38

DEAD TO ME

Staring down at Dubrovnik from the vantage point of the city walls, I smirked at a job well done as I dismantled Coop and tucked it inside a custom-created briefcase that, from the outside, screamed ‘socialite chic’ not ‘hitman basic wear.’

Making sure my beanie still covered most of my brow line, I rearranged my gaiter so that it was covering the bottom half of my face again. The only part of me that was visible was my eyes. With the temperatures hovering above freezing, I didn’t look out of place and my ID was as safe as houses.

With that complete, I hiked the strap over my shoulder and adjusted my stance to balance Cooper’s heavy load, then I headed toward the exit where a man was anxiously checking his watch.

A massive tourist hotspot, the attraction had closed an hour ago, and while I’d already paid him off for letting me pass by unchecked, I tossed him some more Croatian kuna, enough to make his wife a very happy woman, gave him my thanks, then jogged down the steps that took me toward the center of the old town.

I wasn’t bullshitting Star about being tired—my jet lag was unreal—but when my cunt-faced, twatwaffle cousin had contacted me and said that Munoz was on the loose, I knew I couldn’t leave my girl out in the cold.

Sticking to the shadows so I could yawn, I forced myself to focus and then slipped through the alleyways. Though I wanted nothing more than to dive face-first into the mattress back at my hotel room, instead, I made my way to Munoz’s nest.

The fucker liked to think he was a top-tier sniper, but the proof of his uselessness was in the fact that he’d stayed alive this long. Only the very best like The Whistler, Eagle Eyes, Dagda, (unfortunately), and I had survived the hunt that was currently going down.

Governments around the world had been pitching us against each other, killing too many of my brethren in exchange for cold, hard cash.

Star had gotten on Munoz’s bad side years ago—he’d just been waiting for an excuse to erase her—but not on my watch.

From twenty feet away, I found his corpse perched on a set of stairs. Slumped over his weapon, his arms tumbling slackly over the edge, and with what was left of his face burrowing against the traditional stone, I peered at him with no guilt, mostly irritation.

Using the shadows again to shield my movements, I drifted toward his position and clambered up the stairs.

A few tourists staggered past, ridiculously drunk for so early in the evening, and I dove into the wall, pressing my hands to the craggy stone, forehead brushing it, as I monitored their path via their rowdy laughs, grateful when they eventually got the hell away from my murder scene.

Ducking out of sight, I started to pat Munoz down with my gloved hands.

Rigor had nothing to do with the stiffness of his body; it was just that fucking cold.

Retrieving his cell phone and a keycard, I slipped the latter into my pocket and then twisted his face to the side. Half of it was missing which could present a problem with the Face ID scanner…

Yay!

When it unlocked, I grinned happily then moved into the settings to switch off his security preferences, using his face a couple more times to facilitate the process.

With his cell and keycard in my possession, I left the fucker alone and slipped away as silently as I’d approached.

When my phone buzzed, I grimaced as I saw Temper’s name on my Caller ID.

In my mind, Temper was proof that you couldn’t choose your family, just your friends. I had more familial sentiments for Star than I did my pain-in-the-ass cousin.

Knowing what I did now, I answered the call. “Saving her ass hasn’t made her forgive you.”

She hissed in my ear. “Shit. She told you?”

Moron. “Of course she did. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I didn’t betray her,” she argued. “I was acting in her best interests.”

“The only person whose interests you care about is you,” I retorted.

“Not true. I think of America’s best interests all the time.”

Groaning, I muttered, “The shit you say, Temper, is like you think people can hear you and you dare not be anything other than patriotic.”

“You never know who’s listening in, Cin.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I sought patience. “What do you want?”

“Just needed to know she made it out all right. Whatever you think, I do care.”

“If you say so.”

She huffed. “I do.”

“Well, okay, then. I’m going to go. I’m exhausted.”

“Uncle Gene asked about you today.”

“Why’s my dad asking you about me ?”

“Probably because you never answer his calls?”

“Probably because he’s an asshole who tried to set me up with Jimmy McCabe.”

“That was twenty years ago, Lucinda.”

“You think he won’t try again?”

“No. He did mention that Morris Newton was newly divorced.”

“Maybe he was trying to marry you off.”

“Mom would never let him.”

I grumbled, “Aren’t you lucky that your mom doesn’t care more about appearances than your well-being?”

“They just want what’s best for you.”

“I think I’d know that better than they do.” Though… “When was the last time you went home?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Is Creed McCabe still on that island on the Puget Sound?”

“Yes. At least, I think so. Your father said that Jimmy’s unhappy that he’s having to deal with the farm on his own while Creed is overseas, so I think he’s deployed. Anyway, why do you care?”

Overseas.

Like he was on vacation when he was fighting for his freakin’ country?

Creed had more courage in his pinkie than Jimmy possessed in his whole being.

“I don’t. I’m just curious. He was best friends with Oliver,” I said blandly, not close enough to my cousin to share that I’d banged Creed for a couple of months during a tour of duty.

“Oh. I forgot about that. You heard from Ollie?”

“Yeah, he’s living it up in Cabo with his husband.”

Temper snorted.

“Why do you think Gene’s all up my ass about getting married?” I muttered as if her snort were a statement in itself.

“Haven’t they come around yet?”

“What? To Ollie preferring cock to pussy? Nope.” I sniffed as I finally approached my hotel. “I almost wish I were gay just to spite them.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Cin,” she chided.

“I wonder what on earth made you think I was ever a nice person, Temper. I’d prefer to be interesting rather than nice.” I scowled at the very prospect.

