by Heskett, Jim
But he also noticed how she had a habit of checking around quite a bit, as if expecting someone. He watched her for a minute as she read her book. She had a habit of looking back over her shoulder every few seconds.
Zach’s concentration broke when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a text message from his roommate, and he groaned when he read it. He swiped to start a reply.
Alec: You know your shoes
Zach: My black running shoes?
Alec: Yep. You left them out in the hallway.
Zach: And?
Alec: And that hot chick who lives down the hall with the little wiener dog?
Zach: What about her?
Alec: the dog must’ve had an accident in the hall. There’s dog crap in your shoes.
Zach: That’s real funny. What did you do to my shoes?
Alec: Not a thing, bro. I swear
Zach: If you’re trying to get out of running with me today, it’s not going to work.
Alec: Not backing out. But we’ll see how you like running with shit in your shoes. Be at the spot in two hours, if you can manage
Zach cleared his throat as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. As a result of his LASIK surgery, when he went from looking at up-close to faraway things, sometimes, the world was blurry for a few seconds. He blinked to adjust his eyes when he noticed a strange, exciting, and frightening fact.
The pale woman with the crystal blue eyes was still looking at him. Not smiling, not frowning, not leering. Just looking.
Something came over him. He couldn’t explain it; he had never experienced it before. It was as though this woman were compelling him to come toward her. To talk to her. Zach wrapped the wax paper around the remaining gourmet doughnut, and he stood from his chair. He carried the doughnut across to her, and then he could see the title of the book she was reading. Stardust by Neil Gaiman.
He stopped in front of her chair. “Have you read American Gods?”
The woman smiled at him and shook her head, squinting a little against the morning light. When she squinted, her nose wrinkled, and Zach almost felt a little lightheaded. The nose wrinkle was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
“I don’t think so,” she said in a voice a little deeper than he’d expected. No accent he could discern.
Zach pointed at her book. “It’s also by Neil Gaiman. Really good.”
“Is that so? Maybe I’ll have to add it to the list.”
An empty chair sat on the other side of the table, only a foot from Zach. He briefly considered sitting down, but he wasn’t sure if that would be assertive, or too forward.
He held up the wax paper. “Do you like doughnuts?”
“Of course. I’m as American as the next girl.”
“You see, I bought two of these fancy doughnuts with chocolate and maple and bacon bits, but I don’t think I can eat the second one. I’m supposed to go for a run with my roommate in a little bit, and I probably shouldn’t eat it.”
“You’re asking me to share a doughnut?”
“I haven’t touched it at all. Promise.”
She pointed at the chair across from her. “I already had a bagel with way too much cream cheese this morning, but have a seat. I’m open to having a negotiation about it.”
Zach sat, heart thumping in his chest. “Negotiation?”
“What do you want for the doughnut?”
“Of all the things in the world? It’s hard to think. I mean, it’s a really good doughnut. I’m still not sure I even want to give it up. This place runs out, you know.”
“They run out of the maple and bacon doughnut?”
He gave her an ominous nod. "I had to convince them to let me buy two. I'd never tried that before, and I heard they wouldn't do it, but they did this time. So, this amazing doughnut has got to be worth quite a lot."
The woman flicked her head over to the counter, then up at the menu hanging above it. She examined it for a few seconds.
“Actually, it seems to be worth about five bucks.”
“It’s better than that, though. Best five bucks you can spend.”
“You’re selling it pretty hard.”
He shrugged. “I’m just giving you the facts.”
“I’m not a genie, so if you’re looking for someone to grant you wishes, I can’t help you there.”
He sat back and clucked his tongue against his teeth, trying to hide how nervous he felt. “That’s too bad. I could use a new car, a house, and the ability to get ripped without ever having to exercise.”
“I like that you dream big. Okay, then, let me ask you again: what do you want for the doughnut?”
Mouth dry, bile in his throat, Zach decided to go for it. He scooted to the edge of the chair and put his elbows on the table. When the words came out of his mouth, it felt more like he was watching someone else say them, not actually doing it in real life. “Your phone number.”
The woman grinned. “You’re ballsy, Mr. Runner. I like it. But, I have to ask: How old are you?”
“I’m street legal. I know I’m not supposed to ask you the same question.”
“No, you’re not, even though I know you want to. But, I can tell you I’m older than twenty-one. What makes you think I would give out my phone number to a kid?”
He held up the doughnut. “This. The greatest doughnut you’ll ever eat.”
Now she chuckled out loud, a profoundly sexy laugh. It was both deep and throaty while also being musical and airy, with a little rasp to it. He had no idea how it could be all those things at once, but it was.
“Okay, Mr. Runner. It sounds like a fair trade.”
He reached across the table and extended a hand. “Zachary Bennett.”
She touched his hand, sending a little snap of static electricity into him. “Ember Clarke. Pleased to meet you.”
Chapter Fourteen
EMBER
Ember gripped the steering wheel with one hand as she killed the engine. She dropped the keys on the passenger side and wiped her hands down her face.
Was she a fool to reach out to Zach Bennett with Xavier coming after her? She had meant to take the trip up to Fort Collins for quite some time, and maybe now was the worst possible time to introduce herself to him.
