28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Heart in her throat, Kathleen crossed the floor. Hotels like this would have security, and with her badge, they wouldn’t care about a warrant. She’d have better luck spotting Finn that way than wandering through the crowd that was constantly shifting and changing.
“Why, hello, detective,” Wyatt Wilson purred.
Shit. Kathleen knew that voice. And she shouldn’t be hearing it. Where was Finn? Surely he was hearing this. Surely he would have warned her if he could have? She realized she hadn’t been hearing the dual sound of the room’s chatter through her earpiece. Finn couldn’t hear her. Coldness seeped into her belly as she turned, plastering on her best smile. Coldness seeped into her belly as she turned, plastering on her best smile.
“Governor Wilson. What a surprise. Who knew you cared so much about the community?”
She glanced over his shoulder. He was alone, at least.
Wilson’s smile deepened, but it still had that faux politician’s edge. “Well, we both want the same thing, don’t we? Protect the weak, put the right people in charge.”
Kathleen’s gaze snapped back toward Wilson, fury burning in her. It was a bad idea, but her fear for Finn was acute, and she knew Wilson was involved somehow. “Is that what you tell yourself to be able to sleep at night? The story you sell to your wife, the media, the public? What will they think when they learn of all the blood on your hands?”
The politician inclined his head. “It’s unfortunate that you think so poorly of me, detective. I want nothing but the best for this city and its citizens. That includes you. It’s sad that you keep making such huge missteps. I thought you had potential.”
Wilson’s palm opened briefly, and she saw the black bug she had planted on Senator Kennedy resting in his palm.
Kathleen’s mind went blank. It wasn’t possible. She’d been careful, and no one had seen her. The only other person who could have told was… Finn. Shit.
“What do you want, Wilson?” She tried not to snap at him but wasn’t upset that she didn’t completely succeed.
“A single phone call, and I can end your career for good. Another phone call and your companion will be ordered to put his gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. Being an obedient sort, I imagine that would happen within seconds.” Wilson smirked as he crushed the bug. “Or you can walk out with me, all nice like. Your choice, detective.”
What would Kathleen be walking into? A black bag over the head, a short trip, and a bullet in the head? Yet what choice did she have? He might be bluffing, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—bet Finn’s life on it.
“Fine,” Kathleen gritted out between her teeth. “I can play nice.” She had no intention of doing that.
Wilson’s eyes crinkled as he smiled a too-bright, too-suave smile. “Oh, I bet,” he purred.
He gestured with one hand, and when Kathleen stepped in the indicated direction, he set his hand in the middle of her back to guide her.
She had never understood when someone described the sensation of their skin crawling until now. She wanted to flinch away, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. Head held high, she walked beside Wilson as he greeted various people by name.
As they walked, Kathleen became aware of a figure moving parallel through the crowd. Her heart leaped, but she felt her stomach drop when she saw it wasn’t Finn. The figure had the hard demeanor of security around him, possibly ex-military. Now that she’d seen him, she noted a second figure moving ahead of them in the crowd.
Well, shit. This was more than Wilson trying to shake her down.
Wilson’s man pushed through a side door, holding it open for them. Kathleen could make a scene, but where would that get her? Wilson’s threat wasn’t just a threat. She knew he could—and would—take Finn’s life without a second thought. He had already taken so many; what was one more to an ambitious man like him?
Though the adrenalin spiking her heartbeat was the surest sign she was in danger, she walked through the door. Their feet were silent on the carpeted floor. Wilson hovered close with his hand at her back, his men in front and behind them. She could hear the music from the DJ in the ballroom.
The man in front guided them into a plush meeting room. As soon as the door shut, the sound from outside ceased.
Soundproof.
Kathleen's heart pounded wildly, instinct urging her to fight—or flee.
“Search her,” Wilson said.
The man that was in front advanced on her. He had a flat nose, shaved head, and broad shoulders. He carried himself like someone who worked out, and he grabbed her purse and threw it toward his companion. Flat Nose then patted her down roughly without regard for any sensitivity, though she appreciated that he didn’t linger anywhere untoward.
