12. Chapter 12
AHREN
My conversation with Connor had been eye opening. So much so that I didn’t bother finishing my three-finger salute before rushing out the door to confront the broker, or at the very least, keep her from confronting him—from killing him.
Connor was right. Tierney was feeling vulnerable. Her first order of business would have been to restore her peace of mind.
It was stupid of me to rush out without a plan; with so many unanswered questions.
Yet, I had done just that, arriving at the broker’s villa nearly an hour later and still no closer to answering the questions that plagued my mind.
Chief among them, was I going to let her take the hit or was I going to aim that particular bullet at myself?
And again, why the fuck did I care?
The answer to the second was just as elusive as the answer to the first and as I stepped out of my car, I realized this was the first time in a decade I was going into a situation without knowing the end game first.
The moonless night clothed me in darkness, allowing me to slip from shadow to shadow as I traveled the quarter mile or so to the broker’s house and eased through the garden gate.
More than halfway along the winding flagstone pathway, a growing sense of unnatural darkness made me realize that something was wrong. Very wrong. The solar lamps that lit the walkway on my last visit were missing, and even the floodlights that lit the garden were dark tonight.
Peering through the kitchen window revealed a darkened, seemingly empty house.
Each small, irregular detail, insignificant on its own, murmured its unease into my mind. Their whispered hisses formed a writhing pit of snakes as I reached for the back door, finding it unlocked.
My mind raced, each possibility holding equal weight. But the one I kept returning to was that she had beaten me here and had already dealt with the broker on her own.
Maybe she had already cleaned up and here I was mucking up her carefully curated crime scene.
“Fuck.” I growled in frustration.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, allowing it to wash over me. I could allow myself a brief moment of indecision, but only one. My eyes snapped open; the decision made.
Exactly twenty-three minutes later, I exited through the same door, having found the broker’s home empty. Well, not empty, but unoccupied at least.
With no signs of a struggle, I concluded he must just be away at the moment. Given her current state, there is no way she could have disposed of him.
In his office, I came across files with both our names on them and quickly copied them for review. A couple of external hard drives, shoved haphazardly on a shelf above his workspace, made their way into my pockets.
Otherwise, I left everything else untouched.
A nerve-wracking three days passed before my phone chirped with a message from the little street urchin I paid to watch the house for me.
“Your stray came home and brought friends.”
A smile curved the corner of my lips as I punched out a quick reply.
“On my way. Stand by.”
Tossing the burner phone aside, I rose from my chair. My arms slipped into the holster, my breath slowing with the familiar movements.
The weight of the pistols, now nestled in their holsters, and the bowie knife tucked into my waistband, settled over me, grounding me, sending the message to my body; it was time to work.
Slipping the phone back into my pocket, I grabbed my keys and jacket from the hook by the door.
The car door slammed shut a little harder than I intended, and the phone in my pocket chirped again.
“Everyone left. He’s alone. ”
A weight slipped off my shoulders that I hadn’t realized I was carrying. I pushed out a heavy breath, releasing the tension that seemed to accompany any Tierney related tasks.
“Thank fuck.” I muttered to myself.
The drive passed in a blur of street signs and blinding headlights.
The dilapidated buildings on the outskirts of town gave way to tree-lined streets with white picket fences.
I whipped into the parking lot of the small playground just shy of a quarter mile from the broker’s villa, just as the GPS softly chimed the end of my route.
My eyes swept across the empty park, watching the lights flicker on and paint the darkening landscape with pools of amber light. The playground fell silent with the fading sunlight.
The swings, once vibrant with the energy of children, now swayed listlessly in the gathering dusk, abandoned by their young playmates.
My foot barely kissed the pavement and the little street urchin was already standing steps away. The slight smirk curling his lip felt at odds with the deep soulless void where his eyes should have been; window to the soul indeed.
His chin tipped up, casually acknowledging my presence. “Almost ten minutes ago, a blonde lady entered the house.”
