Page 33

Adrenaline surges through me, the promise of conflict an aphrodisiac to me that most call fear.

I don’t pull my weapon. Some would say that’s exactly what I should do, but one of the things I did this morning before I ever got in the shower, was sit down and force myself to review my profile of Elsa and write it down this time. In a matter of a few minutes I wrote “she’s running on emotions” twenty times.

And “she’s alone,” another twenty.

I need to know if anyone else is helping her, preparing to take out one or more targets, and I can’t find out if she’s dead, or in a jail cell with an attorney shutting her up.

There’s a blade in my bag that I’ve been wearing cross-body since before I left the house. With a steady hand I retrieve it and slip it inside my pants pocket.

My speech during the news conference plays in my head, in particular the part where I painted Elsa as a scared loser who practically murdered her own brother. On second thought, I pull my firearm.

Only then do I ease left, and bring the piano into view, careful where my back is at all times.

The body is gone.

The blood tinging the tan carpet beneath black is not.

Mark Walker is now ice cold in a freezer in the morgue which is why there should be a uniform there as well. There better be.

I step further into the room, almost expecting Ghost to be right where he was yesterday, but he’s not there. Of course, he’s not there. He’s smarter than a dumbass and only a dumbass would sit in the open and invite law enforcement to find him.

For a long few moments, I hold my position, listening for another sound, but there’s nothing. And yet, there was a sound. And there is someone here.

I feel them.

I ease forward again, and then walk quickly toward the kitchen, inching past the archway to peer inside.

“Lilah.”

At the sound of Ghost’s voice, I breathe out, relieved when I should not be—he’s a killer, a far more lethal one than Elsa, as he’s practiced and lacking the weakness of an emotionally driven action.

Ever.

I step fully into the room to find him sitting at the kitchen island, a cup of takeout coffee in front of him, no weapon in sight but there’s plenty to see. Holy shit he sounds like Ghost, but he doesn’t look like Ghost and I remember Kane talking about his chameleon like qualities. “You’ve changed again.”

A smile curves beneath the dark brown of the mustache he’s sporting, a really natural looking mustache he didn’t have yesterday. “I did, didn’t I?” Pride rings in his tone.

He pats the table across from him but I don’t move. His cheekbones are higher than before, his brows thicker, his lips fuller. It’s makeup, skilled shadowing, a perfect hand, and maybe something more. “It’s fucking brilliant.”

He laughs, low and deep, and pats the table again and I note how much thicker his neck looks. There’s even some girth to his body, at least the part I can see beneath his long sleeved black tee. “Come on,” he encourages. “I won’t bite. And you don’t need the gun.”

I believe him. I don’t need the gun, not in this moment, but one wrong comment could change that. He’s not emotional, but he’s so damn cautious, he will never allow himself to be captured. He will never take a risk, not even for an obsession with me.

At this point, I want, no need, to find the real man beneath the disguise so fuck it. I holster my weapon and claim the seat he’s suggested, the island separating us, and his green eyes are now brown, his jawline less sharp and square. He must use some sort of putty, a custom made prosthetic perhaps, if that’s even possible. Not many people would have the skill to make such a thing, and it’s a way to track him down later. Maybe. “Was that you I saw yesterday, the real you?” I ask.

“Do you think I’d let you sketch the real me? You did sketch me, didn’t you?”

I pull the drawing from my pocket and unfold it, showing it to him. He reaches for it and shows me his hands, confirming he’s not holding a weapon on me beneath the table. It’s an act of truth. He trusts me. Maybe he is a fool. “Whoever did that is excellent,” he concludes and sets it back on the table, as if it’s nothing to worry over. “That’s badass work.”

“You had nothing on your face. That’s the real you. It has to be.”

He arches one of those extra thick brows. “Was it?”

In other words, I may well have told him my secret, and he showed me absolutely nothing. He’s now got leverage over me. He has to know I can’t allow that to stand but I won’t kill him today, not with an audience outside, and he knows it. Not unless the circumstances were perfect and he will never make the mistake that would require, not with his skill level and experience.

“How long have you been in the house?” I ask.

“I never left.”

I’m not really surprised, but I doubt he was in the actual house with the swarm of law enforcement. He was close. He was watching.

“You think she’ll come here,” I say.

“I think she’s coming after you, which is exactly what you wanted. That press conference was money. You were brilliant.”

“I’m only brilliant if it works.”

“It will. We’re a good team, me and you, Lilah. I gave her a reason to come. You made sure she found out and you gave her a living reason to come.”

“But will she come before she finishes the hits?”

“Yes. She will.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“I study my targets. I’m good at knowing what they will do. Just as I knew you’d come back here.”

“So I’m a target?”

“No. You are not a target, Lilah.”

“But I was yesterday?”

“No.” That’s all. Nothing more.

My cellphone rings and I pull it from my pocket and he trusts me enough not to even flinch. Or perhaps it’s not trust. He’s simply arrogant enough to believe his skills superior to mine.

The minute I spy Ellis’s number on caller ID I glance at Ghost. “This is my boss who went after Elsa and disappeared. I need to take it.”

“Understood,” is all he says, his posture unchanging.

I answer the call, and to my shock, I hear, “Agent.”

“Ellis?” I ask, shocked to hear his voice.

“Yeah. It’s me. She’s coming to you and she’s losing her mind.”

“Elsa?” I ask, my eyes meeting Ghost’s stare.

“Yes. I know you know I know her. I tried to convince her to stop this nonsense.”

“That was the definition of stupid.”

“It distracted her. No one else has died. Not yet. But they will. When I got there she had traps set-up. When she caught me, she tied me up, and proceeded to pace and cry, while I sat there for what felt like eternity. I watched the press conference with her, Agent. It was a brilliant way to flush her out, but she’s coming at you hot after leaving me to starve and die. Thankfully Adams came after me” He starts to cough, and not gently.

“Agent.”

It’s no longer Ellis. “Adams, is he okay?”

“He’s pretty beat up. I need to get him to the ER for a checkup and then I’ll head your direction, but I have a feeling this is going to blow up before that happens. More soon.” He disconnects.

I return my phone to my pocket. “She’s coming.”

Ghost’s mouth curves, but this is not a smile. It’s a devious, lethal, satisfied smirk. I’d know that look if I saw it again, no matter what his disguise.

“Killing her saves the rest of your hit list,” Ghost states. “You know that, right?”

“I’ll handle her. You need to back off.”

He pushes to his feet and I follow. He towers over me, a mountain to my hill. Size does matter, and whoever says it doesn’t matter, lies. “I’m not going to back off, Agent Mendez,” he states. I’m no longer Lilah, signaling the shift between obsession and business. “Now you have a decision to make,” he adds. “Are you going to walk out of here and let me do the same?”

I know then that I can’t let him leave, but the island is between us, and that makes this about who draws first. And for all I know, he’s already drawn beneath the table and his weapon is much bigger than mine, the kind that can blow through the island.

“I won’t give you my back,” I say.

“Agent Love! Where are you?”

At the sound of Taylor’s angry voice, I know Ghost just won. I can stand against Ghost one-on-one and survive, but if Taylor gets in the middle, Taylor is the one who dies.

“Go,” I say to Ghost, and a hint of a smile quirks his lips, just a hint. And then he’s gone. He doesn’t forget his coffee cup that would have held DNA.

And no, his weapon was not drawn.