Memoirs of a Retired Assassin (Trilogy Bundle) (Romantic Suspense)

by Hart, Melissa F.

  Showers. I didn't have a problem with being naked in front of the rest of the female population, but that was only because I knew there was always someone who looked worse than I did. My bare feet hit the cold marble floor with a clammy slap. Slap. Slap. All the way from my small cell to the insanely large communal showers. I followed the feet in front of me. They belonged to a girl with vibrant red curls and an eating problem. We all knew it probably wasn't just an eating problem. This place gave everyone eating problems. We were so regulated by external forces in every aspect of our life from personal grooming to social activities that the only thing we could ever hope to control was our nutritional intake, and even that was a stretch. Every time Redhead skipped a meal, she was sticking it to the man, and there was no shame in being anorexic for those purposes.

  Eventually, the line stopped. There was the click of cheap black shoes as a man from the caboose slowly made his way up to the front, pausing ever so slightly at each girl, giving a short examination. I had a feeling he had x-ray vision and was just being a creep the whole time. I tried to tell myself that I just had a vivid imagination. However was it the vivid imagination? Or was I right and telling myself it was the vivid imagination was just a way of “escaping reality” as the doctors put it?

  There was the obnoxious industrial whine of a door being pulled open, followed by the rush of over a hundred showerheads running at the same time. As we slowly entered the showering room, which was nothing more than the cafeteria with showerheads dotting the ceiling, a guard handed each of us a bar of soap. It was the soft slipper kind of soap, you know, the way your personal bar gets after it has been sitting on that lime-scale covered shower shelf for a week. It was all used. Nothing they gave me was new or even really mine. I borrowed everything, from the clothes on my back to the food in my plate, from the underwear to the water. All borrowed. No ownership. If anything, that was enough to drive a person crazy.

  I tried to blank out during the shower. Although there were about three hundred girls in the same place at the same time doing the same thing, I tried to think to myself that I was the only one. I could close my eyes and be the only one. I could be that teenaged girl in my mansion in New Orleans showering before school, or I could be the new CIA recruit, showering in my spacious flat, or I could be in the government home showering with Liam.

  I felt my eyes grow hot with fresh tears as his name came to mind. I could almost hear the sirens and the red hot alarm. I could feel my heart beating, my eyes growing red and dry, crusted with the residue of nightmares as I ripped myself out of bed. I could see his face pressed against the small window to my cell, could hear him screaming.

  They aren't coming.

  The government isn't coming.

  It meant we were alone. It meant whatever this was, they wouldn't help us face it. It meant someone had set a trap they had walked right into and instead of making it right, instead of caring, they decided to disappear. It meant we were lucky to even be alive, because a mistake like that can't go on as not being taken care of. As I rinsed the industrial soap off of me for the third time, I began to wonder if I really would stay alive, then I began to wonder if I'd rather be dead anyway, than stay in a place like this.

  The florescent lights cut off and we were bathed in darkness. I sighed. This was unusual but not surprising. I figured it might have been another one of their exercises or some sort of security measure. Like clockwork, some of the women began to scream. As their screeches filled the empty air, I did nothing to shield my ears. I let the sound pound its way through my eardrums into my brain, until every neuron fired in response, until my every thought consisted of the screams, the screeches, the calls for mercy and fearful tears. They were real and uncontrolled. I continued to bathe to this real and liberating sound, almost comforted by it because I knew it represented real bodies, real emotions, real people, not the zombies the doctors tried to believe we had become.

  Five fingers clutched my arm. They could have been male or female, but with the leather covering the hand, I found it difficult to tell the difference. I squeezed my eyes shut as the soap I had not had the chance to rinse off began to seep underneath my eyelids. The fingers were attached to an arm that pulled me through the shower room.

  As my bare feet slapped against the wet tile, my body slammed against others. I could hear the screams with such intimacy that I could have been producing them myself. My free arm flailed about as I desperately tried to grab on to something, anything that would give me leverage. I breathed in the cold rushing water as we passed underneath showerheads that were still running. My whole head burned with the soap and water that had entered my nose and throat.

  Time began to slow as we continued to run. My eyes adapted to the darkness, and I was able to make out each individual body as we ran through the room. There were women clutching their heads, their mouths open as wide as possible as they uttered screams powerful enough to crack a window or deafen a man. Others stood unresponsive, their arms hanging limp on both sides of them, their bony fingers still clutching the soap and wash cloth. They stood staring straight ahead, allowing the showerhead to continue to spit water down their bodies, soaking their hair and rushing into their nose and mouth. Still others had descended to the floor. They curled themselves into balls, tucking their heads in between their legs in an attempt to escape the madness.

  The man yanked my arm as he increased his speed. My bare feet had grown sore from the running: the soles ached with every step. My thigh muscles turned to Jello, becoming numb in this sprint. I opened my mouth wider, drawing in more water and air in the hopes of catching my breath. Four months completely immobile had rendered me almost useless. It scared me how badly out of shape I was. Just over his shoulder, I could see the dark silhouette of a door handle.

