he presses on. “I saw you at the shooting range. You’re very skilled. And afterward? You didn’t come here. You parked your bike outside another building and disappeared.”

  “Again, I ask you why you are following me. Perhaps I submit a report to your superior and ask him the question you refuse to answer.”

  “You do that and you’ll have more cops than me up your ass. Where’d you get the money to buy this building? How come you have no tenants? If I dig deeper, how many bodies will I find?”

  None, because I am a careful man—or I was before Daisy.

  The only person who has suffered at my hands since Daisy is Sergei Petrovich, and his body was disposed of in a land far from here, far from the reach of this detective.

  “Be careful what holes you poke,” I warn. “There are hidden dangers everywhere.”

  He stares while contemplating my threat and then holds up a hand. “I’m going to reach inside my jacket for a card, not a weapon.”

  It is good that he has warned me. I accept the whisper-thin card and read the lettering that declares him to be Detective Oliver McFadden with the violent crimes unit. I tuck the card into my jacket pocket. Later I will find out everything there is to know about Detective McFadden, from the restaurants he frequents to the type of underwear he buys.

  If he desires to watch me, then I will watch him even more closely.

  “If any violent crimes occur that require your services, then I will contact you.”

  “Yeah, you do that.”

  As he turns away, I call to him softly, “Detective McFadden, I would not endanger a soul on that campus. My beloved attends classes there, and it is my greatest desire that she be safe and happy. There are many reasons why I am not the man you seek.”

  He swings back quickly. “I don’t think you are the university shooter, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “I imply nothing. I am responding to your litany of complaints and questions about my existence. Your attention does not frighten me, but do not mistake this. If you endanger Daisy or her father in any way, there will not be enough pieces left of you for even your loved ones to identify.”

  At my threat, he gives me a bemused smile. “But you don’t give a rat’s ass about yourself?”

  “I can take care of myself, Detective, and anyone that I love.” The chill is seeping into my bones, and I need to go inside and warm myself in the sunshine of Daisy’s love. “Good evening to you.” I nod and open the front door of the building.

  He calls out. “I knew it wasn’t you when the forensics reports came in. Not your bullets and—” He pauses until I turn back. “And I know you by now that you don’t miss what you are aiming at.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Remember that and we shall all be more content with our lives.”

  Inside I find Daisy staring out the front window. No doubt she could see me and the detective arguing. As I hang up my jacket, I ponder what I should tell her.

  When I first met her she was as innocent as a lamb, but her association with me has brought death and darkness into her life. She’s killed a man for me. I can hide nothing from her.

  Striding across the room, I draw her into my arms and kiss her with all the passion and gratitude I have inside me. She responds instantly, her tongue chasing mine. The heady scent of her skin invades my senses. Sweeping her into my arms, I carry her to the sofa and lay her down on the soft cushions.

  “My darling Daisy, I have confessions to make.” Her beautiful face shows only trust and belief. I am so humbled by her love and wonder what I have done, ever, to deserve such a marvel.

  “I know you do.” She smiles and curls a hand around my neck, pulling me to her for another wet kiss that makes my body roil with heat and desire. I can hardly think when she touches me, when her lush frame is pressed against mine. I settle between her legs, pushing my heavy arousal into her.

  “Where shall I start?” I murmur against her cheek.

  “How about with why you followed me to Christine’s?”

  Jerking back, I stare at her in surprise. “You knew then?”

  “Of course I knew. I always know that you are with me. Why don’t you just come and walk beside me?”

  “Because I am trying not to stifle you.”

  “You’re still following me.”

  “It is my compromise. I cannot allow you to be hurt, but I try not to interfere.”

  She tugs me down, and I lay my head against her breasts and am comforted by the steady, even heartbeat.

  “I know. It’s why I’m not mad at you.” Her fingers run through my hair, petting me as if I am her lap dog. And I am. I am her fierce protector, and her warm body heating the sheets at night.

  “This girl.” I pause, searching for the right words. “She matters to you.”

  Her nails lightly scratch my scalp. I close my eyes and lean into her caress and feel the deep sigh that fills and then empties from her body. “She reminds me of myself. Trapped in a situation, and she doesn’t know how to get out of it. My father only hit me once, slapped me, but he hurt me in many other ways. I love him and it was hard to leave. I think Christine is like that. She loves Saul and is afraid to leave him.”

  “I can easily dispose of him.” Another time this statement may have been true, but now with Detective McFadden watching me, perhaps it might pose a greater difficulty. For once, I am at a loss at what to do. I fear I am placing Daisy in danger with my mere presence.

  If I were not here, there would be no inquiry into her father’s illness, the junkie’s death, or my mysterious beginnings. Yet I cannot bring myself to leave her. I am so selfish. I desire to be with her more than I desire to live, yet could I look at her without shame if I allowed her father to be arrested or for me to bring danger to her doorstep?

  “You’re tensing up,” she notes. “Tell me the rest of it.”

