“Package picked up. Heading home.”
“On your three o’clock,” Hammett said, limping alongside the opposite sidewalk.
The Instructor’s face looked pale in the streetlights’ glow. “How’d you find me?” he asked.
“We bugged the Oval Office. The president gave you up.”
“Never trusted that one. But then, as I’ve said many times, you can’t really trust anyone, can you?”
The van pulled up.
“Open the side door. Get in.”
He did, facing Fleming holding her Skorpion. “Back of the van,” she told him. “Handcuffs on the mat. Kneel down and cuff your hands in front of you, then lie on your stomach.”
He complied. I climbed in after him, followed by Hammett. A perfect abduction.
“So what now?” The Instructor asked. “You take me someplace secluded? Torture me? Get all my secrets? All my contacts? Run Hydra yourself? Let me tell you something about being a patriot, ladies. It’s about loving your country more than you love anything. Including its people. This nation is great because folks like me are willing to do what it takes to make it great.”
“I am so fucking sick of your platitudes,” Hammett said, pulling out a knife and scraping it back and forth against the stubble under his chin.
“Wait,” I said.
Cheek pressed against dirty plastic, the bastard smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t throw away this opportunity.”
“Opportunity?” I repeated.
“Knowledge is power, and power is irresistible.”
Power? Running Hydra? Manipulating people? Ordering death and ruining lives in the name of the good ol’ US of A? The whole idea made me more than sick. It made me angry.
“There’s only one thing I want to know,” I said.
“Ask away.”
“What happened to our biological parents?”
The Instructor’s shrug was as emotionless as his stare. “I don’t know. It might be in a file somewhere. But I never cared to get that personal.”
An animal growl rumbled deep in Hammett’s throat.
“Your biological parents aren’t important. They didn’t have anything to do with what you’ve become. Credit for that is mine alone. Look at how much you’ve done,” he said. “You three are my greatest accomplishment. Better than any of the others.”
“I’m done listening to him,” Fleming said. “Chandler?”
I stared down at the man who’d turned me into what I was, what I no longer wanted to be.
“Punch his clock,” I said to Hammett.
“With pleasure.”
She jabbed him in the back with the knife, up under his shoulder blade, penetrating his heart.
“Even with all my experience,” The Instructor said, “I didn’t see that coming.”
And then the son of a bitch died.
We drove him to a vacant lot, relieved him of his wallet, and dumped his body and the plastic sheet there. The cops, and the world, would think it was a robbery.
Afterward, none of us talked for several minutes. Hammett broke the silence.
“I want a Slurpee. You guys up for a Slurpee?”
“I could use some coffee,” Fleming said.
“Find a 7-Eleven. My treat.”
Being the suburbs, we found one within a few blocks.
“Park along the side,” Hammett said. “No need for all of us to appear on their cameras.”
Fleming parked several car lengths down. Hammett turned to me. “Need anything?”
“I’m OK.”
“You sure?”
I looked at my sister, unsure of what she was really asking.
But ultimately it didn’t matter. The answer was the same.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
She winked at me, gave me a playful punch in the shoulder, then limped out of the van’s side door.
“So,” I said. “What are we going to do about her?”
Fleming turned to look at me, fatigue shadowing her eyes. “You mean, do we need to kill her?”
I nodded.
“We should,” Fleming said, sounding more tired than she looked. “But the bitch is kinda growing on me. What do you think?”
“We got The Instructor. Mission is over. All that’s left is to clear our names.”
“Kill Hammett, let them find her body. Presidential assassin is dead, case closed.”
I nodded. “But…”
“But it doesn’t feel right?”
“Yeah.”
“We would be doing the world a favor, Chandler. She’s dangerous.”
“So are we.”
“Dangerously psychotic. Who knows what she’ll do in the future?”
I let out a heavy breath. “I agree.”
“And she’s probably thinking the same thing about us. How do we know, when she comes back, she isn’t going to try for us both?”
“I’m thinking the same thing.” I dipped my hand in my trench pocket and took the 9mm snug in my hand. It didn’t hurt to be prepared.
“So…?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. On one hand, I didn’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, wondering if Hammett was behind me. On the other, my feelings toward her had mellowed considerably. Plus, there was something else. Something even more important.
“I don’t want to be this person anymore, Fleming. A cold-blooded killer. I want a new life, a different future. Could you look Hammett in the eye, after all we’ve been through, and pull the trigger?”
She turned her head away, staring straight out the windshield. “The eye? What’s wrong with shooting her in the back?”
“Answer the question.”
“She needs to be taken out, Chandler.”
“That’s not my job anymore. Is it yours?”
Fleming didn’t answer.
“Do you want to do what The Instructor said?” I pressed. “Start up Hydra again? Create another kill squad?”
“No.”
“So when does this end?”
“With Hammett.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“I dunno.” She leaned her head back against the headrest.
“I’m not,” I said, pulling my hand from my pocket and folding my arms.
“So what do we do?”
