Bella turned to Casey and handed him an envelope that was definitely not a bomb.
“Thanks, Bell,” he said, a smile on his face to end all smiles.
“Don’t just stand there fucking smiling, open it already.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” He laughed, then quickly but carefully broke the seal on the envelope. “Oh, Bella,” he sighed, looking like he just might cry before she was back to telling him what to do.
“Get your arse upstairs and pack, your flight leaves in two fucking hours,” she said, and shoved him before he could grab her.
Casey waved the envelope like he’d won a prize, speechlessly grinning from ear to ear. Bella glared at him and sent him running upstairs. She got herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table only to have Frank hand her an envelope. “What’s this?”
“You’re going with him. The Canadian’s handler needs to be taken care of, and this way you can keep an eye on Casey since you made it impossible for me to watch him. The layover should be long enough to get it done.”
She slid her coffee away and stood up. “You couldn’t have given me more time to pack?”
“Happy Christmas,” Frank said vindictively. “Be careful, and do not talk to him about this.”
“About what?” Casey asked. Considering that he and Gideon weren’t even really related, Case sure had inherited his dad’s bad timing.
“I’m going with you. During our layover I’m going to pop out and kill someone so we can frame someone else for a murder Frankie committed. Badly. Okay?”
Frank twitched. I quickly held Bella’s coffee cup to my face to hide my smile. It was a bit late for Frank to worry about keeping the kid in the dark. Casey blinked a few times and said, “Okay.”
Then I realized something was missing. The whisky in Bella’s coffee. “Hey, there’s no booze in this.”
“V, shut up,” Frank said quickly.
I scoffed, about to go into full mope mode when I realized the only reason she would’ve stopped drinking. And why Frank would tell me to shut up, since the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, “Oh, crap, you’re pregnant.”
Frank rushed forward and caught Casey’s arm just in time to let him faint with a light—instead of a concussion inducing—thump to the ground. Frank always said that I looked like a flower wilting when I fainted. Casey had just tipped over, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and the rest of his body following suit. And he did it with a grin.
Bella walked over, stepping on either side of Casey’s hips and grabbing his collar to sit him up. She brought back her hand to slap him awake. Frank caught her wrist. “He doesn’t need whiplash, Bell. Splashing water on his face will do the trick.”
She shrugged and spat. Frank groaned, coming back and slumping onto a kitchen chair.
At least it worked. “Did I faint?”
“Aye,” Bella said.
“That was kind of fun. I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Vin.”
“Yeah, and seizures are great exercise,” I said sardonically, sitting on Frank’s lap.
Casey obviously thought I was serious, nodding like I’d made a good point. Then he seemed to remember what had caused his trek to unconsciousness and looked Bella straight in the face. “You’re pregnant?”
She grumbled. “Aye.”
He screamed and hugged her, pulling her down on top of him in excitement. She did her very best not to let her hair get out of place as he repeatedly kissed her. “Wait, are you going to kill me?”
“I ought to. Now get your hands off me. I have to go pack.”
“You know, I thought your boobs looked bigger,” Casey said, helping her back to her feet.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Merry Christmas, guys!” he exclaimed, running over to hug us while Bella stomped up the stairs.
“Merry Christmas, Case,” Frank said to the back of him as Casey ran after her. Then Frank glared at me for some reason.
“What?” It’s not like he hadn’t noticed her tits were bigger.
“What do you think?”
“I think you should fuck me on the kitchen floor the second they leave.”
“Good call,” Frank said, and downed the rest of his coffee.
