Old Wounds (Chance Assassin Book 4) Page 9

  Turning off the paved road and into the woods, Frank said, “You can take that off.” There was nothing to see now, no point of reference Miko could use to ever find the place again. The trees were thick, scraping against the sides of the car. Miko took off the blindfold and held it in his hands like it was a gift Frank had given him out of the kindness of his heart and not a show of distrust. “Is that what you are?” Frank asked. “Collateral damage?”

  Miko looked out the window. The grin had left his face. “Did you meet Anton?” Frank shook his head. “He was friends with Malkolm.”

  “That doesn't speak very highly of his character.”

  Miko beamed at him, a sharing of enemies. “Anton used high powered gun on his mark. The bullet went through the floor. To my sister. And my hand.”

  So that was the injury. And the sister. Tola. “Hector was Anton's handler?”

  “Yes. He told me things so I would understand why it happened.”

  “It sounds like it happened because Anton didn't do his job properly,” Frank said, feeling a growing rage like he had hearing about Vincent's past. He'd always been protective of children. He would've liked to get his hands on Anton. “Did you kill him when you were older?”

  “I killed him then,” Miko said with his eyes set on Frank, slightly creepy in a way that reminded Frank of Sophie.

  “Good for you,” Frank said, and Miko held his head a little higher. “Malkolm's here if you'd like to visit.”

  Miko's eyes went wide and he shuddered. “He is here?”

  A smile crawled across Frank's lips. “In the backyard.”

  “Oh.” Miko giggled. “That is good.”

  The dogs were already barking as they pulled up to the house, and once again Miko's mind went to the children. “The children are not sleeping?”

  “I took them to a hotel. Bella will pick them up on her way back.”

  Miko smiled at Bella's name even though he'd already admitted being nervous about her reaction to his presence. And his assignment. But he hardly seemed fazed over the dogs. Except for Kiki. “It is fuzzy like your blond maniac!” Miko exclaimed.

  Frank raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Blond maniac?”

  Miko swallowed hard. “You will not tell him I said? He is painful.”

  Frank fully intended to tell Vincent what he'd said. It would make V's day. Considering that Frank had just been shot at, anything that could cheer Vincent up would be most welcome. “He'd be flattered.” Frank led him to the library, the dogs following closely, and he helped him sit on the sofa.

  “You have many books.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have Hamlet?” That was Miko's other recent nickname, dubbed Hamlet in the media in relation to the late actress Ophelia Marlowe. It was certainly better than the nicknames Frank imagined he'd garnered in the English tabloids after his father left him a fortune.

  Lifting one of the many works of Shakespeare off the shelf, Frank dropped it on the table in front of the sofa to draw Miko's attention. Miko had mentioned the books but his focus was clearly on the bookends: the bust of Voltaire that Frank had used to bash Silva's head in. Miko couldn't have known that Frank was the one to murder Silva, but it made Frank tense and guarded all over again.

  Miko looked just as intimidated by the tome as he'd been by Frank at the cafe. “This is all Hamlet?”

  “Collected works.”

  “Will you read to me?” he asked hopefully.

  “No,” Frank said. Miko got a look like the dogs would get when they were rebuked, as if Frank was breaking their hearts by telling them no but they loved him anyway. He sat beside him, shooting Miko a warning glance when he tried to move closer. It was increasingly disconcerting to Frank just how interested in him Miko seemed to be, and it occurred to him for the first time that perhaps the obsessive stalking of his marks that Frank was so fond of was actually more menacing than merely assassinating them. “How long have you been doing this job?”

  “Ten years.” He was Casey's age give or take, but he came across as younger and in a strange way, somehow more innocent. It would've made Frank hesitant to interrogate him if he didn't find him so oddly fascinating.

  “With Simon?”

  “With Hector first.”

  “Last year, you told Joe you didn't trust Simon. Why did you go back?”

  “Nas was working.” Nasir, the gunsmith Joe insisted had a good reputation. Miko was reputed to cannibalize his marks. Frank hoped Nasir's reputation had more truth in it. “I went to help.”