  With no small measure of unhappiness, I relate the encounter with Detective McFadden. “He is wary of me and disturbed that the person I pretend to be is not one that is identifiable. He asked about your father. The man we killed.”

  She scowls. “That man deserved to die. I wish I had shot him, too.”

  “Shhh,” I caution. “I do not want you to admit these things. They should remain in your heart, not given voice.”

  “I don’t want spend my life hiding, and I don’t want you to leave me for my own good.”

  I am glad my face is buried in her breasts so she cannot see my grimace and guilt. “Then what shall we do?”

  “Find the shooter. Get rid of Saul. Save Christine.”

  “There are many Christines in this world, kotehok.”

  “Maybe,” she shrugs. “But Christine is the one I know of. She’s the one I can help.”

  Chapter 13

  Daisy

  My world has always felt a little small. Focused. When I lived trapped with my father, I existed in a bubble of approved television, approved clothing, approved books, approved everything. My world was narrow. When I ran away and met Nick, my world expanded, perhaps a bit too much. There was so much to take in, to see, to do, to feel, that I think sometimes I shrink back into my cocoon when I’m agitated.

  Like I’m doing right now.

  “Daisy,” Nick says softly as he enters the kitchen. “How many cookies do you make for us?”

  I vigorously stir the cookie dough with my wooden spoon. “I thought you said you liked cookies.”

  “Da,” Nick says with a chuckle. He pries the bowl from my hands. “I like cookies. I like two or three of them, not three hundred.”

  Guilti
ly, I let him take the bowl from me. “I’m sorry. I just . . . need to keep busy.”

  He drops the bowl into the sink without a care that there’s good cookie batter going to waste, or that it’s probably going to clog the sink unless I use a lot of hot water to rinse it out right away. That’s the thing with Nick—he’s utterly careful with me and utterly careless with our apartment. I find it adorable and frustrating at the same time. But his attention turns back to me and he pulls me into his arms. “You are worried, are you not? You are not good at hiding these things, kotehok.”

  I nod and burrow my face against his neck, just below the tattoo of the bloody dagger. I breathe in his scent and wonder why I cannot be just happy and perfectly content that we are together and life is wonderful. I wonder that I cannot let things go.

  “Because you have a big heart full of love, Daisy,” Nick says, smoothing my hair, and I realize I have said these things aloud. “You worry over Christine.”

  I do. She didn’t go to class last week. I keep detailed notes in case she needs to copy them, but if she doesn’t show up, what can I do? How can I help her if she hides away from me?

  My concern for Christine also hides the fact that I’m even more concerned for Nick. He has police sniffing around him, and even though he says he is not in danger, I worry that Nick is wrong. Nick knows many ways to kill a man, but in some aspects, he is as naïve about people as I am. I still remember how poorly we fit in at our party. There are things Nick thinks he knows and has no clue about, and I pray that this police officer is not one of them.

  “Shall we bring cookies to your father and his dog?”

  “Not today,” I say. My agitation over Christine has spilled over to my father. I can’t see him, not when I’m upset over Christine’s situation. I might say things I regret. I love my father, I do. I love him more now that I am free from his controlling hand and have distance. Christine and Saul just remind me of the situation I was desperate to escape for so very long. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper against his neck, my lips moving against his warm, wonderful skin. “Please, let’s just go do something, just the two of us for a night, Kolya. I don’t want to think about Christine, or school, or my father. I just want to think about you and me and how happy we are.”

  “Then let me take you out,” he tells me, his hand clasping mine and linking our fingers together. “We shall go to a fine restaurant and drink good wine and eat overpriced food. I will let all the other men see the beautiful woman I am with and they cannot have. They will all be terribly jealous, and then after I have paraded you in front of others, I will take you home and we will make love for hours.”

  I giggle, feeling a little better. “You’re so dramatic, Nick.”

  “Ah, but it makes you smile,” he tells me. “And for that, it is worth it.”

  ***

  The next morning, I wake up with a bit of a wine hangover, a soreness between my legs from our vigorous drunken lovemaking, and a better mood. Nick and I had such fun last night, and even though we spent a fortune on overpriced food and drink, it allowed me to forget things for a few hours.

  I truly do have the most wonderful man. I tell him this as I shower his face with kisses, and then head to the kitchen to make him breakfast. We kiss and cuddle for a bit, eat, and then head out, hands linked, for classes.

  My good mood continues through my Financial Management class, even though the workload is dry and boring. I’m humming to myself as I enter the commons for lunch, not expecting to see Christine. I’m anticipating a quiet study time and nibbling on a few of the endless cookies filling my kitchen at home.

  But Christine’s there. Excited, I approach the table, happy to see her. She reaches for something on the table as I walk, and I realize her arm is moving awkwardly. As I get closer, I see the dark blue covering her arm isn’t a sleeve, but a cast.

  My fury and helplessness explode in my mind again. If I had Nick’s gun right now . . .

  I picture Sergei’s head splattering on the plastic sheeting. I picture the surprised look on his face, and then the way his forehead seems to cave in right down the center, turning into raw meat.