Chapter Seventy-Six
She spent takeoff with her head in the toilet, furiously reminded of flying home from Ireland after finding out Deaglan had gone and got married. A vicious hangover and morning sickness nearly crippling her so she could hardly walk off the plane. Passing out on the tube and waking up in hospital. An appointment to have her first abortion. Deaglan had smiled at her when he opened the door, that smile that was so full of happiness. The smile before the fall. Telling her why he'd come back to Ireland. Why he'd stopped calling her. Deaglan forgetting what a useless motherfucker he was for just a moment and showing genuine excitement to see her. She realized why it had annoyed her so much when Casey did it. It was a Casey smile, a big fuck you to everything bad in the world. And his never fell. He'd sided with her, chosen her over his mother and Gideon, over Frank, and he was that fucking excited to see her every time she left his sight.
He'd bought handkerchiefs, the little idiot, Armani ones he probably couldn't afford, and they were too nice to wipe the vomit from her mouth even though that's exactly why he gave them to her.
Bella stood up and flushed the toilet, opening the door to find Casey standing there, still glowing from being told he was going to be a father. He nearly kept a straight face as he said, “You look radiant.”
“Fuck yourself.”
“I got you some ginger ale. And crackers. Those are supposed to help.”
What would really help was hitting the duty free shops at the airport once they landed, but she'd only have time to hit someone. She'd leave Casey her credit card. He knew what she liked. “I'll be fine.”
“Are you gonna be okay doing...you know?”
“Why? Do you want to do it for me?”
“Oh, well, um, I—” He blushed when he realized that of course she was kidding. “Right. Well, hopefully you aren't puking then.”
“He'd probably think it's a turn on.”
Casey's eyebrows knit together, making him look ridiculously simple. “What do you mean?”
“Don't be naïve. He's not going to open the door to a ski mask.” She pushed past him and went back to her seat. The crackers were shite but she drank the soda. It would be better with whisky.
He sat beside her, sweeping the crumbs into a line as if snorting them would make them more palatable. Then he made a triangle. “So you...pretend to be someone else? Like a...”
“Sometimes.” She wondered what it had been like, knowing what Frankie did and never being able to ask. Unless he truly hadn't known. Never even gave it a thought because it wasn't pretty or nice.
“I guess I imagined it was more like, Cold War stuff. Cloak and dagger.”
“When did you figure it out? What Frankie was. Is.”
“I always knew he wasn't exactly a model citizen, but I knew for sure when Frank met my father. The way he looked at him.”
She knew that look well. She and Frankie ran into one of her brothers once. He'd moved to Edinburgh. He didn't recognize her. They followed him to a close beside a pub and mugged him. The expression on his face. Frankie had frightened him more than their father. “Did it scare you?”
Casey laughed. “No, Frank has never scared me. But it was the last time my father came to the apartment.”
“And now he's dead.”
He swept the crumbs onto a napkin and glanced at his watch. “And Gideon's alive. Christmas will be over in France by the time we get to Portland.” It would still be Christmas in Toronto. She hoped Lewis had a gun. She planned to stab him in the throat with a nail file but if he had a gun she'd get to try out her perfume. Just firing a gun wasn't the same. There needed to be blood.
She went over it in her mind the entire cab ride, Merry not happy Christmas Merry not happy Chri
stmas Merry not happy Christmas, say it just like Casey. As the driver dropped her off half a block down from the building, she paid him and said, “Merry Christmas,” in her best American accent and swung her legs out of the cab. She applied lipstick as she walked, her Manolo Blahnik stiletto boots leaving holes in the snow like stab wounds.
There was no doorman. She took the elevator nearly to the top, then moved to the stairs. Stephen Lewis lived on the nineteenth floor. She rang the bell, adjusting her breasts in full view of the peephole. They were sore, uncomfortably full, and she would’ve gladly spent all day touching them but he quickly came to the door. She smiled, squaring her shoulders and letting her floor length Oscar de la Renta coat fall open. “Can I come in?”
Lewis was the embodiment of all that Bella found repulsive about men. He gazed down at her unquestionably, as if he deserved no less than to have beautiful somewhat big breasted women appear unannounced at his front door. “Please do.” He gestured for her to enter and she strolled inside, immediately taking account of her surroundings. “Can I take your coat?”