“It’s too much,” she said to the windshield.
Ember wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and cleared her throat. Not now. No time to think about it. She’d made a promise to keep an eye on Zach, and she was holding up her end of the deal. Whatever else was going on in her life, she would not renege on the agreement she’d made with Zach’s older brother.
But right now, she had more important things to consider.
She eyed the road from sidewalk to sidewalk, just off Sheridan Street in the Denver suburb of Westminster. A typical suburban row of houses, with fences around every yard and cars in the driveways. Sprinklers spurting water on browning lawns, basketball hoops with frayed nets, plastic children’s toys languishing on porches.
Xavier Montrose lived in number 1695, nine houses down on the north side of the street. Like most assassins she knew, Xavier had a house that screamed ‘no assassin has ever lived here’ — a simple, nearly plain-looking house, with a front porch and a well-manicured lawn, a simple mailbox with a coating of paint in a color mirroring that of the house.
This was as close as Ember dared to park. Just trying to approach his house during the daytime was a foolish move, but she had too much else to do today to wait for nightfall. She didn’t expect him to be home, anyway. This was more of a fact-finding mission than a proactive assault.
Besides, the street seemed mostly empty. An older white woman was walking a fluffy dog on the other side, but that was the only person she could see. Ember waited for the woman to pass her car, and then she left the vehicle.
With a Rockies ball cap pulled low, she kept her head down and walked along the sidewalk. Within a hundred yards of leaving her parking spot, she noticed someone else coming toward her. An
other person walking a dog, this time a man. She looked up to see a black guy, about fifty, lean build and dark sunglasses. A benign and panting pit bull on a leash clutched in his hand.
"Hello," the man said. "Good morning. Or is it afternoon yet? I didn't check the clock before I left."
Ember studied the man's eyes. She had felt compelled to stop when he stopped, and now they stood, three feet apart. There was something about him. Did he look familiar? No. She was just paranoid.
“Hello,” she said.
“Turning out to be a nice day, isn’t it?”
She let one hand drift to the back of her waistband. As slow as possible, trying to keep their eyes locked so that he wouldn't notice. "It is. Do I know you?"
“I don’t think so. I do walk Butch every day about this time, so you’ve probably seen us out here, hunting bunnies and peeing on anything taller than a dandelion. I mean, Butch does the hunting and the peeing, not me. You live in the neighborhood?”
Her index finger touched the grip of one of her Enforcers. “I don’t.”
“I suppose you haven’t seen us, then. Anyway, I should let this old dog get back to it. Have a good one.”
She stepped aside and let the man pass as she watched him go, hand hovering near the pistol. When he reached the next corner and turned onto a side street, she let out a weighty breath. Had she become too paranoid?
“Is this how the next six weeks are going to go?” she whispered to the open air. “Expecting every single person I see on the street is going to pull out a straight razor and try to slit my throat?”
Ember tapped her foot on the sidewalk a few times. There appeared to be no answer to the question, so she turned back around and proceeded down the street. She didn’t look up until she reached number 1685, the house directly next to Xavier’s. Next door, Xavier’s house was a brick base with faded lime green siding above it. A split-level house with a basement and unused flower gardens surrounding the foundation. There were no kids’ toys or elements of character on the exterior. Not even a coiled garden hose sitting under the faucet. It was as barren as Ember’s condo, but it was certainly not something she would have described as in ‘poor condition.’
Were all assassins so spartan? Based on the ones Ember knew, she would have to answer yes.
No one appeared to be home. Ember walked toward the fence and gave the neighborhood one last look to ensure there were no clandestine eyes watching her from kitchen windows. The friendly guy with the pit bull had not made a reappearance.
She neared the fence that split the yards between Xavier’s and the neighbor. On her tip-toes, she spent a few seconds studying Xavier’s place. Dark shades protected the windows. Coupled with the lack of outside decoration, it almost seemed as if no one lived here.
When she approached the fence and hoisted herself up, she got her first sense that something was different. On Xavier’s side of the wooden fence, a thin metal wire ran along the inside edge. Some sort of motion sensor, probably, so she took great care not to jostle the fence as she climbed up and over, then landed in his yard.
Again, she went totally still, taking in everything she could see. He had a small fenced-in yard, with crunchy October grass and a back patio made of brick. A corrugated metal awning stuck out from the back of the house, and a single surveillance camera had been anchored to the awning. But, the camera pointed at the back door. It did not oscillate or react at all when she took a step across the yard. As far as she could tell, there were no live cameras pointed at the area she’d stopped.
And, even if Xavier did know she was here, she wasn’t sure if it mattered.
Ember approached a window at the northwest corner of the house, into a room that looked like it had once been a garage. She gave the back porch camera a wide berth. There were no blinking lights on the camera, and it didn’t track her movements. A cord extended from the back of it and disappeared inside the house, but even that didn’t mean it was a real camera.
She peered into the window and saw nothing there. The room was completely empty. The paint on the walls was marked by a few spots with lighter rectangles, signs someone had taken posters or framed pictures down at some point.