His companion, blocking the door, was much shorter, with too-large biceps for his body. He dug through her bag and grunted.
“Gun,” Large Biceps reported.
Wilson was unconcerned. “I need to get back and be seen. These gentlemen are going to escort you to a holding facility where you’ll be interrogated—at length.” His politician’s smile was absent, and he regarded her like she was a problem to be solved. Kathleen couldn’t help the shiver that went through her. “Right now, you’re thinking you can hold out. Protect people you care about. But you can’t. You’ll tell us everything you know, eventually. I’d suggest sparing yourself the pain, but you look like the sort who might enjoy it.”
“The thing is,” Wilson continued, “I always win. I’m a much better friend than I am an enemy.”
Kathleen tried her best to smile. “So let’s be friends.”
Wilson snorted. “Too late for that.” He fixed his gaze on Large Biceps. “Take her. Make sure you’re not seen.”
“Yes, sir,” the pair of men chorused.
Wilson slipped out of the room.
“You’re going to play nice,” Flat Nose urged.
Fat chance. Kathleen played along, nodding, trying to appear frightened. She wasn’t sure how successful she was since Large Biceps banded his hand around her arm, crushing tightly.
Flat Nose led the way into the empty hallway. No chance of a good distraction, so she had to make one.
Three steps along, with Large Biceps still death-gripping her arm, Kathleen deliberately stumbled. As she did, she reached down and ripped the seam of her dress with a momentary regret. It wasn’t Ingrid Bergman’s dress, but she still liked how she felt wearing it.
Large Biceps grunted and slammed her against the wall. Kathleen’s shoulder took most of the hit, and pain from the still-healing wounds seared over her for a second. Still off balance, Biceps overcompensated by pulling her toward him.
Exactly as she wanted. She used the momentum, planting a knee in his groin. He dropped with a breathless wheeze. She took two quick steps away, slipped off her heels, and reached Flat Nose just as he spun.
Earlier, Kathleen had bemoaned her inability to carry a weapon, forgetting her shoes. She slammed the heel toward Flat Nose, who got an arm up just in time. He still yelped, though.
“Stupid bitch,” he grumbled, snatching at her wrist.
He was watching her right hand and not her left when Kathleen swung the second heel. The blow wasn’t as hard as she wanted, thanks to her painful shoulder, but she slammed it into his face. She’d been aiming for his eye, but his grab for her tilted him forward, and she caught him on his forehead instead.
Flat Nose made a surprisingly soft sound, stumbling back. He looked stunned, his eyes unfocused.
Kathleen didn’t wait around. As much as she wanted her gun back, she wanted answers, and nothing would be gained from these two. She needed to get away.
As she ran barefoot down the carpeted hall, Kathleen had only one question. What had happened to Finn?
The conversation with the Handler left Finn paralyzed.
Despite his assertion of delaying his return to Command, the urge to do so increased the longer he resisted it. Yet he had a mission to complete.
It took time to force himself to movement that didn’t immediately lead him to comply with the Handler’s commands. Finn scouted the ballroom, stalking off his tension. He was aware he was attracting attention from security, but it didn’t matter. He found Senator Kennedy, but she wasn’t with him. A tightness coiled in his belly as he caught sight of Wilson, slipping back into the ballroom from a side room. Torn between following and threatening information out of him or finding Kathleen, there was no contest.
The second Finn stepped through the door Wilson had come through, he heard twin groans of pain from down the hall.
“Fucking bitch,” moaned the man who was writhing around on the floor. “I don’t care what Wilson says. Put a fucking bullet in her head, man.”
The other man was slumped against the wall, a bright red mark on his forehead starting to swell. “I can barely see straight. Don’t worry. We’ll catch her. We know where she lives.”
Fury once again roared over Finn, stealing his sharp senses away. Two steps later, he was between the two.
