Elliot
ELLIOT
As he stared down at the unmoving body of the would-be assassin, had to resist the urge to give him a swift kick. It had taken a great deal of self-control to stay calm as he’d dragged Clay’s unconscious body away from the bed and tied him up. A blow to the right spot on someone’s head was a good way to knock them out quickly, but people didn’t always stay unconscious for long.
Once that was done, he turned on the bedroom light and knelt beside his bed to pick up the object Clay had dropped. held it up to the light, his gut tightening as he turned the tip toward him and saw a small needle through a hole in the end. Whatever liquid was in the object, it was obviously meant for , and Clay was going to inject him while he’d been asleep.
“Fucker,” muttered, dropping it on the bed.
Standing up, he bent over and pulled the comforter back. was rather proud of the stack of pillows and blankets. He’d spent a good ten minutes that night making sure it looked like he was asleep in the bed. The small device beside the heap still played the looping sounds of him sleeping. He reached out, turning it off.
“Clever,” Clay said.
turned sharply to face the man. Clay was still against the wall, though sitting up rather than hunched over. The smaller man was unmoving, his arms and hands tied in front and left to rest in his lap. His dark eyes stared up at him with an expression could see was amusement.
Clay shook his head. “Can’t believe I fell for the wrong person in bed trick again. I must be getting sloppier than I realized.”
“Good thing for me,” growled.
Clay winced. “Though less good for this headache of mine. Did you have to hit me so hard? You could have used half the strength and still got the same result.”
“Consider it payback,” told him.
Clay’s eyes moved down ’s body, resting on his legs. “How’s the knee?”
“Nothing a little ice and aspirin couldn’t fix.”
“Oh, good. I tried to be gentle about it.”
Well, that certainly answered one of his suspicions. The blow could have very well shattered ’s kneecap, but instead, he’d merely limped for the rest of the day. This situation was growing more and more curious.
sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m supposed to believe that you, a man who obviously kills people for a living, wanted to be gentle?”
Clay snorted softly. “If I wanted your leg in a cast, it would be.”
“Right, out of the generosity of your mercenary soul. I’m sure you preferred to inject me with this nasty little concoction,” said, holding up the injector.
Clay shrugged. “Well, that would have been unpleasant but not nearly as long-lasting as being in a cast and having a broken kneecap.”
“Yeah, I’m sure death could be pretty damn quick,” growled.
Clay raised a brow. “Death? I’m quite confident in the dose. It wouldn’t have killed you.”
“Uh-huh. So you wouldn’t care if I injected you with it?” asked, holding it out.
Clay eyed it, wrinkling his nose. “I’d prefer you didn’t. It would be unpleasant. And considering our size difference, it might have some nasty side effects that you wouldn’t have endured if I’d injected you.”
“Right, gonna tell me what’s in it?” asked.
“I could give you the chemical breakdown, but somehow, I suspect that’s not what you’re asking for,” Clay said.
frowned. “I’m not an idiot.”
“No, that much is clear. If anything, your lack of stupidity and incompetence is exactly why I was here in the first place. I just meant that based on what I’ve learned, the chemical compounds of a substance aren’t something you’d recognize.”
Was he being complimented by an assassin?
Clay cleared his throat. “That being said, it’s a specific emetic poison. I hoped you’d have been violently, but not fatally, ill for up to twenty-four hours. Vomiting, diarrhea, and the associated dizziness and weakness that come with both. It would have probably required hospitalization, but nothing life-threatening.”
“So, yes, you were going to poison me.”
“Not to rain on your limited perspective parade, but a poison that would have made you sick for a little while should be preferable to one that would have ended your life.”
Definitely preferable, but didn’t like the slight twinge of relief and gratitude he felt. He didn’t consider himself so idealistic that he could condemn Clay for the attempt. Despite Clay being a killer for hire, he apparently wasn’t bloodthirsty.
“Sounds a bit like your bomb,” said, watching him.
Clay snorted. “That should have been the first sign that I could have been more careful. I suppose I’m a little too used to the idiots and thugs people hire.”
“That’s the second time you’ve complimented me,” pointed out.
“And? I don’t have so much pride that I’m unwilling to give credit where it’s due. You’ve made my job considerably more difficult than I thought this one would be.”
