Old Wounds (Chance Assassin Book 4) Read online

  Vincent hadn't spoken at all during Frank's depiction of events. He knew what Frank wasn't saying. “Can you give us a minute, Joe?” V asked, taking Frank's hand and leading him up the stairs without waiting for a response. “How bad was it?”

  Tossing his jacket on the bed, Frank just shook his head. “I don't know.”

  “I'm guessing that's Alan's shirt?”

  “Who else's shirt could it possibly be?” Frank took it off, then folded it. He had to admit that the silk was pretty nice. With as tense as he was feeling, he might've kept it on if it had actually fit him. It was far more soothing than the ice cold shower he'd taken at Alan's in an attempt to clear his mind of insanity.

  “Did you...” Vincent hesitated the way he would on those rare occasions when he actually stopped to think about what he was saying before saying it, “kill Alan?”

  “No!” Frank scoffed.

  “But that's good!” he proclaimed, a wide laudatory smile on his face that quickly soured into a sneer. “I mean, it'd be nice if you'd killed him, but you weren’t so crazy that you hurt him!” He smiled again, then scrunched up his face. “You didn't hurt him, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Well there you go, then. See?” Vincent rested his cheek against Frank's bare chest and wrapped his arms around him. “It's not that bad.”

  Frank supposed it was a step in sanity's direction, albeit a small one. But the rest of what they needed to talk about was that bad, and had great potential to get worse. “Miko remembered where he'd heard the name.” He smiled suddenly; there he was, relating news bad enough to warrant burying Miko in the backyard, wanting a hug just like Miko had said. He could feel Vincent's breath warm against his skin as V sighed, waiting with dread for him to finish.

  And impatience. “Spill it, Frank.”

  “The hit on me is inherited.”

  It took a moment for him to understand, his eyes narrowing. “Your father's sickness was...”

  “Arsenic.”

  “Wouldn't a doctor have...”

  “Also working for Silva.”

  Vincent groaned with disgust. “Simon?”

  “Simon,” Frank confirmed. Somehow, Vincent reacting to the news like it was a plot twist on a soap opera that he'd somehow overlooked was more comforting than the hug. “I didn't meet Silva by chance. He was waiting for me.”

  “He really liked playing games, huh?”

  “That he did.”

  Tracing his fingers over Frank's back, Vincent shook his head. “He had way too much time on his hands. Dude needed to get laid.”

  Frank huffed a bitter laugh. “Dude needed to get his head bashed in.”

  “You already did that,” Vincent said. The “even though you promised I could do it” went unspoken. “It's about time Simon learns what happens when you play games with us. Forget the list, let's ask Miko for Simon's address!”

  As much as Frank would've liked a reunion with Simon, and loved when Vincent went all “assassiny,” killing him now would only exacerbate things. And if he'd learned anything from Silva, it was how much damage playing games could inflict. “No. We'll play his game. We've already killed Hans, and István. Antoinette and Marcel. We have Miko's allegiance and Joe will recruit Nasir once he shows up. We're winning this war.”

  Vincent purred seductively, then his eyebrows knit in confusion. “Who the fuck is István?”

  “He was assigned that final job we gave Simon. He once drowned someone in a toilet. Apparently.”

  “Oh.”

  “Simon blames us for getting István killed. Miko thinks that when the Alcotts contacted Simon for this hit, he wanted to set a trap. Get revenge.”

  “Revenge on you, or revenge on Joe? A kill for a kill. As far as Simon knows, you're Joe's best hitman.”

  “What do yo mean 'as far as Simon knows'?” Frank balked. “I am Joe's best hitman. And Miko's favorite assassin, thank you very much.”

  Rolling his eyes, Vincent gave him a sympathetic look. “Babe.” Frank shoved him onto the bed. Vincent smiled just slightly and raised himself up on his elbows, egging him on. “You shouldn't take it too hard, honey. You did train me after all, so it's only natural for me to be bet—”

  Frank slapped him across the face before he could finish.

  Vincent grinned, chewing on his bottom lip. “Or he could be trying to kill me by killing you, since I'm otherwise pretty much indestructible.”

