The Hit Man

by Suzanne Steele

  Sincerely,

  Miller

  I immediately answered the email before I lost my nerve.

  Re: Grasping at straws

  Miller, it is wonderful to hear from you. Your friend is very lucky to have someone who cares enough to reach out on his behalf. I have gone through this alone and that was the purpose of me starting this blog, I wanted to make myself available to others who are alone. I am by no means a professional—only a support system for others, such as myself, who have no one.

  By all means feel free to email me, and tell your friend about the blog. I’m looking forward to hearing from you about how he responds to the community I have set up here.

  Have a wonderful day…

  Laura

  His reply was almost instantaneous.

  A friend

  You don’t have to be alone, Laura. Consider me a friend. If you need anything feel free to contact me.

  Sincerely,

  Miller

  I sat back and looked at the email, how was I supposed to answer that? I wasn’t accustomed to people reaching out to me, normally it was the other way around. I did what I always do when I am uncertain how to respond to a given situation—nothing.

  I spent the rest of the morning working on my blog. I thought nothing of the man who had just unbeknownst to me—inserted himself into my life. I had no idea that I had just finished communicating with a cold blooded killer…

  Miller

  I stretched my long legs out and plopped my combat boot up on my desk as I interlocked my fingers behind my neck and toyed with the toothpick in my mouth.

  I could feel the rush of a mind fuck surge through my system. I had just successfully injected myself into a woman’s life—a woman who was clearly untrusting by nature.

  For me it was just as much about the mind fuck, as it was about the kill. I could merge into a target’s life just as easily as one would merge into traffic on a day when the roads were clear. Much like the stretch of unhindered highway would be open to a vehicle on a Sunday drive, I never saw obstacles—only success.

  I had a way of figuring people out and finding their interests to open the door to a leisurely conversation. I had a way of projecting what I wanted people to see. I was a man who had mastered the ability to cloak the trained killer who may be drinking at the bar with you one moment—then squeezing the life sustaining breath out of you the next.

  I enjoyed the mental and psychological aspects of my job so much, that I would go so far as to dress the part. Whether I was in a suit portraying myself as a successful business man, or in camouflage portraying myself as a good ole boy, everyone believed me. They saw what I portrayed, but never saw the real me.

  For just that reason I didn’t have relationships, I had one night stands—nothing more, nothing less. I was a playboy of sorts and quite a hit with the ladies. My size, demeanor, and boyish charm saw to that. Though I was a ruthless, soulless human being, you would never know it to look at me. I stood at well over six feet tall with a solid build that boasted of rigorous workouts. My long, layered, dark brown hair had been left long on the top, but shaved close to my scalp on the sides. It fell over one eye when I cocked my head and studied you, giving me the appearance of having a boyish nature. In fact, until my hands wrapped around your throat and my hazel eyes took on a yellow hue, due to my blood lust—you would believe that I was the kind of guy who lived next door.

  Until I chose to reveal my true nature, you would be totally clueless to the fact that you were in the presence of a very sinister man. I was a man on a mission, and once I got something in my head, come hell or high water, I would find out what I wanted to know, and in this case—I wanted the truth. I wanted to know if Laura was a baby killing bitch—or the victim of a money hungry ex-husband.

  Chapter Four

  Laura

  “Mark, we have got to talk.” I eyed my husband as he sat on the couch in the dark, nursing his snifter of bourbon.

  “Talk about what Laura, the fact that you killed our child?”

  “How can you say that?” My legs crumbled beneath me as I leaned against the wall and then slid down it. Was it my fault—was he right?

  “You killed her. You’re the one who put her in bed with us.”

  I looked up at the man who was now towering over me, spewing hatred in the form of words. It was evident that he was angry—but when wasn’t he angry? Drinking only made it worse. I knew that I should shut up, but I couldn’t. I was so tired of having to defend myself. The autopsy showed that it was SIDS—sudden infant death syndrome—the doctor had gone so far as to tell me it wasn’t my fault. But still I had questions, so many questions and so much guilt.

  “The autopsy showed that I wasn’t at fault, why do you blame me, Mark?”

  “Because it is your fault! You fell back asleep, you could have stopped this.”

  My arms flew up towards my face as he tossed the bourbon in his snifter in my direction before he walked away. My eyes burned in pain but the tears would wash them out. I couldn’t move—his words ran over and over through my mind solidifying the guilt that plagued me. You killed your baby…You killed your baby…You killed your baby…

  I started awake out of a dead sleep, wrapped in sheets and covered in a cold sweat. The dreams were always the same, and they always served the same purpose—to deepen the guilt that I had killed my daughter.

  I could remember the night I placed her in bed with me to nurse. I looked down into her perfect face, swooning over her as I rubbed the top of her head softly. While she looked up at me with perfect trust, as she latched onto a nipple to feed.

  I had never known what love was, until I felt the purity of it when I looked into my daughter’s eyes for the first time. We had stared at each other as if no one else in the world existed. The doctors call it bonding—all I knew was that I fell in love that day.