“Your job. You mean the one where you kill people for money.”
“That would be the one.”
“At least you’re honest.”
Clay looked down at his bindings and smirked. “I was caught trying to inject you with an emetic poison, and after you caught me armed in a certain man’s bedroom. I now find myself tied up and at your mercy. Which, in other circumstances, I might find enjoyable, but as it is, I have no reason to lie to you.”
stared at Clay, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say next. Clay’s entire demeanor was calm, and everything he said was dry, tinged with wry humor. As far as could tell, Clay was being honest and forthright with him, which included the comment about enjoying himself.
Was he being hit on by the assassin now?
pushed that bizarre thought aside, clearing his throat. “So what, you planned to get me out of the way and go kill Anthony?”
“Once you were incapacitated, the way to him would have been clear. Don’t get me wrong, the men you have watching his home are capable, but your boss doesn’t exactly keep himself locked away. Without your watchful, and perhaps even paranoid, eye on him at all times, he would have been considerably more vulnerable. That’s all I need.”
hated to admit it, but he suspected Clay was right. Apparently, Clay's only mistake was repeatedly not taking seriously enough. That, and had first-hand knowledge of just how lax the security around Anthony was. Without around, Anthony would have been as vulnerable as a child.
“So, who hired you?” asked.
“If I could shrug properly right now, I would,” Clay answered.
“Which isn’t an answer.”
“I don’t know who the client is. It’s not my business to know. All I need is the target.”
It was precisely that sort of attitude that had always despised about mercenary groups. had taken lives in defense and in the heat of battle. He was no stranger to violence and knew that sometimes collateral damage was inevitable. That didn’t mean he had to dismiss it out of hand or pretend it was something he didn’t care about. Those were lives, maybe not the lives of good people, but they were lives all the same.
Clay watched his face. “Mm, I can see you summoning the rage for a nice, righteous rant. Save your breath. I do what I do, and you do what you do. Moralize to someone who cares.”
’s jaw tightened, fingers tightening around the injector in his hand. His other hand lay against his pocket, where his phone sat.
“The bomb would have killed only Anthony,” said.
Clay stared back. “Yes.”
“I could have been sitting in the passenger seat and, at worst, would have had some minor hearing loss and maybe some shrapnel.”
“It’s good to know my balance of chemicals was accurate.”
“You already knew that.”
“I did.”
So there it was again. A bomb meant to kill one person. Clay not striking at in Anthony’s bed until he was close enough to be sure. And now a poison meant to incapacitate rather than kill. Clay clearly had no qualms about killing people, yet went out of his way, to the point of endangering himself, to ensure no one but his chosen target was killed. Was that professionalism or something else?
And did it matter?
“Why do you care?” Clay asked.
“Because I’m trying to figure out how someone could care so much about innocent lives but still want to kill an innocent man,” admitted.
Clay’s eyes narrowed, searching ’s face. “Damn, I’m glad my instincts were right.”
“What?” asked, blinking.
“You really believe what you just said. I thought you did...but I couldn’t be sure.”
“I believe what?”
“That your boss is innocent.”
“Anthony’s entire livelihood is built around charity and helping other charities. The man does everything in his power to help other people. And why do you keep referring to him by anything but his name when you talk about him?” demanded.
Clay leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You’re a man with an extensive military career. Not quite sure what you’ve done, but someone with a listed resumé like yours should have a good idea about how ugly the world can be.”
“Which is why it pisses me off to find people like you willing to piss all over the good parts,” growled.
Clay chuckled. “Don’t be naive. I know you’re not.”
hesitated. “What don’t I know?”
Clay sighed. “He’s got a nice life, doesn’t he?”
“Anthony?”
“That car alone has to be worth your average person’s annual income, hell, double or triple that. And his house?” Clay whistled. “Well, that baby had to cost hundreds of thousands. Between that prime spot of real estate, he owns the woods around it, by the way, and building it from the ground up? Then there’s all the nice things he fills it with and how nice his office is.”
had noticed. “Sure, it’s excessive.”
“Excessive? This is a man who deals with charities, remember? And charities aren’t exactly known for having a lot of money in their budget for their employees. But him? Oh, he’s living like the CEO of a well-known and incredibly profitable business. And that’s not including all the fine dining, high-priced booze, and expensive clothes.”