  “Keep it up.” Locking in on Vincent's eyes, Frank let the threat simmer before he unhooked his belt buckle, purposefully clinking the metal for Vincent to hear without breaking eye contact.

  “I'm totally Miko's favorite assassin.”

  Kneeling over him on the bed, Vincent's thin body straddled between his legs, Frank gently stroked his thumb across Vincent's lips. He should've slapped him harder. Split them. Showed him how indestructible he really was.

  Vincent took Frank's thumb into his mouth, his eyes sensuously lowering and then meeting Frank's again with determination. He held onto the loosened belt buckle, keeping himself propped up and tugging Frank closer. Frank pulled his thumb back just as Vincent started to bite down. “Nice to see your reflexes are still good,” V said. “Well, adequate.”

  Frank drew his hand down Vincent's neck, his thumb still wet as he gripped his throat. Vincent let out a choked moan, releasing the belt so he was held up by Frank's grip. He was at the point of begging for it. Right where Frank wanted him. “We should probably talk to Joe about all this.” He pushed him down to the bed and hopped off, nearly to the door when Vincent regained his senses.

  “You son of a...mark!”

  Internally, Frank was pleased that Vincent could make light of things, all those dark thoughts Frank would dwell on turned into the punchline for a frequently dirty and nearly always profane joke. But that didn't stop him from turning around slowly, menacingly, and Vincent darted past him out the door. Frank pulled on a shirt and fastened his belt, then leisurely headed across the hall to Joe's room where Vincent would be hiding. He wanted to give Vincent enough time to tell Joe the whole story so he wouldn't have to.

  Joe looked like he was still trying to digest the news, or else he was trying to figure out what he'd done in his life to deserve Vincent jumping all over him while he was comfortably lying in bed with one of Frank's books. Vincent was sitting against the headboard, behind Joe, every pillow on the floor. Joe shook his head, at a loss for words. Finally he sighed and asked, “You all right?”

  Frank nodded.

  “Good.” Then Joe laughed. “Because I gotta say, this is...Simon must be pissed at me.”

  “Because I'm your best assassin,” Frank said.

  Joe had barely opened his mouth when Vincent punched him and said, “Don't you dare say yes!”

  “Oh,” Joe cooed sympathetically, patting Vincent on the head and giving Frank a wink. “But you're my favorite.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joe's favorite assassin got to sleep undisturbed while Frank was called out of bed at nearly midnight by Joe quietly knocking on the door. “Nasir's on the phone,” he said in the hallway. “He's in Paris. I'm going to go pick him up.” Frank nodded and Joe confirmed the details and disconnected. “Simon's gone.”

  “Escaped gone or euphemistically gone?” Frank asked, although considering how everything else was going, he had little doubt it was the latter.

  “Sorry.” Joe patted his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any b—” he stopped at Frank's glare. “I'm just gonna go get Nasir then.”

  “You do that.” Frank went downstairs with him, then stood at the kitchen door to smoke where he could watch the rest of the house. Sophie had begged to stay the night. She could've been in the room with Miko, or just sitting in the darkness somewhere by herself. Frank hadn't turned on any lights.

  First Roger Foster got away. Then Marcel. Now Simon. Not only was it unfair to be continually cheated out of these well earned opportunities, statistically it had to be damn near impossi
ble.

  When Joe returned, it was clear that Nasir had taken nowhere near the pleasure in Simon's murder that Frank would have. He was in a three piece suit like he had been out in the desert with Miko, but his expression was graver, his eyes bloodshot and cold. “Where is Miko?” was all Nasir asked, and Frank led him to the library. Nasir was taller than Frank and about as thin as Vincent, but he didn't appear frail. There must have been a great deal of strength in him to be such a mainstay for someone as unstable as Miko.

  Sophie was in the library, sitting on the floor with a flashlight and a book. Hugo was on the sofa with Miko. When she saw Nasir she looked to Frank and then stood, watching Nasir cautiously as he approached. Frank snapped his fingers for Hugo to follow, then again for Sophie. “I am not your dog,” she whispered heatedly, but she obeyed.

  Joe had started a pot of coffee and Frank expected him to shoo Sophie away so they could talk, but there was nothing to report. Nasir hadn't told him anything.