“We drive away.”
“We might regret it later.”
“I’m sure we will. But if neither one of us is going to kill her, and Hammett might come back and try to kill us, it seems like the only option we have.”
Fleming frowned. “What about my coffee?”
“Drive away, sis.”
Fleming started the van and cruised through the parking lot. But as we passed the 7-Eleven storefront window, I realized our decision had been unnecessary. The only person in the store was the clerk behind the counter.
Hammett had disappeared.
Fleming
“Three beers!” McGlade said over his shoulder. Then he looked at Fleming and Chandler, seated next to him. “You girls want anything?”
Fleming laughed. They were in Harry’s box at the United Center in Chicago—a premier suite that came equipped with a private hostess, a fridge, leather sofas, and a flat-screen television, the latter necessary because the seats were located on the top row of the stadium, so high up and far away from the basketball court Fleming feared a nosebleed.
Chandler sat on one of the sofas, her legs tucked under her. She looked good, having finally gotten some rest. They’d arrived in Chicago yesterday, and Chandler had retrieved some of the money she had stashed at various drop points around the city and elsewhere. After emerging from the health club with a duffel filled with ten thousand cash, identification, and a few weapons, the two of them had checked into a hotel and gone shopping, just like regular sisters.
Now Chandler was dressed casual in jeans, a cute top, and boots. Fleming had spent more time on her appearance, and wore, for the first time since the accident, high heels and a sk
irt. Which, in the wheelchair she’d just bought, rode up high enough to make eye contact with McGlade impossible. Every time his head turned her way, he talked directly to her lap.
Not to her chair. Not to her scarred legs. All Harry cared about was catching a glimpse of her thong.
It made her feel wonderfully normal. But she hadn’t dressed up for Harry. She’d dressed up for someone else.
The hostess brought them each a beer, and Harry gulped down half of his, then licked off his foam mustache.
“So, ladies, how are we going to start this?”
“Start what?” Chandler asked.
McGlade put his feet up on the table, crossing his ankles. “I was thinking you two begin with some kissing action while you rub baby oil on each other. I’ll join in when I’m done taking pictures.”
Fleming laughed again, and it came out as a very unladylike snort. Chandler rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” McGlade said, almost whining. “Think about all I’ve done for you.”
“We paid you back for that.”
“What about the morgue? I just saved both your asses.”
McGlade had made his way into Cook County morgue, and through a combination of stealth and bribery, managed to steal the body of one of the dead Hydra sisters Chandler had put there. When her body was discovered yesterday, along with a note confessing to the assassination, the manhunt ended.
“That was a favor you did for Hammett,” Chandler said. “And I recall she already paid you in full.”
Chandler had told Fleming about Hammett’s special deal with McGlade, which had turned out to be a very smart solution for all involved. Fleming was sort of disappointed she hadn’t thought of it herself. Though she was pleased she didn’t have to pay Harry with her body, as Hammett had.
They hadn’t seen Hammett since her disappearance after killing The Instructor. Fleming had followed up with the kennel Kirk had been in, only to find out he’d already been picked up. Hammett had disappeared without a trace.
But Fleming had a feeling they’d be seeing her again. Probably much sooner than they wanted to.
“You two promised you’d double-date me.”
Fleming sipped some beer. “And here we are. As promised.”
“Perhaps your definition of date is different than mine. Mine includes oral-genital contact.”
“I’d love to see that,” Chandler said.
“Really?”
She nodded. “If you want, I can push on your back while you bend down and try to blow yourself.”
Harry seemed to be actually considering it. The Bulls scored, the crowd erupting into cheers.
“OK, how about this,” Harry said. “We go back to my place, jump in the hot tub, take a bunch of Rohypnol, and just let nature take its course.”
“Nature would probably involve me killing you,” Chandler said.
“So cold. Tell me, did you give your last lover’s dick frostbite?”
Chandler laughed. “The opposite, actually. We both got sunburned.”
“He should have been a gentleman and shaded your parts.”
“That’s what he said.”
“How about you, Wheels? My spa is equipped with handicapped railings and a ramp.”
For some reason, this tickled Fleming. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I’m fully equipped to accommodate the physically challenged. I even have a love swing over my bed. Once I strap you in, it’s like sex on the space shuttle. Totally weightless.”
“I’ve never tried one of those.”
Chandler shot her sister a look. “You’re not really considering it.”
“Have you tried a love swing?”
“No. But I haven’t tried eating broken glass, either.”
“It’s sharp,” Harry said. “And hurts worse coming out.”
“Here’s the thing, McGlade,” Fleming said. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Serious?” he asked.
Fleming thought about it, then smiled. “It might be.”
“Is it that nerdy guy? From the house in the Hamptons?”
“Bradley. Yes.”
McGlade shrugged. “Invite him along. He’s not too hairy, and I’m open-minded. Every guy has some experimental years, when they’re bi-curious. Mine lasted from seventeen, up until forty-four.”
Fleming couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. “Really?”