My eyes snapped up; my attention fully his.
The smirk widened into something approximating a smile. The wicked glint sitting in the corner of his eyes hinted he knew the value of that information.
I scoffed, grabbing my wallet off the dash and tossing him a fifty. “Well done, kid.”
He looked over the bill, giving it an appreciative nod before stuffing it in his pocket. “Easy money.”
With a wry laugh, I dropped back into the seat, slamming the door behind me .
I glanced up as the engine roared to life, just in time to see him slip back into the shadows.
“Damn, that kid is creepy as fuck.” I murmured to myself.
I gunned the engine; the asphalt blurring beneath me as I flew down the quiet streets, far more careless than I usually would.
The acrid scent of burning rubber fueled the urgent need to get there to her. Every racing thought pushed the pedal lower until it was smashed against the floor.
My heart stopped short as I pulled into the broker’s driveway. What the fuck was I doing here? Parking in plain sight, no less.
The desperate need cooled as anger, and frustration took over, fighting for control in equal measure. What the fuck was she thinking? Did she have any self preservation instinct? Why the fuck was I taking the risk of being caught? There was a reason I usually parked a quarter mile away.
My fingers gripped the wheel, my white knuckle grip mirroring the steel in my spine and the hard set of my jaw.
Hell, even she had the good sense not to park in his driveway. But still, she let herself be seen entering the broker’s house. If a lowly street urchin could spot her entering the front fucking door, then anyone could have seen it.
I pushed the door open, letting it slam loudly against the wall behind it, not giving the tiniest of fucks if anyone heard me enter.
“Wrap my fingers in that silky blonde hair of hers and drag her out of here.” I muttered angrily. My words drowned out by the heavy thud of my boots against the hardwood floor as I stalked from room to room, clearing the first floor before I headed upstairs.
I took the stairs two at a time, my heart slamming in my chest, keeping time with the quick, heavy movements of my feet that moved on their own, searching her out .
My eyes swept the empty hall, completely dark save for a soft blue glow emanating from the office door that had been left ajar. If I were to wager where I would find them, that would be my first guess.
I quieted my footsteps, listening for the slightest sound, but only silence greeted me.
A cold calm settled over me as my fingers closed around the handle of my pistol, the familiar weight of the cold steel grounding me instantly—silencing the warring voices in my head.
The hallway loomed before me, seeming to grow longer with each step I took toward the broker’s office.
I had hoped to hear voices. To interrupt an argument—anything to give me more information—a fucking clue about what the fuck was going on here and why the hell was one of the top hitters in the region being targeted, but unfortunately, luck was not on my side.
The pale blue light that spilled into the hallway caught on something dark, and I crouched down to get a better look.
“Fuck.” I murmured to the empty hallway.
I pulled out my flashlight, clicking it on, relief flooding me when I didn’t recognize the victim.
I did, however, recognize his wounds. A deep slice across his throat that curved up nearly to his ear on his right side and a puncture wound to the heart; Tierney’s signature for close proximity kills.
Stepping over his body, I pushed the office door open, wholly unprepared for the sight before me.
The broker lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood. A deep, jagged wound straight across his neck, nearly severing his head from the looks of it. Multiple gashes and puncture wounds littered his torso and two karambit knives, Tierney’s favorite, lodged deep in his flesh.
Blood painted nearly everything in the small room. Walls, paperwork, monitors, no surface avoided the crimson spray .
Metallic and sour, the stench of the blood pool was enough to take my breath away, twisting my stomach in knots. Blood didn’t usually bother me, but this—there was nothing usual about this.
At my feet, Tierney. Her eyes snapped up to meet mine as I stepped into the room. A flash of—was that hope? Which quickly turned to resignation as she took me in, dressed in black from head to toe, daggers sheathed on my thighs, pistol in hand—clearly here to work.
“You here to kill me, Rossdale?” She murmured, her face unreadable.
“I’m already dead.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know it until now.”