  I’ve killed before. It’s not pretty, and it’s not an answer. I force myself to calm down. I like Christine, but I can’t kill for her. I’d only kill again to save my Nick; for him, I’d do anything.

  For Christine, though, I can be pushy and interfering.

  So I sit down next to her at the table. I don’t even bother unpacking my books. I just clasp my hands in my lap, look at her, and wait.

  Her frightened, unhappy gaze meets mine, and I try to ignore the scratch across one of her cheeks, the new bruising around her throat.

  Instead, I nod at her arm. “Fall down again?”

  Christine’s lip trembles, and she tucks her cast close against her chest. “Daisy . . .”

  “Don’t explain,” I tell her. “I’m your friend, Christine. I care about what happens to you, and I don’t like seeing you in this situation.”

  “You just don’t understand,” she says, her voice whisper soft. “I love him.”

  “I do understand. I was once in a position like you,” I tell her. I make my voice gentle even though I want to scream at her, shake the sense into her head that she so desperately needs. “My father controlled every aspect of my life. What I wore, what I watched on TV, what I read. I wasn’t allowed to be my own person. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house without his permission, and that was only for things like grocery shopping. If I stayed out too late, he’d rage at me. He slapped me once, too. And even though I loved him, I dreamed every day of escaping.”

  Her eyes widen, and then they brim over with tears. “He just loses his temper sometimes,” she whispers. “He’s really a wonderful man.”

  “Even if he is, it sounds like he has issues with control. Can you deny this?”

  She says nothing, and I know I have guessed right, and I am saying things she has thought herself. I’m getting through to her, and I’m glad.

  “I’m not saying you have to leave him,” I tell her in a gentle voice, even though every part of me is screaming look at the bruises on your neck, Christine, and tell me this is a man that loves you. Tell me you are just not a thing to him, a possession to be owned and kept in its place until he has use for you. “What I am saying,” I continue, keeping my voice calm, even, and logical, “is that you should have someplace you can go when you’re afraid. When you need to retreat for a few hours until he calms down. Doesn’t it make sense to have a place like that?”

  She nods and swipes at her eyes, awash with tears. “B-but I can’t afford something like that. I’m not like you. I don’t have extra money. I have to work both jobs just to try and cover tuition. Saul handles the finances. I give him my checks and he takes care of things.”

  “You don’t need money,” I say gently. “I’ll gladly help you. Like I said, Nick and I have a building, and it’s full of empty apartments. You can take one, and he never needs to know about it. I promise.”

  She shakes her head. “He’ll know. He’ll wonder where I’ve gone if I’m gone for long. He keeps tabs on me wherever I go.”

  “Then let’s go now,” I say, getting to my feet. “I have the keys on me. We’ll ditch class.”

  Christine stammers. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “I do,” I tell her firmly. I take her hand and draw her to her feet. “My greatest hope is that you’ll never have to use it, but I want it there for you in case you do.”

  She thinks for a moment, and nods, a determined look on her face. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “Great,” I say. “We’ll take a taxi and be back in time for the end of class. No one has to know.”

  Her wobbly smile is the only thanks I get, but it’s the only thanks I need.

  I shove cookies into Christine’s hands as we ride in the taxi over to our building. She’s my project, my friend, and a bit of my old self, and I want her to be happy. Once the cab pulls up
to my familiar apartment building, I push a handful of money into the cabbie’s hand. “Wait here,” I tell him. “We’ll be gone fifteen minutes, max.”

  He nods and puts the car in park, then pulls out his phone to play a game.

  I more or less drag Christine into the building after me, my eagerness propelling both of us along. “You’ll like it here,” I babble happily as I push open the door to our empty lobby. “There’s lots of two-bedroom places, but you can have just a one-bedroom for now unless the two-bedroom is what you want. Each apartment has its own washer-dryer hookup and a dishwasher, though not all of them are working. I can ask Nick to check it out if yours isn’t one of the working ones, though. The only other person living in the building at the moment is my dad and his dog, but you won’t meet him. He’s an agoraphobe and won’t leave his apartment.”

  She looks around nervously. “This entire building is empty?”

  “Yep,” I tell her. “We want to rent out apartments but we’re having a hard time finding the right tenants. But we won’t charge you anything, I promise. You’re a friend.” I beam at her and then lead her up the stairs to the second floor, since the elevator’s on the fritz at the moment.

  Once upstairs, I drop by my apartment and pick up the master key, and then the keys to an apartment on the third floor. “We’ll put you in 301,” I tell her as she gazes around my cozy place with something like envy. “You’ll like it. It has a great view and it’s close to the stairs.”

  Like a puppy, she follows me as I tromp up the stairs and open 301. It’s clean and neat inside, the walls freshly painted. There’s a bit of furniture here. “My friend Regan stayed here for a time,” I tell Christine. “But she’s moved to Texas with her boyfriend so her furniture’s not getting any use. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you using it.”