  “His friend has brought bad news,” Sophie said.

  “Yes,” Joe confirmed.

  “I will find flowers for him.” She looked pointedly at Frank as she snapped her fingers for Hugo, then marched out the kitchen door into the woods.

  Taking a sip of coffee, Joe muttered, “At least she's on our side.” But was Nasir?

  They waited patiently for Miko and Nasir's reunion to end, and Nasir joined them at the kitchen table, stoic as if this were a regular business meeting. “I have information for you,” he said, “but before I begin, I want your word that you'll help Miko.”

  “Whatever he needs,” Joe said.

  “I ask this of you because of what it entails.” Nasir placed a cellphone face down on the table. “That was Simon's. It has the names and phone numbers for all of his contacts. Names you will need. And one name that we need. It was Rodrigo who killed Ophelia. Simon sent him to do it, so Miko would get the book from you.”

  Joe nodded. It was just as they'd expected. Joe had also expected what Nasir said next.

  “Simon killed Hector, so Miko wouldn't get off course.”

  Frank turned away. He hadn't loved his father, not like Miko obviously loved Hector, but Frank felt for him. It was common ground between them. More common ground.

  “Rodrigo knows Miko is after him, and he's afraid,” Nasir continued. “We need you to get him to trust you. To come to you so we can kill him.”

  This wouldn't be the first time Joe had betrayed someone, sent them to their deaths. It was how he and Frank met, when Frank killed Silva's son, Joe's former charge, at Silva's request. It was why Frank had never trusted him again. Not until Joe earned Vincent's trust.

  Joe did hesitate, rubbing his face and gazing into the contents of his coffee cup as if it had the answers. Then he repeated, “Whatever he needs.”

  “Good.” Nasir picked up the phone, silently tapping to the photographs and handing it to Frank.

  Frank didn't need to look any further than the first one. His blood pounded in his ears, his breath coming out in short bursts like he'd overexerted himself. It was a drawing of Vincent. Casey's drawing, from the sketchbook he'd lost.

  They'd never doubted the possibility of Simon having photographs of the drawings, but actually seeing them, knowing Simon had seen them, had Frank gripping the phone so tightly he might've broken it if Joe hadn't taken it from him.

  “They were sent to Yuri some time ago,” Nasir said. Yuri was one of the men Miko had named, an associate of Simon's. They had his likeness, drawn to life by Casey just like the sketches on Simon's phone that could be their undoing as easily as it could Yuri's.

  “Do not tell Casey about this,” Frank said. He knew what had to happen, that Miko would have to betray Yuri, convince him to meet just as Joe would commit the betrayal of Rodrigo on Miko's behalf. Maybe it was the synchronicity between them, or that Miko had reminded him of Casey and had already lost so much because of Simon, but Frank couldn't bear to ask it of him. “Excuse me.” He got up, aware that Nasir was staring after him, protective of his friend.

  Sophie had returned with her quarry, slipped right past them in the kitchen to be with Miko. He was sitting beside her on the sofa with the flower she'd brought, a mess of tears. He noticed Frank then and abashedly wiped his eyes.

  “Can you give us a moment, Sophie?” Frank asked.

  Waiting for Miko to nod approvingly, Sophie pushed past him and said, “I know all of your weaknesses. If you upset him, I will upset you,” in French.

  Frank gaped at her as she left the room. “You've made quite the impression on her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She threatened me.” He smiled. “Said I'd better be nice to you.”

  Miko wadded up the wet tissue and hid it up his sleeve. Up Frank's sleeve. “She is sweet girl.”

  “She's something all right.” Frank sat beside him, already regretting this. “I heard about Hector. I'm sorry.”

  Nodding, Miko pulled the tissue back out. Frank tensed, afraid Miko was about to cry again. Joe was right. Frank was afraid of tears. Miko said, “He killed both of our fathers. We are in common now.”

  With a deep breath, Frank said, “I don't do hugs.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Frank agreed. Miko wiped his nose. Frank cleared his throat. “You have two seconds and don't make a habit of it.” Miko lunged at him with an embrace, recoiling in pain almost immediately. It wasn't two seconds, but it was the longest almost two seconds of Frank's life. “Hurt yourself?”