Finn slammed his steel-toed boot into the ribs of the one already on the ground, and he heard at least two bones crack as the force of his kick sent the man flying across the hallway. He ignored the cry of agony. A hand descended on his shoulder and tried to wrench him backward. He went with the movement, shoving until the other man slammed into the wall. He drove his elbow into the man’s side as they collided.
Spinning, Finn clamped his hand around the man’s neck and began squeezing, much as he had with the Handler. The man’s eyes bugged, but Finn had the entirety of his attention. He had to fight not to close his fingers and crush the man’s throat. He wanted to kill them, but that wasn’t the mission. She was.
“You even look at her again, and I’ll do worse to you than a few broken bones. Do you understand?”
The man pinned beneath his fingers nodded frantically, tapping his wrist. Finn knew fear, and it radiated from his target in waves.
Message received.
Finn released his grip, and the man collapsed, drawing in a wheezing breath. Finn ran to the nearest exit, not bothering to look back at the pair.
He indulged in wanting to see her one last time. He wasn’t allowed to want. But he did it anyway.
It was effortless to climb to Kathleen’s third-story window, at least if you were a cat or had his particular enhancements for strength and stamina. He crouched on her fire escape.
The sounds of someone moving around inside, paired with the familiar steady beat of her heart, told him it was her—even before he leaned to the window’s edge to look. Kathleen was shimmying out of that tight red dress, and he felt a twin ache of yearning and regret as he watched her leave the dress on the floor.
It would be a simple thing to crack the window and ease inside, to move behind her and snake an arm around her bare waist, pulling her back into him, to press his lips to her neck and taste her skin…
No. As much as Finn longed to give in to that desire, he couldn’t afford to. She deserved better than him, and he needed her to be safe.
Kathleen walked into her bedroom, disappearing from sight, and the urge became a little less strong, a little easier to fight. Even so, his fingers were curled into a fist, and he twitched when he felt movement brushing against them.
Even with his acutely sharp hearing, the white cat had approached while Finn was absorbed in the fantasy of Kathleen. See? She is a weakness, the Handler whispered.
Finn’s lips peeled back from his teeth, resenting that the Handler had slipped back into his head and resenting most of all that the man might be right.
The cat flicked his tail toward him and sat to groom his paw, unconcerned with Finn’s fierce expression. With effort, he unclenched his fingers.
“Look after her, will you?” Finn whispered, reaching to brush the soft fur.
The cat chirruped quizzically at him.
He had a second’s warning, hearing the footsteps coming closer to the window. He launched himself off the fire escape, leaping to the next floor, pressing himself against the window ledge.
“Oh. It’s you, cat.” Kathleen’s voice sounded disappointed. “I won’t be around much, but I think you’re good to fend for yourself. I’ll give you one last meal for the road.”
Where was she going?
Finn heard the tinkle of kibbles hitting ceramic as she refilled the cat’s plate. “If you see him…” Kathleen paused.
Her exhale was long and low, almost inaudible, even with his sharp hearing. She didn’t finish the thought, shutting the window.
He waited, listening to her moving around in her condo. When her door clicked closed, he leaped down onto her fire escape, startling away the white cat. He climbed into her condo through the window.
The coconut scent of her shampoo still hung in the air as he walked toward the red dress she had abandoned. He bent, bringing the material to his nose and breathing in deeply. Rocking on his heels, he fought the urge to crawl into her bed—the bed they had shared—and envelope himself in that scent as well.
There is no room for indulgence. Cut this weakness from your life, the Handler whispered in his head.
Teeth gritted, Finn searched the room, spotting a written note on the kitchen countertop. Two words: black truck.
The fiery feeling in his gut that Kathleen had named jealousy warred with relief. As much as he hated the idea of her staying in another man’s house, he knew from Gibson’s warning look that her partner would do his best to protect her.
That she had left this note meant she had been expecting him to come here, expecting him to find her. He wanted to, more than anything. He ached to.