  He swung open the back door, bathing the room in florescent light from the almost empty hallway. Once over the threshold, he did not slow. Cold artificial air whirled around us, drying my body within minutes. As we ran, turning the first right corner, keeping straight, then making a quick left, I focused on my breathing and on ignoring the sound of the sirens. Behind us, everyone from the showers spilled out into the hallway. There were naked women running everywhere; screaming, clutching their ears, and looking for a place to go.

  Just as we turned the last corner and entered a small hallway, a gate came crashing down from the ceiling, completely enclosing us. The man stopped. I peered into his blue eyes, the only exposed part of his body. My brow furrowed as I struggled to remember how I knew those eyes, why they were so familiar. He did not give me much time to wonder, but reached into a small backpack he had been carrying and withdrew a tightly folded stealth suit, thin leather slippers, and a handgun.

  My heart leaped in excitement as I grabbed the cool fabric of the suit. I stared at it, taking in every inch of the state of the art, sturdy-yet-light outfit. It was black like the darkest night, black like the look in the eyes of a person just killed, black like the darkness that protects you on a heist. It was my home, my most prized possession, my life's work. And it had come back for me.

  I looked up, not at all surprised to find the man who had rescued me had completely disappeared. This was the way it was. The government never simply kidnapped you from your kidnappers. They only gave you an opportunity to escape on your own. As I slipped on the suit and checked the gun, I wondered who that man was, why I had recognized his eyes, and if I would ever see him again.

  By the time I had completely zipped up my suit, the noise stopped. There were no sirens, no screams, just the eerie silence barely interrupted by the low hum of the air conditioning system. My guess was that by the graces of their efficient security system, the guards were able to capture every patient and safely return them to their cells. As I cocked my gun, I heard the industrial whine of the gate that had enclosed me into the hallway raising back up.

  Once it had reached its height, the entire hallway silenced. I slowly approached the corner, taking in shallow breat
hs and barely allowing my feet to completely touch the marble floor. Either way, they wouldn't have made any noise. My shoes were not built to be sturdy, they were built to be silent. A perfect choice by whoever rescued me.

  I couldn't hear anything except for my own heart in my ears as I reached the corner. I pressed my back against the cold concrete wall, stretching my neck as I peered around the corner. Three men sprinted in my direction. Their outfits indicated they were security, however instead of shotguns, they held tranquilizer guns. I opened my mouth, drawing in as much air as possible, then exhaled, pushing out as much of it as I possibly could.

  Then I turned the corner, revealing myself, aimed, and fired three shots. Each guard hit the ground with their own thud. I began to sprint down the hallway, shooting out every surveillance camera I spotted as I went. I had not run but four steps before the sirens began again and the room was bathed in red light. I picked up my pace, frustrated with myself at what little ground I was covering. I tried to use this quiet running time to replenish as much of my energy as possible because I knew as soon as I reached the real exit, I would have to fight my way out.

  I made three more rights, a left and another right before I reached what I recognized as the main hallway. I lodged the gun in my back waist strap and slowed to a jog, realizing that stealth was probably the best course of action at this point. I approached the man sitting at the front desk from behind, taking in shallow breaths. Beads of sweat ran down my face as my wet hair stuck to my forehead. I tried to ignore the salty water slowly entering my eyes as I tiptoed toward the thin, unobservant security guard.

  As I came close enough to grab him, I noticed my own reflection in his computer screen and realized he could see me the whole time. I had less than a second to duck before he came at me with a needle, no doubt filled with some sort of sedative. Before he could even complete his first swing, I dodged his arm and went in with a left punch. As the back of his head hit an overhanging cabinet, he became disoriented; his arm going limp on his side and the needle slipping easily out of his fingers. I snatched it up and drove it into his neck, holding his head firm with one of my hands until he finally went to sleep.

  With shaking hands, I went through all of the drawers until I found an empty CD container. I removed the security tapes from all three computers, shoved them into a rather large front pocket of my suit and left the security counter.

  As I stepped out of the glass booth, two more guards came running toward me. I fired two shots, watched them drop, and then waited three seconds to make sure they were really down before approaching them. I ripped an access card from the smaller one's belt and used it to open the front gate. As the door slid open, my heart leapt at the orange natural light of a setting sun.

  A red sedan waited for me just beyond the security gate. A hunch told me it was for me. Without hesitation, I opened the passenger door and slipped inside. A man I did not recognize with shaggy black hair and scruff on his chin sat in the driver seat. He nodded, then threw the gear in drive and sped off.

  He took a short cut through a small town I did not realize existed, then merged onto an interstate. At that point, I had given up all hope of figuring out where we were going, so I settled to watch the dark shapes of trees fly past the windows as the man raced through the streets.

  “How fast are you going?” I was surprised at the croak that must have been my voice.

  “110 miles per hour,” he replied in a curt tone.

  “Why?” I breathed, looking away from him and out to the blurry countryside.

  “Because I need to get you from Massachusetts to Louisiana in one night.”

  I shrugged. Fair enough. “Wait, but why are we going all the way to Louisiana? Wouldn't they want me in DC?”

