Old Wounds (Chance Assassin Book 4) Page 8

  “I tried to be nice to him. I didn't think I was ever mean to him...”

  “That's not how this works.”

  “Works?” It took Casey a moment, but he understood that euphemism as well. “Marcel hired Simon? Your friend was there to kill me?”

  “He wouldn't do it in front of the kids,” Frank said helpfully.

  “How many fucking people are trying to kill me today?” Casey's voice was raised with exasperation but not enough to wake the kids.

  “Probably just two.”

  “Probably?”

  Frank sighed. This must've been what Vincent felt like, systematically making things worse with every word out of his mouth. But not even Vincent could've made this situation worse. Probably. Pulling out his cellphone, Frank dialed Vincent and tersely said, “Get everyone back. We have a problem.” He hung up and dialed Alan before Vincent or Casey could get another word in. “Were the police there?”

  “Yes, darling, what the bloody hell is going—”

  “Leave everything and get out of the city, no arguments.” He disconnected the call and glanced in the rearview mirror, letting his eyes drift down to the children this time instead of just watching behind them. He hated himself for wishing that the children were still screaming, but it had made him feel steadier. Casey started talking again, asking questions, and it was all Frank could do to drive the speed limit and not force other cars off the road. Even if he had all the answers, his human mask had slipped and he was still so locked in that primal part of his head that he kept saying the wrong things, his responses unsympathetic and cold.

  With his thoughts focused on survival, Frank forwent emotion and made a decision for minimal risk to all parties concerned: get Casey and the kids to safety, and then come back for Miko. He drove to a hotel; there wasn't time to go all the way home and it was possible Marcel knew where they lived.

  Casey got the kids out of the car, following Frank's lead as if grateful that he didn't have to think any longer. As soon as they got to the room Frank started unpacking the duffel bag, the Kevlar vest, Miko's guns and Frank's, Miko's cellphone and ID. He put those back, checking that his guns were loaded and leaving one for Casey before arming himself. He held up the vest. “Put this on.”

  “It's got blood on it.” Casey looked so much like his mother in that moment that Frank nearly backed down and called him ma'am. Casey opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head as if there were no words.

  “It should be dry by now.”

  With a grimace Casey let Frank put it on him.

  “Bella will pick you up on her way back the house,” Frank said.

  “You're leaving?”

  Frank knew he had done all he could to help Casey. Talking him through this, sitting with him and holding his hand were not options at the moment. Even if they were, Frank wasn't capable of it. He had to get back to the city, because he could actually help Miko. And if he didn't, Miko may very well be killed. “You'll be safe here.”

  “Hence the gun and bulletproof vest.”

  Glancing at the mostly dried blood, Frank corrected, “Bullet resistant, really.”

  Casey sighed and sat down on the bed next to his sleeping daughter, putting his head in his hands and nodding his acceptance of the situation. “Just...go do your thing.”

  “I'm sorry,” Frank said as he turned to go, unsure if he sounded even remotely convincing.

  “Frank?” Casey called him back, looking him up and down and then shaking his head again. “Think kittens.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Joe got to the station before I did, and was already texting me ticket information as Bella came through the door. On her cellphone. In clear hysterics. There was no way she was talking to Casey like that so it had to be Frank on the phone, and with the number of expletives and volume of her voice, Frank was likely the only one not giving her their full attention.

  “Keep a look out,” Joe muttered surreptitiously as he moved past me, putting himself in Bella's line of fire by getting close enough to calm her down. If someone had to be bait to lure out our enemies, Miss Profanity over there certainly would've been my first choice. But considering most people's eyes were on the drama, it made it all the more difficult to find someone who was watching her for other reasons, and all I could really think about was what was happening with Frank.

  Joe finally got close enough to find out what was happening, and to tell her to shut the fuck up, and I watched for stragglers as people began to resume their travels and ignore her. One guy had continued watching her, tall, pushing forty, relatively fit, talking on his cellphone, and I had such an urge to kill something to settle my nerves that I was on my way to him when Joe cut me off again. “He's not one of them,” he said under his breath.

  “Close enough,” I grumbled. I'd known for sure that he wasn't one of them when I heard him say “bloody Scots” on the phone, and by his lack of resemblance to any of our known enemies, but that hadn't stopped me from picturing my knife sliding between his ribs.

  “I can't take you two anywhere.” Joe went to stand in line and I followed, letting a few people get between us. Bella cut to the front as if she was getting there before us. Unless she hijacked the Eurostar we were all in this together.

  She was quickly out of sight, and as we made our way aboard I nodded pointedly at the men's room and slipped inside. Joe came in a minute later, already looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. “There are other ways to get privacy, you know. I find this very unnerving.”

  “Whatever, you totally want me.”

  “There are those daddy issues again.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What's going on?”

  Setting his hands on my shoulders, Joe said, “Regardless of what I say to you, I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?”

  I scoffed at him. “If you think I'm going to go all drama queen like Bella, you've got the wrong boy.”

  “Casey called her. He said Miko showed up.”

  “For fuck's sakes!” I punched the door, then winced and held it up for Joe to kiss better just to screw with him. “I hate that guy.”

