CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Raina
T he crumpled address of Connor’s assassin sits in my hand as I look up at the moderately luxurious apartment building in Lower Manhattan. Even if I wanted to go straight back to Connor’s apartment and finish the job, I don’t have my weapons.
A doorman watches me from a slate step. His gaze skims over me with the kind of practiced scrutiny that says he’s seen some crazy shit. His stare lingers on my messy bun and tired eyes. I look more like I should be leaving here.
“Can I help you?” His voice is smooth, professional, but edged with wariness.
I hold up the piece of paper, letting it unfurl between my fingers. “I’m supposed to pick up something from this apartment.”
His gray bushy eyebrows dip toward a red, bulbous nose. A flicker of recognition crosses his face. I wonder what the hell he thinks this assassin does for a living. But without even asking my name, he moves aside to let me in.
No call to the resident? Odd.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping past him.
The blast of cold air from an overworked air conditioner presses against my skin. The strap of my empty holster and the absence of its weight under my zip-up jacket have me twitching.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says under his breath, low and snickering.
I pause, eyes narrowing. He does know what kind of man lives in apartment 15G .
“Do you know the guy’s name?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Ask him yourself.” The doorman grins.
I shake my head and walk to the elevator, keeping my gaze forward. Head held high, I hide the tension coiled in my shoulders and avoid making eye contact with anyone else in the lobby.
As the elevator shoots up fifteen floors, I breathe in deeply, calming my racing thoughts about this mob assassin. I oddly trust Connor doesn’t want me dead.
The elevator door glides open with a smooth ding . A directional placard on the wall opposite the cars directs me to the right. But I’m brought up short seeing a woman sprawled on the floor in front of an apartment.
Not unconscious. Not bleeding. Just lying there.
Her head snaps up at the sound of my footsteps. A mess of rosy red curls bounces on her shoulders as she yanks something from under the door and scrambles to her feet.
I catch the shine of a thick black camera scope wire disappearing into her pocket. She was spying on an assassin.
“Hello?” I say to her.
“Are you here to hurt Rhys?” Her gaze is sharp and assessing, trying to determine if I’m a threat or just an inconvenience.
Startled by the anger, I stop short.
His name is Rhys.
“No, I’m picking up something for...” I can’t believe I’m saying this. “For Connor Quinlan.”
“Oh, his cousin!” Her attitude shifts on a dime. “Hi. I’m Fallon.”
A friendly stalker. Okay.
“Are you Rhys’s girlfriend?”
She smooths a hand over her curls, her smile turning dreamy. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Does he know he has a girlfriend? If he did, she wouldn’t be out here playing amateur spy.
“Great,” I say cheerfully and supportively. “Is he home?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you out here?” On the floor, watching him through a tiny camera?
She leans in, whispering, “He’s busy.”
I play along. “Oh, okay.” I slink a little closer to see if she blocks the door. “I just need to see him. He’s expecting me.”
She stares like she’s trying to decide if I’m a rival assassin. Which I guess I am. But she abruptly spins on her heel. “Wait here!”
I watch her flit away and disappear into the apartment next door. Does she have a stethoscope to listen to Rhys’s conversations through the joined wall?
Shaking my head, I debate whether or not to just knock on Rhys’s door, but Fallon has already flown out of her apartment and comes skipping toward me.
Holding a plant.
“Here.” She thrusts a goddamn potted plant at me. “Put this in his kitchen, please.”
I look down at the delicate green plant, lush with round spiked leaves, sown into rich dark soil. It’s healthy. Thriving. Loved.
The fragrance catches me off guard. There’s something fresh about it, earthy and warm.
I lean in to sniff and then look back at Fallon. “What is this?”
“Coriander,” she answers, like I should know that. “The seeds are toasted and used in soups. I grow them and other herbs in the community garden around the corner. ”
I blink up at her because she’s at least five-ten, and I’m five-five on a good day. She’s also stunning with curvy hips and olive skin.
Does Connor’s assassin make his own soups? I can’t wait to meet this guy.
“Um, okay.” I take the plant from her.
“See ya!” Fallon skips away and disappears back into her apartment.
What the hell was that?
Getting my head back in the game to meet an assassin who might kill me, I knock on the door.
There’s a beat of silence, and I feel the thick weight of Rhys’s presence even from out in the hall. After a slight shift of movement, I hear the sound of a male grunt.
The door swings open and holy fucking hell.
A man of at least six-foot-four stands in the doorway, his light brown hair pulled into a careless man bun, strands falling loose to frame the sharp cut of his jaw.
It’s almost comical how gorgeous he is. Sharp cheekbones.
A mouth that’s pure sin and a muscular body so strong he can break bones with his bare hands.
I question if I’m dreaming. This is truly one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen.
Golden eyes, the color of whiskey, peer down at my hands. And the plant. His expression darkens as he rips the greenery from me.
“Fallon!” he yells into the hallway.
“Your girlfriend is nice.”
Rhys whips back around to face me, his scowl nothing short of lethal. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Playing it cool. Gotcha.”
Rhys gives me a slow once-over in a sizing-me-up-for-a-coffin kind of way. “Why the hell are you here?”
My amusement fades. He knows who I am. “Connor sent me. For my weapons. ”
“Oh. Right. You tried to kill him.” He kicks his door open. “Come in.”
I forget to breathe, wondering if I’ve been set up somehow. But I step inside anyway.
“Let me have that.” I scoop the plant from him, worrying he’ll toss the thing in the trash.
But when I turn into his kitchen, I squeak a laugh. Next to the window is a plant stand filled with treasures like the one I’m holding. They all sit in identical blue and white fire-glazed ceramic pots.
“More gifts from your girlfriend?” I put the coriander plant on the stand.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Rhys leans against the doorframe, a picture of power and beauty. “But aye, these are all from her.”