“I assume you have a point,” said, unease pooling in his gut.
Clay’s eyes flashed open. “Oh, come on. You’re an intelligent man and an incredibly clever one. You had to wonder where it all came from, didn’t you? Or have you been so busy trying to keep him alive that your attention to detail skated right over your boss living like a king?”
had noticed and thought about it but had better things to do than worry about Anthony’s budget. For all he knew, money from an inheritance was involved, or perhaps when you juggled several charities at once, money slipped into the personal funds more easily. Then again, hadn’t he overheard Anthony talking to his partner, saying they didn’t have the money to spare for some group? If Anthony’s business was doing so well, why wouldn’t there be money to spare?
cleared his throat. “So, what? Money laundering? Skimming off the top?”
Clay smiled. “Let me put it to you this way. In the past two years, I’ve killed a handful of people. More importantly, I chose those specific targets.”
scowled. “So?”
“One was a drug kingpin working in his ruthlessly carved territory in Chicago. Another was an international trader, though he traded children more than stocks and funds. A third was an up-and-coming brutal tyrant. He was fond of putting people who crossed him on spikes. Caught him in the Sahara. He even begged for his life, like the dozens of his victims, right before I put a bullet in his head.”
“What’s your point, Clay? If that’s even your name.”
“It’s the name that works. It might as well be my name. But finally, the last one? Traveling salesman, but he was fond of picking up hookers and killing them after he raped them repeatedly. Sensing a theme?”
tightened his jaw. “Hard not to.”
“Then I’ll put it bluntly. They were monsters, every single one of them. Beasts and predators who got off on the money, power, or simple savage joy of sadism. I might be nothing more than a killer to you, but there’s not one man or woman I’ve ended that didn’t deserve far worse than the quick death I gave them.”
“So, what? You’re this noble, murdering Robin Hood? Killing the rich to save the poor?” asked, unable to help his sneer.
Clay snorted. “As if. I never said I wasn’t a killer. After years of this, I’ve racked up quite the body count. I kill people, and I get paid for it. There’s nothing noble about me. I murder people in cold blood and don’t lose a wink of sleep.”
stood up, towering over Clay. “And I’m just supposed to believe you? You think you can spin a story, and I’ll let you go?”
“Honestly, I’ve been wondering why we’ve been talking so long. I assumed you’d called the police and were simply waiting for them to show up as you kept me occupied.”
“Would that have made a difference?”
“Well, it would have cost me quite the setback, and I’d probably find myself in a great deal of trouble. But would I end up in prison? No.”
“There you go.”
Clay peered up at him. “You managed to outsmart me three times now and even deduced that the police would not hold me. Yet, you refuse to see the truth.”
“All you’ve told me is that you murdered a few assholes.”
“I told you I specifically target certain types of people. The information I receive about targets is enough for me to make an informed decision.”
took a deep breath. “And you’re saying Anthony is one of those people.”
“I’m saying the magnanimous and compassionate man of charity is nothing more than a facade to cover up the monstrous things he does behind closed doors.”
continued staring at Clay, his words echoing around his mind. Only moments before, he had considered the possibility that everything Clay had said while he was tied up on ’s floor was true. Yet if he continued that trend, he had to give weight to Clay’s accusations.
And if he was right, what kind of person was protecting?
’s lip curled, and he stepped into the bathroom. He kicked aside the blanket and pillow he’d thrown on the floor to wait to see if Clay would come for him. He opened the medicine cabinet and drew out the small glass bottle and a sealed syringe. The bottle wasn’t something he should have, but wasn’t too fussed about holding onto it just in case.
Remembering the dose recommendations, he stuck the needle into the thin cover over the top of the bottle and drew the plunger back. still wasn’t sure what he would do with Clay, but he wouldn’t leave the man to his own devices. Most likely, the cops wouldn’t be able to hold him, and being allowed to run around again would just put Anthony back in danger.
And needed time to think.
When he returned, he found Clay sitting up straight, watching his every movement. Clay’s eyes narrowed as they spied the needle in ’s hand.
“Oh, and what surprise do you have for me?” Clay asked, sounding curious rather than worried.
“You seem confident you won’t stay locked up, and I can’t leave you just tied up. You’ll find a way to free yourself if you’re conscious,” told him.