  “Well, he just saved Frank's life.”

  It felt like the floor dropped out from under me. “What?”

  “It sounds like Simon may have set Miko up to kill Casey. Miko went to warn Frank, then some 'motherfucking sculptor' came and took a shot at them. Miko shielded him,” he said. Gripping the counter, I leaned over to keep the blood from rushing out of my head so I wouldn't pass out. Joe set his hand on the back of my neck. “Frank's fine. You know he's fine. You've already spoken with him.”

  “He didn't say he'd nearly been shot!” Or that someone I beat the fuck out of had come to his rescue.

  “This is Frank we're talking about.” Joe scruffed up my hair, which was either supposed to be soothing or distracting by making me want to kill him. “It's okay.”

  I stood back up and rinsed my face. “Why was she screaming at him?”

  “Apparently he 'ditched Casey at a fucking hotel' and went back to get Miko from the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” I gasped. Letting someone with a bullet wound go to the hospital sounded less like Frank than ditching Casey at a fucking hotel.

  “Yeah. This was done in public. A cafe.”

  “Police?”

  “That too.”

  “He didn't tear off any more thumbs, did he?”

  “I think Casey would've mentioned that.”

  “Right.”

  “We'll be there in a few hours. Go back to your seat and try to relax. Okay?”

  I nodded, then stopped him when he tried to leave. “Wait, don't go yet.” I could've used more moral support while I calmed down further, but I couldn't just come out and say that because it would be way too gay. So I went with sexual innuendo instead. “We've only been in here a couple minutes. What would people think?”

  “They're called quickies for a reason, Vincent.” Joe winked at me and got out of the bathroom, point
edly pretending to zip up his pants which shocked me right back to smiling.

  “Fucking Joe,” I chuckled incredulously. I fixed my hair and followed him, realizing that we'd been watched by an old woman who had the biggest scandalized smile on her face. “What, like you've never done it?” She shrugged and I went to find my seat.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Despite spending the entire drive to the hospital doing as Casey suggested and thinking of kittens, Frank wasn't confident in his ability to portray even the illusion of sanity. There were a few cops outside smoking cigarettes and Frank kept his head down as he went inside, the sliding glass doors startling him with the suddenness of movement to the extent that he nearly pulled his gun.

  “Kittens,” he whispered to himself. It was no good. The mingling voices in the waiting room were making him tense, his breathing shallow as he readied himself for an attack. What he needed was Vincent, his kitten, who at his most murderous still looked normal.

  Frank went to the men's room and tried smiling in front of the mirror, which made him look like a psychopathic murderer rather than merely a pissed off one. He sighed and scratched at his beard, then turned to watch the dripping faucet. If he couldn't shake off the crazy, perhaps he could at least send it in a different direction.

  Plugging the sink with a paper towel, Frank turned on the cold tap and filled the basin. The dripping echoed as he turned it off, louder than the full stream of water. He splashed his face, wincing against the temperature. But it wasn't enough. Closing his eyes, Frank put his face in the water, gripping the sides of the sink as he waited. His heartbeat slowed momentarily. Then the panic set in.

  He stood up and gasped for air, coughing dryly and frantically wiping his face. He couldn't bring himself to stick his hand in the sink to remove the paper towel, and instead stood there while it gradually drained on its own. Then he tried the mirror again. Less pissed off. More crazy. It would have to do.

  With as much of a semblance of calm as he could muster, Frank walked up to the reception desk. The receptionist was professionally cold but didn't seem terrified as she questioned him, and she finally sent him to have a seat and said she'd call the doctor to come speak with him.

  Frank checked his phone as he waited. Bella had called repeatedly, which meant Casey had called her. It felt like a betrayal, even more so because Frank had betrayed Casey first and left him alone. Frank was certainly not going to be Casey's favorite assassin any time soon at this rate, and now his voicemail was full of very detailed instructions on fucking himself.

  But at least he could be Miko's favorite assassin. The German practically leaped out of bed to greet him and he enthusiastically signed the form to be released into Frank's care against medical advice. There was gauze and tape over the bullet wound, but Frank was more intrigued by Miko's tattoos than a new scar. He had a tattoo over his heart, the name Tola with a red flower; his arms were tattooed as well, to look like the flow of blood coming up his wrists becoming flower petals.

  Frank continued their discussion in German even though there was no one around to hear them. “Are those for your friend?” The actress's wrists had been slit so that was undoubtedly what those were for, but the way Miko was staring at Frank made him highly uncomfortable and Frank's primary response was to attempt to make Miko uncomfortable in return by reminding him of his loss.

  Miko touched his heart as if lamenting, but rather than being uncomfortable with Frank's interest in him the way Frank was with Miko's interest, he seemed to relish in the attention. “And my sister.”

  Accepting defeat over making someone that awkward actually feel awkward, Frank gave up and tossed him a black button down shirt from the change of clothes he and Vincent kept in the trunk. Unlike Miko, Frank and Vincent rarely wore anything more formal than a T-shirt on jobs, but they'd found that if a change of clothes were needed for any other purpose than being torn off each other, it was best to have something you didn't have to pull over your head in case of injury.