  Miko's friend wasn't the only one who needed his help.

  “And you never suspected Simon of being involved with what happened to your friend?”

  “Claudius said it came from on high. Silva.”

  “Claudius?”

  “It is from Hamlet.”

  “Yes...” Frank said, leaving obviously unstated.

  “That is what I call him until I know his name.” Miko looked at the book again, then admitted, “Simon thought of it.”

  It wasn't exactly the intellectual discussion Frank would prefer having about the greatest playwright to ever live, but Frank always enjoyed talking about books. Especially in relation to murder. “Do you know who Claudius was in Hamlet?”

  “The bad guy.”

  “Hamlet's uncle, who took the throne after murdering Hamlet's father. You could arguably say that Simon took Hector's throne in regards to you.”

  Blinking at him vacantly, Miko started, “But Claudius said—”

  The implication through literature that Simon may have had something to do with the death of his friend was as lost on Miko as it would've been on Kiki. But even if Simon were innocent of that crime he'd still set Miko up, and Frank was very familiar with being betrayed by a trusted handler. “I'm going to be honest with you,” Frank said. “You aren't the only one Simon set up. He gave us a job that is a clear attempt on my life. Now we need information, from you, about who's coming after us.”

  Miko sunk down, folding his hands together and looking away. “This is why you brought me here? To question me?”

  “Simon just tried to have you killed. You weren't safe at the hospital.”

  “Safe.” Miko said the word as if Frank had been the one to shoot him. “And when I know nothing, I am buried in your backyard?”

  Frank flinched. It wasn't often when he did the right thing, and he didn't appreciate being given anything more to feel guilty over. “If I was going to kill you, would I have bothered to blindfold you?” Miko turned away to continue sulking. “Joe offered to help you last year. Joe did help you last year. Now he's on his way here, and so is Miranda to take care of you.”

  “Lady doctor?”

  “Yes.” Frank stood. Miko watched him forlornly. “Casey is extremely important to me. If Simon's plan was to have me kill you for shooting him, he planned well. He is a civilian, who would unlikely be capable of protecting himself or those children, and I left him alone to come get you as soon as I could. Because you took a bullet for me. That is why you are here, Miko.”

  Miko beamed at him once more. “You are welcome. Frank. You took this job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Just when Frank truly started to doubt Miko's mental prowess, Miko proved he was following along after all. And that made Frank distrust him. “It's complicated.”

  “If I am going to help I need more than 'complicated.'”

  Hugo and Charlie started barking in the hallway and Frank excused himself, that consuming longing for Vincent which always peaked in the most agonizing way right before they were reunited. V barely gave Joe time to stop the car before he was hopping out, tears already in his eyes as he jumped into Frank's arms in the doorway. Seeing Vincent scared like that cut straight through Frank. He couldn't bear the helplessness of doing nothing as Vincent tried so hard not be emotional that he could hardly take a breath without it coming out as a sob.

  Frank scowled towards the car at Bella breakin
g the news in a way that would frighten Vincent, but she wasn't there. It was only Joe, who Frank could at least trust to break it to him gently. Likely gentler than Frank would've at the moment. “I'm okay,” he said, cradling Vincent to him and nuzzling his face in V's hair.

  “I know,” Vincent said but that hadn't stopped the trembling. “Is Miko dead? What about the fucking sculptor? Is the fucking sculptor dead? Can he be made more dead?”

  “Miko's fine. The fucking sculptor is gone.” Thinking about kittens did help with the murderous rage over Marcel's escape, but it did not help with the urge to bend Vincent over the hood of Joe's car to get his frustrations out in another way.

  Joe brought their bags inside, not interrupting their reunion with so much as a word. But as Bella pulled up behind Joe's car, there was about to be quite a bit said.