  “Who’s 'they'?” the man retorted.

  My heart sunk as I sighed. “So it isn't them then,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

  The man ignored my comment and kept driving.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  I woke up the next morning to a cramp in my neck and the rising sun. I squinted my eyes at the red ball of light slowly ascending into the bright blue sky. I pressed my finger on a button toward the middle of the door and the window came down with a low whine. I leaned my head just out of the window and breathed in the fresh warm air, imagining that I could almost feel the vitamin D seeping into my pale pores.

  As the man raced through the nearly empty side streets of New Orleans, I could smell the warm marsh I had practically grown up in. I could hear the rustle of weeping willows and oak trees in the morning breeze. I could feel the dew evaporating from the long lush grass as the air became more and more warm and humid with the rising sun.

  Eventually, the man turned off of the paved road and onto a small, deserted side street. It was only when he got on this street that he slowed for the first time since I had gotten into the car. It didn't take me too long to recognize the sound of squirrels rustling in the shrubbery, and the smell of dewy grass and mushy mud just beyond the thick layer of trees that lined the street.

  Nothing had changed about this street since that one night almost a decade ago. The same trees, plants and animals surrounded the dirt path. I didn't just think I knew where we were. Suddenly, the knowledge, this idea, this speculation of where this man had taken me, had developed into a belief that sent my spine on edge and the hairs on the back of my neck trembling. It was so strong that by the time the road widened to reveal the massive mansion that belong to John, I was not in the least bit surprised.

  The man slowed as he rounded the large fountain that took up most of the front lawn and stopped in front of the wrought iron doors. Before he could even cut the engine, there was a loud click and a whine as the doors swung open, revealing John. He stood in the doorway, wearing a suit that cost as much as a round-trip first-class ticket to Morocco, with his hair perfectly groomed, his 9000 dollar shoes looking as good as new, and his face carrying a weathered yet excited expression.

  I closed my eyes, took two deep breaths, then opened them again, half expecting John to have disappeared, half expecting this whole house and the car to disappear, half expecting to wake up back in my cell in the hospital, with the events of the previous night confined to an extremely vivid dream.

  However, when I opened them, nothing was gone, I was not in a cell. This wasn't a dream. John had stepped over the threshold and had begun walking toward me, a triumphant smirk on his face. By now, he must have noticed my disbelieving look. I could just imagine how much gloating he would unload as soon as I was within hearing distance. After all, he had rescued me from government accommodations using his own devices, something I never really thought him capable of doing.

  As he opened the door, the cool morning air rushed into the sedan and I suddenly felt exposed in my soiled stealth suit. I climbed out of the car, struggling to smooth out my hair as much as possible. I felt completely under dressed next to him.

  He raised an eyebrow as he appraised me with piercing eyes. “Well, if it isn't my Jeanie Bean.”

  I rolled my eyes and stalked toward the front door of his house. Even though it had been ten years, I was fairly certain I could still find my way around the house. However, once I reached the door, I realized thanks were in order and turned around. I found John leaning into the passenger seat window muttering something to the driver. The driver nodded, then put the car back in drive. John stood up straight and slapped the hood with a satisfied tap before the man raced off.

  “Still living with your parents?” I called as he approached the door.

  He shrugged. “They’re both dead, so it isn't really the picture you were thinking of.”

  I gulped as he fell into step with me and we both entered the house. A man I realized was the butler but did not recognize at all shut the door behind us. I sighed at the sight of his polished marble floors, the breathtaking chandelier and the massive spiraling staircase. “I'm sorry about that,” I breathed.

 
He chuckled. “What's the matter? You forgot how the other half lives?” he teased, referring to my own home, which, incidentally, was only about ten minutes down the road. I resisted the urge to even think of it. Picturing my parents sitting at the dining table together, talking about stocks over breakfast, completely within reach, would only make me doubt every decision I had made in the last ten years.

  “No.” Much to my annoyance, my voice cracked. “I just didn't expect everything to look exactly the same.”

  I glanced up at John and caught his gaze soften. “Yeah, well... that's just... life I guess...”

  I nodded, looking away from him.

  He cleared his throat after a short moment of silence. “Come,” he murmured. “Let me show you where you'll be staying.”

  He showed me to a guest room just two doors down from the room I remembered as his. Once inside, he closed the door and opened the curtains to two large bay windows. I took in a deep breath and walked toward the window, taking in the view of John's gardens and the marsh beyond. It was all too familiar. It was the only thing I was still afraid of: my own home.

  “You look tired,” John muttered, as if he just wanted to fill the silence with something.

  I nodded. “I am.”

  I heard the subtle crunch of the carpet giving way to his feet as he stepped toward me. My heart began to pick up speed as I imagined him closing what little space was between us. My legs became mush at the mere speculation of his touch, at the memory of his skin against mine. I felt my blood boiling in anticipation, my toes tingled with desire as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

  In the normal world, this would have been impossible. In any other circumstance, I would have rather been squeezed to death by four boa constrictors than held for one second by him. In my better days, I would have twisted his arm and dislocated his shoulder if I ever even thought he was considering touching me.