“I bet Creed would like it if you were nice .”

Her sly comment made me regret mentioning the man’s name.

“You want him, you can have him,” I ground out, despite the fact that I’d prefer to stick pins in my eyes than for her to even air kiss Creed’s cheeks, never mind that mouth that was capable of wicked, wicked things.

“I might just try. I’m due to visit Mom again next weekend.”

“Knock yourself out,” was my bland retort before I asked, “Is she sick again?”

“She is.”

“Send her my love,” I stated before I cut the line.

Ignoring the receptionist, I made my way up to the hotel room and during one long, continuous groan, I locked up behind me, reinforced the door with some home-made security extras, then stripped off, dumped Munoz’s crap on the dresser, and face-planted into the duvet.

For a few minutes, I just lay there, ass bared to the overheated room. Then, as always, my mind started jerking from subject to subject and I knew point blank that I’d never get any sleep.

With a grunt, I clambered off the bed, reached for my cell, and texted my brother:

Me: Can you stop dicking Alistair down long enough to give me Creed McCabe’s cell number?

That sent, and feeling utterly ridiculous, I turned to Munoz’s phone and, out of cursory interest, switched through his currently used apps.

Frowning when I saw a calculator app that wasn’t native to the device, I flipped away from it and started scrolling through his emails for any info on who’d given him the job. Unfortunately, it was mostly spam.

Studying the keycard, I pulled up the address of the hotel stamped on the plastic and decided I’d visit tomorrow.

When I received a message alert, I picked up my phone.

Ollie: Why? What’s he done?

Me: I’m saving him from Temperance. I want to warn him.

Ollie: I could warn him.

Me: Just give me his damn number.

Ollie: Anyone ever tell you you’re grumpy, Cin? Anyway, why is Temperance sniffing around him?

Me: Because she thinks I have a crush on him.

Ollie: Do you?

Me: No.

Ollie: So what’s the problem?

Me: What’s his number, you pain in the ass?

Ollie: Charming.

When he gave it to me, I saved it to my contacts then replied:

Me: Thank you. How’s Alistair?

Ollie: Wonderful as always.

Me: Any jobs for me?

Ollie: Nope. Your calendar is pretty quiet for the moment.

Me: Might not be a bad thing. I’m out of the country.

Ollie: Where are you?

Me: Croatia.

Ollie: Why? AND why am I only hearing this now?

Me: Long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I come to visit.

Ollie: You’d better. Keep your ass alive, Cin, or I will be pissed.

Me: Love you too, dick.

Ollie: Bye, bitch.

Lips curving, I tossed my cell down on the bed and picked Munoz’s up again. Spying an unread message from a contact with no name, only a number, I read the text with interest.

Need you in London tomorrow. Will provide address when…

The message preview cut the text off at that point. When I tapped on it, oddly enough, it opened that non-native calculator app again.

Bizarre.

But that was a dead end and I couldn’t see anything in the message inbox either.

Yawning, I checked my cell, saw Star had sent me an address in someplace called Uvala Lapad, and I replied to her with a thumbs-up, then found Goldstein had messaged me too.

God, Interpol agents were always such a drag, but he was the worst.

Goldstein: McClure’s dead?!

Me: What did you think was going to happen when you reported he had a sex slave in his fucking basement?

Goldstein: The whole point of me infiltrating his office was to gather evidence, for fuck’s sake.

Me: Interpol’s fine with sex slaves suffering while their agents dick around looking for evidence?

Goldstein: I don’t dick around. Shit like this is sensitive. It takes fucking time.

Me: She might not have had time, goddammit. I’m not going to argue with you. I wasn’t the only one who okayed the hit. I’ll assume you think it’s easier to get in my face than the Five Points’?

Me: I hate to tell you this but they’ll just kill you. I’ll bite your face off.

Goldstein: You’re a cannibal?!

Ah, my reputation had spread farther than anticipated. I did enjoy scaring grown men.

Lips twitching, I tapped out:

Me: I don’t particularly appreciate seared ‘Goldstein face’ for my supper, but I’m handy with a knife and I know a dog who’d appreciate those sweet cheeks of yours.

Me: Back the fuck off and if you’ve got any complaints (I’d recommend that you don’t btw) then take them to Conor. He’s your liaison, isn’t he?

Goldstein: This is a career killer. He promised me a fucking promotion out of this.

Me: I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t follow through with his promises if that’s any consolation.

Goldstein: I got a US senator killed so I’m game for conspiracy… That’ll help me get to sleep without Lorazepam.

Me: I like chamomile. Very soothing. Try it with Manuka honey.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t reply to that. Chuckling around another yawn, I turned off the lights and did something foolish.

I sent Creed McCabe a text.

Me: You probably don’t remember me, Creed, but I’m Ollie’s sister. Cin? The chick you fucked in Ghurmach. Nili. Oh, and Chora…

Me: Just wanted to give you a heads-up. My cousin Temper is going to be in town this weekend. If I were you, I’d stay in the sandbox until she stops trying to date you. If you think I’m bad, she’s worse.

Because a strange sensation settled in my stomach, something that seemed, oddly enough, to be nerves, I put the phone on the nightstand and forced myself to rest my eyes.

I didn’t think about Creed on the football field after he and the school team won the state championship.

Nor did I think about the time I’d seen him climbing out of our pool after Ollie had dragged off his shorts in a prank that had gone very, very right.

Nope, Creed was just someone I wanted to spare from my horrendous cousin.

Just because I was a hitman didn’t mean I couldn’t be a good Samaritan too.