  Would things be different if I hadn’t placed her in my bed that night to feed? Was it my fault? Over and over, time after time, I willed myself back in time to do things differently, but I always woke up in my recurring nightmare. I lived in a continual nightmare, and whether I was awake or asleep, the fact remained that my nightmare was now my reality.

  I knew sleep would elude me now so I made my way over to boot up my computer and started coffee while I waited. I would do what I always did when I was tormented—I would write.

  The chat box on my blog chimed and I chastened myself for not having it placed on invisible. For some reason when I looked down and saw that it was Miller some of the irritation left.

  Miller: What are doing awake at two in the morning young lady?

  Laura: Writing, couldn’t sleep.

  Miller: I could help you with that you know.

  Laura: I’m sure that you are quite the ladies man.

  Miller: I’d give them all up for you.

  Laura: I bet you say that to all the girls.

  Miller: No, but even if I did, I mean it when it comes to you.

  Laura: Oh please, I can tell that you’re a player.

  Miller: Yes Ma’am, I am. I have no desire to be in a relationship. The same way that you cut yourself off from society physically, I do emotionally.

  I found myself taken aback by his candidness, but I found myself respecting his honesty. I couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like.

  Laura: I’m shallow Miller, if I’m going to flirt with you, then I want to know what you look like.

  Miller: I’m fifty-five with a gut, balding hair, and bucked teeth.

  Laura: I almost spit my coffee out I laughed so hard Miller, and you have a sense of humor? What more could a girl ask for?

  Miller: I asked you a question little lady, when I asked you a question I expect an answer.

  Laura: And you’re bossy, I forgot the question.

  Miller: What. Are. You. Doing. Up. This. Late?

  Laura: I’m writing. What are you doing up this late?

  Miller: I’m on a stakeout.

&n
bsp; Laura: So you’re a cop, huh? Who are you staking out, a criminal?

  Miller: You.

  Was the only thing he typed. I thought that he had misunderstood me.

  Laura: Excuse me? Did you just say that you are staking me out?

  Miller: Yes Ma’am, I did. How else am I supposed to make sure that you are ok? I don’t have your cell number to call or text.

  Laura: How did you find out where I live? You’re not some deranged stalker are you?

  Miller: Deranged is questionable and I’m paid to stalk.

  Laura: Ok, you either give me a valid website to go and look you up, or don’t ever contact me again!

  He rattled off the website and my fingers flew over the keys to get to it—what I saw literally took my breath away. I viewed the screen and a man well over six feet tall donning a suit stood in front of a cherry wood antique desk with his arms crossed. He looked like he could solve all of the world’s problems—or give you a set of new ones. His chocolate brown hair laid in long layers on top and his eyes looked like two yellow orbs burning through the computer screen.

  Laura: Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said that you were a ladies’ man, were you?

  Miller: I never kid. I say what I mean. Are you ok up there?

  Laura: Yes, I’m fine, just writing like I said.

  Miller: Okay, I just stopped by to make sure you were ok.

  Laura: Why do you care if I’m okay?

  Miller: Because you intrigue me. Now, do you have binoculars?

  He didn’t wait for my answer.

  Miller: Come to the window and look down at the black SUV and wave goodbye, then text me at the number that I just typed in so I’ll have your cell number.

  I cautiously made my way over to the large plate glass window and looked down where he told me. There, right in front of my eyes, was the gorgeous specimen of man that I had just seen on my computer screen. I felt my breath hitch somewhere in my chest and it wasn’t due to fear. The man was the most handsome man that I had ever had the pleasure of staring at. He waved, rolled up his window, and drove off into the night, as if he were some fantasy I had dreamed up in a fairy tale.

  I made my way over to my cell phone and typed in the number he had given me into my contacts. The message that I sent was short and sweet.

  Laura: It’s nice to formally meet you, Miller.

  Only one word came back in reply.

  Miller: Ditto.

  Chapter Five

  Miller

  I made my way back home and called a buddy of mine who just happened to be a cop. If I was going to find out who this mystery man was—the man who was determined to have Laura killed, then it was time for some heavy duty recon. Though we were close since we served together in Iraq, he only knew me as a private investigator. There are very few people who know what I do on the side. The people aware of my side job are all heavy hitters in the game.

  I have a rule—and it is that I never share anything with anyone who doesn’t have just as much to lose as I do. It is the reason I chose being a private investigator as a cover. I listened to the phone ringing on speakerphone as I waited for my buddy to answer.

  “Greg, how are you.”

  “I’m doing ok, anything else would just be complaining.”

  “I need you to run someone’s name through the system for me.”

  “Ha ha, another unfaithful spouse huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess that you could say that. His name is Mark Bradley.” I could hear him typing in information as I sorted through emails while I waited.

  “Looks like he is some bigwig executive CEO. His building is in the downtown Louisville area, Bradley enterprises. He is a high roller in the stock market. Seems your guy likes legal gambling—that’s the way I see it with those boys.”

  “Well, that’s one way to look at it I guess.”