  Joe attempted to make peace before she got close to the porch but it was Casey who knew how to quickly defuse the bomb. “Help me get the kids to bed. Screaming is just going to start them screaming again and we'll never get them back to sleep.” Picking up Sylvia from the car seat, Bella glared at Frank and carried her daughter inside with Casey and the baby at her heels. Casey gave Frank a tense grimace that was almost a smile, gesturing to Frank's face and quietly saying, “much better,” as he went by.

  Frank brought them inside, Vincent still holding onto him as he explained in limited detail what had happened. Casey's version of events, as relayed through Bella, hadn't exactly been accurate. Although Vincent's response of “what the actual fuck?” summed it up beautifully.

  Miko hadn't moved from the sofa, but he attempted to stand when they returned to the library.

  “I'm sorry I beat you up,” Vincent said immediately, which Frank was not expecting.

  “Do you want a hug?” Miko smiled and reached his hand out. Frank wasn't expecting that either.

  Vincent sneered at him. “You just got shot in the chest.”

  “Yes, you are right. That would hurt.” Lowering his hand, Miko smiled again instead. “It is okay. I should not have pointed gun.”

  “How're you feeling?” Joe asked, going to the sofa and handing Miko a bag of those ridiculous red candies.

  “Thank you,” Miko mumbled as he stuffed his mouth. His English was terrible. Then again, his German wasn't very strong either. “I will not die.”

  “I called Nasir. Left a message. We're going to have to have a discussion about what to do with Simon.

  “Does the name Alcott mean anything to you?” Vincent asked suddenly, taking Frank's “complicated” and getting straight to the point.

  Joe rubbed the bridge of his nose the way he always did when Vincent was being incorrigible. “Thank you, Vincent.”

  Looking to the ceiling as if in thought, Miko said, “I have heard this. It is your job?”

  “A wealthy English family, if that helps,” Frank said, moving his hand to the back of Vincent's neck as a warning not to elaborate any further. The less information they gave Miko about it, and about Frank, the better.

  “Think on it,” Joe said to end the discussion, proving just how well he'd gotten to know Vincent. And Frank. He patted Miko's shoulder, well on his way to knowing him too. “You've had a long day.”

  Long didn't begin to cover the day, and it wasn't over yet. Frank turned to the sound of Bella's high heels, Miko holding up his hands and proclaiming, “I did not know I did not know.”

  Frank got between them. Miko had taken a bullet for him after all, though Frank hoped he wouldn't have to return the favor quite yet. “It's not his fault,” Frank said, as if Bella actually cared who was responsible. He wondered whether Simon had been banking on him killing Miko, or Bella doing it.

  Bella shouted, “Fuck!” and stormed off again.

  “She'll be fine,” Joe said. “Get some rest. Miranda will be here in the morning to check on you.”

  “Can I have my things?” Miko asked.

  Frank had forgotten about taking Miko's personal effects. It was so instinctual to disarm him that he hadn't even considered that Miko may need to call someone himself. His own civilian. He nodded and Vincent followed him out of the room. “You apologized?”

  “Shut up.” Vincent clung to him, angry now over being frightened and probably a little over being caught showing kindness to his nemesis.

  Stopping at the front door before going out to Bella's car to retrieve Miko's things, Frank held Vincent's face in his hands. He said nothing, just stared down at him until a calm settled over them both.

  Turning his head to kiss Frank's hand, his wedding ring, Vincent asked, “Did you black out?”

  “Not entirely. But I was well on my way.”

  “Were you scared?”

  Being shot at didn't scare Frank. His mind did. He nodded distantly, the disconnect beginning to seep its way back in as he recalled that moment of madness, feeling control slip away like his mother's hand failing to lift him out of the water. “When this happened before, you said you honked the horn to get my attention. To stop me. I think the gunfire helped snap me out of it. The children's screaming.”

  A naughty smile came to Vincent's face. “Maybe next time I'll just shoot you.”

  Frank gave him a quick slap. “I still owe you a bullet.”

  “So you can owe me two.” Vincent's eyes suddenly darkened and he looked away. “If Miko hadn't been there it would be Joe owing me instead.”