  “It was worth it,” Miko said proudly.

  Frank nearly smiled, but something else attacked him and not with a hug. He tugged his feet up onto the sofa and drew his gun.

  “Sorry,” Miko said. “He is so mad.”

  It was a gigantic cat under the couch. Growling in fury. “Simon's cat?”

  “He was Ophelia's.” Miko blushed. “You are mad too?”

  Rubbing at the painful but very minor scratch, Frank said, “No. But Hugo's not going to be very happy with you.”

  “Big dog is my friend. We sleep together.”

  “He's a good dog.” Picking up the copy of Hamlet from the coffee table, Frank paged through to act four, scene seven. News of Ophelia's death. “Joe's going to work on your Claudius.”

  “Because I am helping you?”

  “Because you did help us. You don't have to do anymore.”

  Miko twitched, looking at Frank with doleful eyes. “You do not like my help anymore?”

  “Did Nasir show you the pictures in Simon's phone?”

  “Your friend, he did drawings?”

  “Malkolm's handler got a hold of Casey's sketchbook last year. He must've sent them to Simon.” The weight of the book in Frank's hand was reassuring, but it was Miko's story now. His vengeance. He set the book down. “We have to locate Yuri. Interrogate him, find out what he knows. And who else saw those those photographs. We need your help. We need you to call him and set up a meeting, betray him so we can kill him, but I'm telling you that you don't have to. You've known him longer than you've known us. I don't expect it and I have nothing against you if you won't.”

  “I will do,” Miko said without hesitation. “You have children and civilians and I have not known him longer. Hector told me about you before.” Miko looked to the doorway at Joe and Nasir standing there. “I will do what needs to be done.”

  Nasir smiled, the first time Frank had ever seen it, and he sat on the other side of Miko. Joe sat on the coffee table.

  “Watch out for the cat under the sofa,” Frank muttered.

  Everyone raised their feet.

  “Okay,” Joe started. “Now that we have his number this should be pretty straightforward. You call him, let him know that there was trouble with your job, and that Simon isn't answering his phone. Do you want to practice, go over some scripting?”

  Shaking his head confidently, Miko took out his own phone and dialed the number off Simon's. “Yuri?” he asked. “It is Miko. Um...I
have big problem?”

  Frank hoped that reading, or at least holding Hamlet, had given Miko enough dramatic skill to be convincing.

  “You gave me your number. Remember? In Stockholm I think?” Miko paused. “I...Simon is not answering and it is all bad. I have job and the mark was not where they should be and then something happened and I am shot.”

  Frank realized he'd been holding his breath and now he let it out like he'd been shot.

  “Yes. No. I think it was Frank. Simon told me other handler was with Frank and against us. You know who Frank is?” Miko smiled at them like this was all going according to plan. Frank could only cross his fingers.

  “At hotel,” Miko said.

  Hurriedly whipping out his phone, Joe pulled up a photo of a hotel in Paris for Miko to give him.

  Miko rattled off the information, naming the hotel in atrociously bad French, and disconnected. Simon's phone rang immediately and they all watched it, vibrating in Nasir's hand. Frank had stopped breathing again, waiting for Yuri to call back. To believe the lie. When Miko's phone rang he bounced in excitement, but steadied himself before answering. “I am not sure. It is my leg so I cannot get up well. The blood is still there but stopping.”

  Miko nodded to Frank and said, “Danke,” to Yuri, then ended the call. “He is coming four hours.”

  With a sincere smile, Frank thanked him. Then he went to awaken his blond maniac. Things were about to get messy.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Of course I was interested in torturing and killing another one of Miko's friends, but I made Joe tell me not only that I was his favorite and best assassin first, but also that I was way better at torture. He still didn't permit me to play “Stuck in the Middle With You” though.

  We left Miko and Nasir, who was just as doom and gloom as the last time I saw him, with Sophie to watch the kids. Bella and Joe came into the city with us, each in separate cars. It was quite possible that Yuri would have someone lying in wait, just in case Miko wasn't as good an actor as his dead friend. I hoped he wasn't. One body was never really enough.