Clay chuckled. “I see. Sleep time for me then.”
“Long enough for me to do my job today.”
And maybe do some thinking.
Clay sighed. “Not that I have much of a choice. Do me a favor if you would.”
frowned. “I don’t think you’re in a position to ask for favors.”
“True, and I’m not expecting you to but doesn’t hurt to ask.”
“Fine, then ask.”
“I’m wearing dailies. And you’re not supposed to sleep with regular use contacts as it is. I can’t imagine what being knocked out with dailies in would do to my eyes. Whatever you think of me, I’d rather not have my eyesight ruined.”
blinked. “You’re wearing contacts?”
“What, you thought this average shade of brown was real?”
took stock of the man tied up before him. He was once more struck by the feeling of just how average Clay looked. Well, if he took away the bindings, that was. Not that he was a bad-looking man, but there was nothing about his brown hair, fair but not pale skin, or the shape of his face that would immediately draw attention. Yet, in their first meeting, was drawn toward the man as though something about him called for ’s attention.
“Fine, hold still. Try anything, and you’re getting your ass beat and then injected,” warned.
Clay smiled. “I’ll behave. Truth be told, , I think I like you better now that we know each other for what we are.”
“Not sure how I feel about that,” muttered as he crouched.
“I don’t expect you to feel anything about it.”
huffed, waiting until Clay tilted his head back and held himself still. Taking a deep breath, reached out, carefully pinching the thin contact and pulling it free. Clay closed his eye immediately, blinking rapidly as made quick work of the second one. Seeing they were apparently disposable, cupped them in his hand and tossed them into the wastebasket beside his bed.
“Very deft touch for a man with such big hands. I can’t say I’m surprised,” Clay said with a low chuckle.
turned and stopped in his tracks as Clay turned his cleared vision up toward him. He immediately understood what Clay meant about ’s thoughts about his true eye color and why Clay used contacts to begin with. If his initial draw to Clay in the bar had been subtle, the attention Clay’s eyes would have drawn was overt. They were a pair of the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were as unusually bright as they were beautiful, and they gazed up at with amusement.
“They’d stand out in a crowd, wouldn’t they?” Clay asked.
“That they would.”
“And would make me very identifiable if everyone saw them.”
Just how often did Clay hide his eye color from other people? For that matter, how much of himself did Clay hide from the world? Was there anything about Clay that anyone really knew?
They weren’t the thoughts he should have for someone he needed to consider his enemy. Still, couldn’t help the slight twinge of pity for a man whose life was probably lonely and maybe even empty.
The amusement in Clay’s eyes disappeared, replaced by hardness. “Not sure what that look means, but I smell pity. Just inject me, and you can decide what you're going to do with me while I’m out cold.”
bent down, sticking the needle into Clay’s offered neck. “You seem awfully calm about being left vulnerable.”
Clay chuckled. “You’re one of those good-guy types.”
“I guess compared to you, I am,” said.
Clay shook his head, eyelids fluttering. “No, I mean...you’ve got morals you cling to with every...inch of your being.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Naw,” Clay answered, voice slurring at the edges. “Some people use religion...or money...power...and some people, like you...use some strict code to get through life. People need that...to get through the chaos of life. Otherwise, they go nuts.”
watched Clay’s head droop and couldn’t help but ask, “And what do you have?”
“Me?” Clay asked, voice thick and weak. “I got...nothing.”
And with that ominous quote, Clay’s chin hit his chest. didn’t need to prod the man to know the drug had taken effect. Clay would be out cold for several hours, and even when he came to, he’d be groggy. That didn’t mean underestimated him. Groggy and dazed, Clay could still be dangerous and probably more than capable of getting himself free.
Still, he had the greatest danger to Anthony tied up and drugged in his apartment. could afford to take half a day, long enough to check on Anthony and make sure everything was going smoothly. The philanthropist had a relatively calm day and would spend it in the office so wouldn’t have to fret too much over his safety.
He stood up, ready to prepare himself for the rest of his day. As he left to shower, he stopped at the doorway and stared at Clay. The man was sleeping heavily, and looking at him, suddenly realized Clay was younger than he’d thought. It wasn’t as though there were any lines or tight spots on Clay’s features when he was awake. Yet asleep, Clay shed five, maybe ten years from his face.