“It was smart to get a stand.”
“I didn’t. She did.” His nostrils flare, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“It was smart to set it up here.” From this angle, the plants get plenty of sunlight.
“I didn’t. She set it up.”
“That was nice of her.”
“She broke in to do it.”
“Oh.” I rock on my heels and look at the others on the stand. “Um. These need water.”
“They do?” The concern in his voice is a 180 from the annoyed tone two seconds ago.
“Can I have a cup? I’ll do it.”
He rolls his eyes. “I have a watering can.”
“Let me guess. Another gift from your—” I stop when he glares at me.
While Rhys is deftly filling an adorable green plastic watering can with a long spout, I gaze out the window and am shocked to see Fallon watching me from her kitchen .
“Do you lock your windows?”
“Not anymore.” Rhys shakes his head. “She nearly fell to her death trying to get in.”
I spot the six-inch ledge around the building, and I cringe that she’s taking her life into her hands to get inside this man’s apartment.
“So, you leave the windows unlocked?” I clutch my heart. “That’s sweet. Are you sure you don’t want her to be your girlfriend? Looks like you’re halfway there.”
He hands me the watering can. “You know who I am and what I do. I can’t have a girlfriend. Especially one who crawls through windows.”
I don’t tell him she sounds like the perfect woman for him.
I finish watering the plants and turn around, shocked to see Rhys pointing a gun at me. My 9mm.
Gasping, I nearly drop the watering can.
Rhys laughs. “It’s not loaded. I took your ammo.”
“I can hit you over the head with it.” If I can reach that high.
“Try it. Fallon will murder you herself.” His good humor about the woman is a relief.
I glance over my shoulder and see she’s still watching us. I push the assassin out of the kitchen so I don’t have a witness seeing me take the gun. He may not care if she knows what he does. He can probably talk her out of testifying against him.
“And what about my knives?”
Rhys drops the unloaded gun into my shaking palm and hikes away into another room. I peek in that direction, amazed at the size and layout of this place.
He comes back with a briefcase. “They’re in here with your ammo and your Sig. It’s locked. I’ll text you the combination when you leave.”
“You don’t have my phone number.” But as I say this, I realize I’ve walked into one hell of a trap.
He takes his phone out of his back pocket and reads off my number.
Rolling my eyes, I ask, “How did you do that?”
“My phone automatically detects other phones in a ten-foot radius and ghosts a copy.” He puts his phone away. “Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Don’t I feel like a fucking amateur?
“That’s a quality knife, by the way,” Rhys remarks appreciatively.
“Thanks.” I hold the briefcase against my chest. “Want to check it out again?”
He smiles. “Nice try.”
I cock my head to the side. “The way you have this place trip-wired and a psycho girlfriend watching us, I wouldn’t dream of trying to kill you.”
“She’s not my—”
I hold up my hand. “I’m fucking with you.”
And it’s a lot of damn fun.
“Raina?” The assassin’s voice gets low.
“Yeah?” I shudder at him using my name.
He pins me against the wall, his hands gently around my throat. But they’re strong enough to squeeze the life out of me.
This just stopped being fun.
“Who are you working for?” he asks with a purr.
“Your friend tried that.”
“Cousin,” he corrects me.
“Right. Your girlfriend told me that. She knows a lot about you.”
Patience running out, Rhys steps back, probably knowing a knee to his balls is coming. “We’ll figure it out.”
“And?”
“Kill whoever sent you.” He folds powerful forearms across an even more powerful chest under a T-shirt that’s at least one size too small.
Fallon, honey, you CAN pick ‘em.
“Why not just kill me right now?” I spin around. “Am I missing something?”
Rhys studies me for a moment. Rubbing his chin, he says, low and dangerous, “I was given specific instructions not to kill you.”
“By?”
“Connor. He likes you, apparently.”
“Good to know. And if I do kill him?” I can not believe this conversation.
“We’ll figure out who you really are, who you’re working for, and then we’ll kill them before you get another chance.”
Unease slithers up my spine. When they find out I’m not just a hired killer but that my father was the Albanian kyre who they killed, they won’t just kill me. They’ll make an example of me.
Great.
I square my shoulders, masking my racing thoughts. I have to stay ahead of this. Ahead of them.
Rhys watches me, his sharp eyes flickering with suspicion. The weight of his gaze crushes my chest like he’s cataloging every twitch, every breath.
He’s programming me for when we might meet in another situation. Battle. When Connor gives the go-ahead to kill me. This magnificent beast will be the last guy on earth I see before I meet my maker.
“Are we done?” I ask, forcing indifference into my tone.
Like I’m not standing in front of one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met. Alone in his apartment. With an accomplice next door who has knowledge of soil and a collection of shovels .
Rhys smirks, slow and knowing. “For now.”
His voice coils tension in my spine like barbed wire, but I just nod. I won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know I’m terrified of him. I shift the briefcase against my chest and stride toward the door.
Just get out. Get back to your turf.
But before I can reach for the doorknob, his voice stops me.
“Raina.”
My mask of strength has dissolved against my skin like wet toilet paper. Slowly, I turn back. “Yeah?”
Rhys tilts his head, assessing me like a puzzle with a few missing pieces. One more hint will make all of this click for him.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He sounds almost sympathetic, like he suspects I don’t have a choice.
In his line of work, he’s seen it all.
I force a smirk. “I always know what I’m doing.”
His lips twitch, but his eyes darken again. “Says the woman who got stripped of all her weapons.”
“Then I wouldn’t get to meet you and find out where you live.” I grip the handle of the briefcase and shove open his apartment door. “And your pretty girlfriend, too.”
And with that, I walk out, pulse pounding, knowing damn well I just stepped deeper into a game I might not be able to win.