If he touched it, she would tear off his hands. “No.” She shrugged it off, revealing a long sleeved black velvet Lanvin cocktail dress, and carefully set her coat on the sofa with her purse. She headed straight toward the opened Venetian blinds, until she heard him call out, “No. Let them watch.”
Bella rolled her eyes and turned back around, walking toward him with a smile. “If you insist.” If he had voyeuristic neighbors they'd be getting a fucking eyeful.
“Not that I'm complaining, but I didn't order anyone tonight. Well, not yet.”
“Compliments of Joe Russell.”
He cocked his head, sending dandruff flakes onto his shoulder. “Joe Russell?”
“Aye.” She reached into her purse, spritzing her décolletage with her goddess perfume. “Do you like this?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Lose the dress.”
“Come closer. I want you to really smell it.”
He sighed in annoyance, but decided to humor her anyway. They always did. He leaned close, breathing against her neck so she could see the flakes of dead skin sliding down his greasy hair. He smelled like he'd eaten curry for dinner, and she pitied the poor whore that would've been his date for the night. She tore the gun from the back of his pants and spun away from him, aiming at his loathsome erection.
“Stand over there.”
His expression twisted and he became vicious, and she suddenly despised him so fully that she would have shot him right then and there if she hadn't recently discovered some self control. “You're making a serious fucking mistake, bitch.”
“Stand. Over. There.” She gestured with her gun. “If you get blood on my coat, you will fucking regret it.”
“Now, listen—”
She aimed lower so she wouldn't have to hear him whining about his cock for the rest of his life, and fired a bullet through his thigh. The screaming would die down soon enough. And then so would he.
“You stupid cunt!”
Bella ignored his rambling, filling her lungs with the scent of perfection. This really was a masterpiece of fragrance. “Do you smell that?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
She sighed and smelled again. “Oh, it's fan-fucking-tastic! Just like I knew it would be. Can't you smell it? Just...take a big whiff. Trust me.”
He was hyperventilating now, and he looked comical as he shut his mouth and took several fitful gasps through his nose.
“Isn't that lovely?”
“No!”
“Oh, go fuck yourself.” She shot him in the head and inhaled, fanning the scent toward her nose. It was even better! She twirled around with her arms outstretched, as if she could swim in it. Then she caught sight of his freshly stocked liquor cabinet. She thought of what Silva had said, how gifts could buy forgiveness even when apologies failed. It would be awkward enough showing up to Casey's home at all, much less empty handed.
She wiped her fingerprints off the gun and set it on the sofa, calling off names as she set bottles in her purse: bourbon for Maggie, cognac for Gideon, and God fucking help her whisky for Casey. She walked across the apartment, her shoes clicking on the hardwood, and as she picked up her coat she saw the red dot of a laser sight centered between her tits. “Fuck!”
Her phone rang, making her jump. It had to be Frankie, calling to tell her she was in danger. Too fucking late. She stared down at the dot, feeling her hand come mechanically across her stomach. It wasn't fucking fair. Frankie got to live his happy little life, he got to have Vincent, and Casey, and she got to die because her mark wanted to show off who he was shagging.
The phone stopped, then started up again, and she stared into the darkness of the night, wanting to see Malkolm's face so she could tell him to go fuck himself as well.
The dot moved slowly down her arm, stopping on her purse. Bella followed it with her eyes, listening as the ringing stopped and began again. “Oh fine.” She grabbed it, briefly glancing at a number she didn't recognize as she brought it to her ear. “What the fuck?”
“Bella!” The voice was also unrecognizable. German, maybe. Or Polish. And annoyingly enthusiastic. “I've been waiting for this moment for some time.” Of fucking course he had. They all wanted her dead. “Thank you for answering. I must say, your name suits you.”
She wondered why he even bothered with flattery. “Who the fuck is this?”