  Frank helped him get out of bed once he was dressed. Miko clearly had no understanding of the concept of personal space, continually moving closer to Frank as they made their way down the hallway. “The children are okay?” Miko asked when they made it to the lobby.

  “Yes,” Frank said, bristling slightly over Miko's concern since it was concern Frank should've been expressing himself. Turning to Miko, he continued, “You are being permitted to stay at my home while we determine what to do about Simon. If you give me any reason to regret this, I will bury you in my backyard. Understood?”

  Miko smiled and nodded enthusiastically, as if hearing only the permission and not the threat.

  “Stay,” he said like he would command the dogs. “I'll get the car.”

  Miko was standing in that exact spot when Frank pulled up in front of the hospital, then actually attempted to run lest he make Frank wait, clearly hurting himself in the process.

  Frank handed him a blindfold and Miko obediently took off his glasses and placed it over his eyes. He hadn't stopped smiling; even when he was in pain, that same dumb grin was on his face. That's when it struck Frank who Miko reminded him of: Casey. Miko was like a demented version of Casey at twelve years old, drawing bloody pictures and looking at Frank with admiration like he was a hero.

  Whether it was Miko's admiration or the fact that there was another assassin in the car—albeit an unarmed and seemingly mediocre assassin, Frank was beginning to feel calm again. Human again. Or maybe he was just sane by comparison.

  “What did your father tell you about me?” he asked as he drove. Even with the developments in Simon's treachery, the fact that someone had discussed Frank, someone he didn't know for that matter, caused him utter vexation.

  Leaning his head back and reclining the seat, Miko said, “That you were Bella's partner. That you killed someone with flowers.” He smiled and hummed a little with pleasure. “I like flowers.”

  “What about Simon?”

  “He never mentioned you. Except that you had the book.”

  Never mentioned, but Simon knew everything about him. Simon must've known more about Frank than Hector had, but it didn't appear that Simon and Miko's relationship warranted a sharing of the kind of information Frank needed. And Miko had questions of his own.

  “Your friend, he is civilian?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he knows what you do? What Bella does?”

  “Yes.”

  “It does not bother him?”

  Casey was bothered enough to call Bella. “He's used to it,” he said bitterly.

  “Already after few years? Five?”

  Briefly glancing at him, Frank looked back to the road. “You're not too curious, are you?”

  “No—yes?” Miko's head moved like he was trying to look around, then he stopped when he remembered he couldn't see. “I have friend. He is...civilian.”

  Not a friend, a boyfriend. Vincent had said that Miko was strangely excited about being threatened never to shoot at Vincent's husband again. “It bothers him?”

  “Maybe not after more time.”

  Frank sighed. He was not interested in carrying on a conversation about Casey. He felt overwhelmingly guilty as the madness finally left him, but he knew he'd made the right decision. The only decision. And that made him feel worse. “Where did your nickname come from?” he asked to change the subject. Miko had practically fainted at the sight of his own blood; having “Mako Shark” as a moniker was just as conceivable as wearing Kevlar for fun.

  Color rose to Miko's face and he nervously fiddled with the seatbelt. “Simon got my name wrong. Mako. And...sometimes you mean to shoot someone once and they end up in many pieces.” Miko paused, a smirk coming to his face like a kid who's just heard a dirty joke. “This has not happened to you though.”

  “No.” When Frank shot someone they ended up in precisely as many pieces as he wanted them to be, but he conceded, “But sometimes people get flower stems through their eye sockets.”


  “Sometimes,” Miko agreed with a smile so wide it nearly lifted the blindfold off his face.

  “They haven't been together that long.” Frank still remembered the sting of finding out about their relationship for the first time. He possessively added, “I've known Casey since he was a kid,” as if that would change what Frank had done, as if it would somehow bring their closeness back to what it used to be.

  Miko gasped. “You tell him stories?”

  “No,” Frank said coldly, realizing what Miko was inferring. That Frank would've willingly told Casey what he was, told him about assassinations, rather than doing everything in his power to protect him from it.

  “You think it is bad, that I know stories?”

  “Children are impressionable. Your father told you things he shouldn't have, and now you've taken a bullet for someone you've never met.”

  With his head lowered, Miko muttered, “You helped me with my list.”

  It was almost like Miko was still a child, not just impressionable but sullen when Frank was remotely stern with him. “Did it pan out?” he asked, softening towards him. Calling Miko several months ago with the list of release dates for the actress's biography had primarily been a reconnaissance mission to get information about Simon, but instead Miko had fawned on Frank for the majority of the short but bewildering phone call.

  “Not yet. But it will.” Miko fidgeted with his right hand. There was something wrong with it, a paralysis maybe. “Your friend, he was collateral damage?”

  “No.” Frank had never experienced such a thing personally, but he knew about it. Some innocent, usually a child of the mark or one who lived in the same building, inadvertently involved in the job. It was about as bad as a situation could be, having to make that decision, whether to kill them for being a witness or let them live whatever scrap of a life there was left. But Miko suddenly made a lot more sense. Whatever scrap of a life there was left. Stories about assassins. His concern over the children.