  Frank sighed, the aching in his chest over seeing Vincent upset doing far more than a gunshot to keep him grounded. “Do you know what Miko called you?”

  Vincent glared, ready and more than willing to start another fight. “Am I still forbidden from killing house guests?”

  “My blond maniac.”

  “Oh.” Habitually lifting his chin as if to further display his beauty, Vincent glanced back towards the library like he couldn't wait to hear more about himself. “You know, he's not really that bad.”

  “I had a feeling you might say that.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Blond maniac indeed. Now I genuinely felt bad about beating the fuck out of him. But no way was I apologizing again. How embarrassing.

  Bella had left Miko's bag in the trunk of her car, the torn Kevlar vest laying on top of a stained white shirt. I felt sick imagining Frank's blood instead of Miko's. Then I felt even sicker when I realized the severity of the situation. Joe was right. Miko had proven himself useful. I owed Joe two hundred bucks.

  “This is all of his stuff?” I gave my best totally not up to something smile. Frank glanced sideways at me and quirked one eyebrow. “You're curious about him,” I added with a shrug as if all future actions on my part could be blamed on Frank's predilection for stalking. I pawed through the bag: some clothes; passport; gun; cellphone. Wallet.

  “I dare you to try it,” Frank said with a stern, don't-you-dare tone.

  “Well he did compliment me,” I conceded and put the wallet back.

  “Softie,” he teased, demonstrating how soft he was himself by giving me his own wallet and carrying Miko's stuff inside.

  I made sure to scowl at the German a bit before we bid him goodnight, lest he stop thinking so highly of me. But he was completely oblivious, just kept giving Frank googly eyes. Miko was totally in love with him. Not that I could blame him. “He is so weird,” I grumbled when we got back to our bedroom. “If I'm blond maniac I wonder what he calls you.”

  “His favorite assassin,” Frank said arrogantly.

  “You think he likes you more than Bella?”

  “He hasn't taken a bullet for Bella, has he?”

  I smacked him, pissed off all over again that he'd nearly gotten himself shot. “Of course all the excitement would happen here when I wasn't.”

  Frank gave a smug grin. “Didn't you enjoy England?”

  Telling him that it wasn't the circle of hell he believed it to be would've forced me to kick Miko off the sofa so I'd have somewhere comfy to sleep, and since there was no way I was letting Frank out of
my sight again for the foreseeable future, I focused on the parts that did suck. “There were no assassins, Frank. Seriously. None. I can't even count me as one anymore because it's been that fucking long since I've killed someone.”

  He stroked my hair. “You're still an assassin, baby. It hasn't really been that long.”

  “It feels like it. And it felt like I was in Eaton Place over there for even longer.”

  “Eaton Place?”

  “It's from Upstairs Downstairs. Was the deer dick on the wall when you lived there?”

  Demonstrating how odd his day had already been, Frank took my question in stride, repeating “deer dick?” with ennui instead of embarrassment, like someone without a sense of humor would follow up “knock knock” with “knock knock who?”

  I proudly showed him the picture of the deer head that I hadn't gotten the chance to text him. “See?”

  He looked less impressed than he'd sounded. “I remember the head.” Clearing his throat at my juvenile snickering, he clarified, “stag head.” He flipped through like he was looking for more pictures of the house, reproachfully raising his eyes to me when all he found were shameless and mostly lewd selfies.

  I imagined that most superassassins didn't fill their phone's memory with pictures of themselves rather than pictures that might help win Assassin War, but most superassassins weren't this good looking. Besides, the house had a website with plenty of pictures. “I was bored. And I looked really hot this morning.”

  “Yes,” he said distractedly, which was certainly no way to give me the praise I deserved. Then he flipped back to the virile venison. “It's unsettling.”

  “It's a severed head with a giant penis on its neck.”

  “Not the deer. The house.”

  If only I could've said that a boring old house with unintentionally pornographic décor was what unsettled me, instead of the growing list of people trying to kill my husband. “You weren't really there that much, were you?”

  “No, and I was present even less. I do remember the deer, and the grounds. The library.”