“We haven't met.” There must've been something in his mouth. She kept hearing it click against his teeth as he spoke.
“Well come over and introduce yourself then.”
He laughed, then slurped. That clicking sound. “I do not think that would be wise. You seem a little...on edge.” He laughed again. She couldn't help but think he sounded boyish, and she realized what he must've been sucking on. Candy. “I hope you don't mind me calling. Hector gave me your number.”
Hector adored her. He'd helped her kill Malkolm's handler. Why would he betray her now? “I would've thought you got my number from Malkolm.”
“Malkolm?” He said the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “No, I don't speak with Malkolm. I wanted to speak with you! Tell me something, Bella, did he really send that man to Silva's?”
Bella looked at the corpse, his blood seeping toward her boots. “Aye.”
The dot disappeared and she swayed, nearly falling over with relief. “Then I suppose it's only right that you should've done it. You were Silva's favorite as I understand.”
She instinctively held her head a little higher. “Aye. I was.”
“Does he have any of that cinnamon schnapps?”
“What?” She confusedly glanced back at the liquor cabinet. “Fuck? Aye.”
“I love that stuff. Set it aside for me, yes? By the fire door outside is fine. I'll come get it once you leave.”
“Anything else?” she grumbled.
“It was nice to finally speak with you, Bella. Perhaps we will speak again some day.”
“I fucking hope not.” She hung up and went to pull the blinds shut, then grabbed her coat. And his schnapps. She took the gun with her just in case, but there was no sign of anyone in the alleyway. Wiping her prints again, she tossed it in the dumpster. She ran to the sidewalk to hail a cab, keeping her eye on the building across the street. As the cab pulled away from the curb she saw a dark figure enter the street. He stopped to wave, then headed toward the alley.
“Everything all right?” the driver asked.
After dealing with that crazy fucking shite she was actually looking forward to Christmas with civilians. “I work with some fucked up people,” she said, then asked him to pull over so she could be sick.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
It was hardly hunter-gatherer territory to drive with Frank to the village grocery store, but somehow providing for his pregnant girlfriend made Casey feel like a man. With the location of their enemies still unknown, certain precautions had to be made. He cou
ldn’t leave the house without supervision, and Bella leaving the house was absolutely out of the question. The closest any of them got to Paris was when Vincent checked the security cameras for their apartment three times a day.
But having nowhere to go didn’t by any means prevent Bella from getting all dressed up. All of her clothes still fit. The only weight she'd gained was in her breasts, which made her clothes fit even better and may have been a huge part of why Casey thought she’d never been so beautiful. And he’d never been so happy! Four months to go. Four months and he’d be a father.
Even his mom was happy. She’d call Bella to check on her, most of the time without ever asking to speak with him, and she sent her care packages with all of her own favorite pregnancy foods and old photos and baby stuff, packages that were just slightly smaller than Vincent’s so no one’s feelings would get hurt.
Spring had come early to France, and the trees were blossoming in pink and white, flowers blooming in every direction. He could barely think straight at the wonder of it all, but he kept his focus on the road as he pulled away from the curb.
Casey felt like a chauffeur with Frank glaring moodily from the passenger seat, since Vincent wouldn’t allow Frank to drive his car unless the tank was at least three quarters full. Casey thought it was funny, and had even purchased a chauffeur’s cap that he’d unfortunately been forbidden from wearing. Nobody liked his hats. “It’s possible they’re not even looking for us anymore,” he said.
“You underestimate the hatred Bella can instill in a man.”
“Maybe Malkolm is trying to better himself after his handler died, like what’s-his-name…Joe.”
Frank groaned, gripping his head like he was trying to magically transmit a migraine to his husband. “Please drive,” he said before Casey could comment that Frank’s position was the very definition of the word stress, and needed to be painted accordingly.
Casey directed his attention back to the road, then quickly pulled over at the first opportunity.
Les Recidivists (Chance Assassin Book 2) Page 39