“Sure. If he’s not into it, you guys can still use the swing without me.”
Chandler shook her head. “While you watch from the closet.”
“The closet?” Harry sneered. “Ridiculous! That’s what the closed-circuit cameras are for.”
Fleming knew the likelihood of her and Bradley visiting Chateau McGlade was zero, but Harry was growing on her. Sort of like a fungus.
The beer kept flowing, along with some terrific Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, and in between the innuendos, rude comments, and blatant come-ons, McGlade turned out to be a pretty good host and everyone had fun.
When the game ended, Bulls winning by eight, he made one last attempt at getting his wick dipped.
“Just thirty seconds in the women’s bathroom stall,” he said. “C’mon. I helped you guys out. Return the favor. Throw a dog a bone.”
Maybe it was the beer, or her good spirits, but Fleming didn’t think that the request was unreasonable, for all he’d done for them. They were all consenting, slightly drunk adults. Why the hell not?
“I’ll play you for it,” Fleming said to Chandler. “Rock-paper-scissors.”
“Ick. Hell no.”
“Come on. Throw him a bone. Loser goes.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s thirty seconds. How far can he get in thirty seconds?”
“Too far.”
“He won’t even have time to get the condom on.”
“Actually,” McGlade said, “I’m already wearing one.”
“You walked through the desert, and you’re a chicken when it comes to a quickie in the bathroom?”
Chandler blew out her cheeks. “You seem to be pushing this hard, sis.”
“The lady knows what she wants,” McGlade said.
Fleming gave a little shudder, despite her brave talk. This whole thing was crazy, and she wasn’t sure she’d go through with it even if she lost. But before she could call it off, Chandler piped up.
“Fine. But Harry’s playing, too.”
He shrugged and balled his hand into a fist. “If I win, I get both of you.”
Fleming eyed Chandler, who shrugged. “Why not? Then we each do half the work.”
She agreed. “OK. Rock-paper-scissors. On three. One…two…three!”
When they saw who lost, neither Chandler nor Fleming could stop laughing.
Chandler
After Fleming and I left Harry, we said our good-byes, at least for the time being, her off to meet Bradley at the Museum of Science and Industry and me to a solo room in a small, comfortable hotel on Ontario. I checked in with my new suitcase filled with goodies Fleming and I had purchased the day before and took a long, hot shower. I can’t say I didn’t think of Julie. She was on my mind nonstop, as were Hammett and Kaufmann, and now and then, even Lund. But tonight, my thoughts were mostly focused on Heath. On sex. On a new beginning.
I dried my hair and put on a little makeup, then dressed in my new lingerie and a killer Robert Rodriguez sheath dress. I’d even bought heels, albeit only two inches, and once I’d put on my new outfit, I hoped to feel like a new woman.
Not an assassin.
Not a target.
Not even a hero.
Just a woman. One who was about to go on a date with a man who was so like her in many ways.
I swiped on lipstick, checking my appearance in the mirror next to the door. Then I eyed the knife lying on the pile of clothes I’d changed out of. A woman going on a date didn’t usually wear a nine-inch knife.
Turning away, I ripped the tag off my new evening clutch and filled it with
a few bills, lipstick, and the hotel key, then I walked out the door.
A second later, I walked back in, picked up the knife, hiked up my dress, and strapped it to my thigh.
I wasn’t a spy anymore, but that didn’t mean I had to be stupid.
Heath
The Capital Grille on St. Clair, a block off the Magnificent Mile, was just as Heath remembered: rich mahogany and brass decor, portraits of racehorses, hunting scenes, and powerful men, soft music, white linen, exceptional wine, and the most beautiful woman in the world walking through the door.
He stood to get a good look. He still thought Chandler was at her most magnífico naked, whether armed with deadly weapons or not. But the formfitting black sheath in leather and suede was a nice second choice.
They shared a kiss and sat, then Heath poured her a glass of wine, the bottle from his private wine cellar at the restaurant, a perk for regular guests of the establishment.
They raised their glasses and took a sip.
“Delicious,” Chandler said.
“Not as delicious as you in that dress.”
“Thank you. So what are we toasting?”
“Our partnership.”
“I hope you’re referring to what we’ll be doing in bed later.”
“Always, querida.”
“But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”
“Yes. Feelings are deep between us.”
“That’s not what I’m referring to, Heath, and you know it.”
He couldn’t keep the touch of a smile from his lips. “See? You understand me. As if our hearts beat as one.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re talking about this plan of yours, aren’t you?”
“I know you’ve quit, bonita. I respect that. But I believe we can help each other.”
“Each other? I don’t need help with anything except finding a new apartment, so unless you’ve recently taken up real estate, I don’t see how—”
“The president won’t stop chasing you. You think you have ways of controlling him, but it won’t last. He isn’t the type of man who will be controlled for long. He must be stopped.”
“Stopped how?”
Heath stared at her, watching the realization come to her eyes. She leaned in closer, lowered her voice.
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