  I spent the next couple of minutes asking about Greg’s wife and kids before I get off of the phone. It’s a habit that I have. I’m never so busy that I don’t take the time to ask a man about his family. The way I see it, it’s just good manners. I thanked him and got off of the phone. I made a mental note to send him a gift certificate to a high end dining club that I am a member of. I am sure that his wife would enjoy a night out and I needed to use some of the benefits I had—hell, I paid an exorbitant amount of yearly dues, someone needed to enjoy the benefits of a night on the town. I knew if I made it worth a person's while when I asked for favors, then they would be looking forward to my calls. I’ve never been the type to use anyone—for anything. Not to mention these guys had served overseas with me, they were lifelong friends.

  Ironically enough it would be easier to find out inside information about Mark, than it would be to find out personal details about Laura. The fact that she stayed in the house put her in a protective cocoon of sorts. I was going to have to get close to her emotionally to be able to get any information on her—information that would tell me the truth of who and what she really was. That wasn’t going to be easy for either one of us. What I couldn’t figure out was why I was looking forward to it. Why was I looking forward to bonding with a woman that I didn’t even know? Who was I kidding? I didn’t bond—I fucked.

  Laura

  I found myself thinking about my new friend Miller throughout the day. No matter how I tried to lie to myself about why, my thoughts kept wandering back to him. I knew that I was attracted to him—hell, who wouldn’t be? The guy was sex on display no matter how professional he looked on his website. I made my way to the site to see if I could find out any more information about him.

  Once again I was drawn to the picture of a man who looked like he could solve the world’s problems. He had the kind of hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it, or pull it down towards your inner thighs as you guide him to where you want his mouth to be.

  I was terrible for thinking these nasty thoughts about a complete stranger, but the guy looked like he just walked off of the cover of a men’s magazine so I couldn’t fault myself too much. There was nothing friendly about the expression he had on his carved out features. Though his clean shaven face had a smooth complexion, the seriousness in his expression clearly let you know that he was a man who could get the job done. The straight line of his full lips let you know that he was a very serious individual. Though he was sexy in his demeanor, there was an element of danger in those yellow hued eyes he possessed.

  I found myself trying to think up an excuse to text him. I chastened myself for the thought of it. I had no intentions of doing so. He had already told me that he was a player and though I respected his honesty, I wasn’t about to set myself up to get hurt. If I was reacting to him this way, and I wasn’t the type to be attracted to anyone, then that meant that every other woman that he encountered reacted the same way to his dangerous good looks. The best thing that I could do was stay the hell away from Mr. Sex on a stick. Let somebody else become enamored with him—my life was already fucked up enough. I still couldn’t help but wonder if he fucked as good as he looked.

  I quickly started working in order to get my mind off of the man that I could never have…

  Miller

  I watched my mark as he made his way out of the high-rise office building he owned. It was evident the guy had to be doing well financially to have as much going on as he did. I knew from previous experience, many times it is the rich who tend to have the most detrimental financial problems. If that was the case, then maybe that was the reason he wanted Laura killed. There had to be some financial reason why he would benefit from her death, because it wasn’t like she was causing any drama in his life. How could a woman who wouldn’t even leave her house be a burden to any man?

  I watched him hail a cab and kept a safe distance as I followed. We made our way through downtown traffic and into the historical district where traffic had thinned out. The cab pulled up to a home that was in a gothic architect style, located on 4th and Magnolia, directly across the street from Central
Park.

  I knew this area well enough to know that it was eclectic in nature. People from every walk of life inhabited the structures in this neighborhood, from those with old money, right down to the down and out streetwalkers.

  I watched as he made his way up to the door and rang the bell. A woman scantily dressed in lingerie answered and let him in. My first impression was that this was a girlfriend he was meeting for some afternoon delight, but I learned long ago that things were not always what they seemed. I quickly grabbed my phone and did a title search on the house. Never in a million years would I have guessed who owned that house. It came back to one of the heaviest hitters, if not the heaviest hitter in the game—Alexander Glazov.

  Mr. Glazov was presently residing in Russia with his wife and child. I would wait until I got home and call him on a burner phone. If Mark Bradley was in debt to Glazov, I wouldn’t have to kill him—the man had a death wish if he was in debt to that guy. Nobody fucked with Alexander Glazov and got away with it. Nobody. Even I had a healthy respect for the man and I wasn’t scared of anybody. This was actually good news because it was looking more and more like my mark was trying to have his ex-wife killed to get some cash to pay off some kind of debt.

  I felt a sense of relief to know that my gut feeling that Laura was an innocent victim had been correct. I still held some reservations. Just because she looked like little Ms. Innocent didn’t mean that was the case.

  I began making mental notes of how I was going to get into that high-rise of hers and set up surveillance. The voyeur in me caused my cock to harden at the thought of being able to see my little victim in her most intimate of times. I was definitely looking forward to it. I still had every intention of fucking her, and nothing was going to change my mindset. I wanted her and I would have her, she just didn’t know it yet.