Next, she moved around to the west side of the house and peered in another window, this time, into the kitchen. Again, mostly empty. Dry soap sat in a dish next to the sink, but there were no plates out, no bags of bread, no basket of fruit.
This meant one of two things: Xavier knew she had figured out his identity, or he was anticipating she would. He had cleared out of his official residence and set up shop somewhere else. Was he using the Westminster Post Office as his base of operations? She didn’t even know if that would be allowed in a trial by combat scenario.
And if he was, that meant she wouldn't be able to reach out to her contacts in the Westminster Branch to find him. Even though she was friendly with a few people in the Branch, they wouldn't give him up as a matter of Branch loyalty. If she walked into the Post Office, they might even snatch her up and give him a call. Westminster wasn't known as the friendliest of the six Branches.
Nope, Ember was on her own here, with no idea where she could find Xavier.
Chapter Fifteen
WELLNER
DAC President David Wellner approached the window overlooking the courtyard and stood with his hands behind his back. He was in a slim spot between the window and the conference table, the glow of the mid-day sun too high to shine in his eyes. A brilliant fall day, crisp and with blue skies. It was supposed to start snowing in another week or two, so he had to enjoy these nice days while they lasted.
His two bodyguards were at the other end of the conference room, near the doors leading back into the main part of the building. It was weird to roll around town with bodyguards; a luxury Wellner didn't often employ. He turned to them and smoothed his suit, trying to work out a pernicious wrinkle that had plagued him all day.
“Which one of you has my phone?”
The man on the left nodded, a chiseled African guy with a shaved head and not much in the way of eyebrows. “I do, sir. Do you need something?”
“I can’t remember when my next appointment is.”
“You’re due back at the Holdings building at three for a meeting with the Club Historian. Nothing after that for the rest of the day.”
“Good,” Wellner said as he turned back around and looked down on the courtyard. “I was hoping I still had more time.”
The courtyard had recently been renovated. The Golden Branch of the Denver Assassins Club had never wanted for money. Of all six regional Branches, they were the most lucrative. Member dues paid for a nice Post Office outside of downtown Golden, not too far from the Coors Brewery. They also paid for an extensive and elaborate false front to the building to make it look like a set of mixed-use office buildings. There was even a full-time receptionist whose sole purpose was to fake phone calls and keep books to maintain the ruse. While most of the Branches built their Post Office headquarters somewhere out-of-the-way and somewhere designed to go unnoticed, Golden had no trouble putting theirs close to restaurants, government buildings, and other businesses.
In this courtyard, there was an Olympic pool, basketball court, tennis court, and multiple sparring areas for martial arts. It seemed less like the typical use for Post Offices—Branch training and meeting spaces—and more like a country club.
But Wellner couldn’t complain. Golden could conduct their Branch however they wanted, as long as it didn’t break any Club rules. Avarice was not against the rules. Golden’s contributions to the DAC general fund paid a significant portion of Wellner’s salary.
As president of the DAC, Wellner had no loyalty to any specific Branch. He was above them all, as was the Review Board itself. Even though he had come up as an assassin through one of the Branches himself, he had to remain impartial.
A knock came at the door, and the bodyguard eyed someone through the window, then opened the door. A younger man with a dark and droopy face
and a pudgy midsection stood with stooped shoulders and hands clasped in front of his waist. “Mr. President?”
“How can I help you?”
“My name is Yousef Handal. I’m the bookkeeper for the Golden Branch.”
Wellner waved him forward and extended a hand. Yousef looked down at the extended hand, his eyes widening. He hustled to close the distance and shook, a giddy smile on his face.
"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Wellner. Really. I've been hoping you would come out to Golden, and I would have this chance for a very long time."
“Call me David. You been with the Golden Branch long?”
“About a year.”
Wellner sighed. “Has it really been that long since I’ve taken a tour of the Branches?”
Yousef's mouth opened, but his lips swished back and forth as if he didn't understand it was a rhetorical question, and he was struggling to come up with an answer.
“Anyway,” Wellner said, letting the uncomfortable man off the hook, “how are you finding your work here?”
“Fascinating, sir. But I wanted to come to you and tell you that I work closely with the Branch Historian and we’re admirers of how you run things. We’ve been in some strange times lately, and we think you’ve handled it all with grace and dignity.”
Wellner smiled. While the Branches weren't allowed to have actual individual leaders, it was a well-known fact that Branch Historians had a lot of power. Was this young man trying to demonstrate how connected he was?
“That’s very kind of you. I’m just doing the best I can with what I have.”
Yousef took a step closer and lowered his voice a notch. “We want you to know we support you and the decisions you’re making.”
Wellner frowned. “You what? I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
Before Yousef could say anything else, the door opened again, and the Club’s Vice President appeared in the doorway. She stood in a blue business suit, bathed in the fluorescent lights of the hallway behind her. She was an older woman, probably fifty. At least five or six years older than Wellner. She used to color the gray in her hair to get closer to her original red, but lately, she’d stopped. The silver hair threaded in with the auburn made her look more like a politician, which all went very well with the sharp suit and high heels. An upturned pug nose completed the look.