If he gave in to that urge, Finn knew he wouldn’t be able to leave her side, and he had made a promise to the Handler. He had to turn himself in, or Command would claim Kathleen.
He would do anything to prevent that. Even if it meant leaving her and killing again.
Finn had one more task to complete before he returned to Cloverton House.
Lisa Zhao’s current residence was trivially easy for him to locate with his access to law enforcement databases. The Wah Luck House was a large apartment complex in Chinatown.
Finn considered and discarded climbing through the balcony window. While it would be easy, it wasn’t the approach that would fit the situation. The last thing he wanted to see was fear in the eyes of her boy. Security was lax—the front door was propped open by a dragon statue—and he climbed the two flights of stairs to her apartment number. He knocked.
His stomach banded in knots as he waited. He heard slow, shuffling footsteps and considered turning and leaving before the occupant reached the door.
No. He had to do this.
The older man who opened the door squinted his rheumy eyes at Finn, not in suspicion but in confusion. His back was bent, limbs held stiffly, but a sharp awareness colored his dark eyes.
The words Finn had practiced on the way over her fell like lead from his lips. “Lisa Zhao… I am sorry for your loss.”
“Zhao Mei Ling.”
Finn stared blankly.
“That is her Chinese name. Mei Ling. Come in.” The older man waved him inside, and Finn hesitated. “Come,” the man repeated, gesturing until Finn yielded, following.
The apartment was small, with only one bedroom. The living room was combined with the kitchen, and a loveseat took up most of the space in the room. The faint scent of herbs lingered in the air.
On the floor, a young boy of perhaps four was playing with a wooden train set, running it back and forth.
“I will make tea,” the old man said as he shuffled toward a battered kettle. “You sit. Sit.”
Finn sat, the package in his pocket like a weight. He shouldn’t be here. The boy crept closer, innocent curiosity on his face. He held out the train. Finn looked at it for long enough for the boy to understand that Finn didn’t know what to do with it.
The boy set the train on the arm of the couch. “Train go choo-choo!” He moved the train back and forward, then gazed at Finn expectantly.
Finn touched the train, echoing the gesture. The boy nodded.
“Choo-choo,” Finn said.
The boy giggled. He turned toward the older man and said something in rapid Mandarin.
“No, little one. I think he is not here to play. He has a weight on his soul.”
The old man shuffled back and set a pot of tea on the small table, pouring two cups. He handed the first to Finn, his gaze expectant.
Words, as always, eluded Finn. Having anticipated this, he took the package from his pocket and set it on the table.
The older man stared at it, then at Finn. There was patience in him that Finn hadn’t anticipated.
Finn sipped at the tea as he struggled to find the words. “Mei Ling… your daughter?” the old man nodded at his guess. “I am responsible for her death. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was after those she worked for.”
Finn expected to sense fear or anger. Both. Yet the older man stared with his dark, red-rimmed eyes.
The words felt like they were pulled from Finn by the older man’s expectant gaze. “I’m sorry.” The band of unease tightened in his gut. “I know what it is like to lose someone you love. I can never make up for what I took from you and your grandson. No money can make up for it, but that is the least I can offer.”
The older man sighed. “They were bad men. I warned her not to work there. But the tips were good, she said. She made her choice. She wanted her son to grow up with more chances than she had.”
He looked at the package on the table.
The money was more than enough to purchase a place far nicer than this one, though Finn wondered if the family would leave. Although small, the apartment possessed a palpable sense of comfort. For them, it was home. Even the assassin felt more relaxed being here.
“I thank you for your honesty. I must ask you to leave now,” the older man said. The emotion in his voice was constrained, but Finn could sense his distress.
Finn stood, setting the tea down. He bowed to the older man, then handed the wooden train back to the boy, who took it and began running around the table. It struck Finn then that the boy didn’t know or understand that his mother wasn’t returning.
He didn’t like to think about what that would be like any more than he wanted to think about what it would be like for Kathleen.
It was time for the assassin to return to Command.