Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
MAVEN
That night, after we finish our milkshakes and some fries, he drops me off at my apartment and tells me he has to go to work.
Which works fine because I need to shower, and I at least want one more night in my bed before I have to go to his place.
The following day, I don’t hear from him, and I don’t bother reaching out to find out why. I take my good luck and run with it.
I also don’t bother packing a single thing for the move to his place. If he wants me to move all my stuff, he can do it himself or hire someone else to do it for him.
My phone rings, and when I answer it, Carrie’s voice fills my ear.
“Maven.”
“Oh my gosh,” I sigh into the phone.
“Missed you too,” she says, and I know she’s smiling without having to see her.
“I have something to tell you.” It’s been weighing me down not being able to tell her, but I wasn’t allowed to contact her, and our last phone call just didn’t seem like the right time; actually, I don’t even know when the right time is. But I have to rip the bandage off sooner rather than later.
“I wanted to talk to you.” She pauses. “You got married without me?” Her tone tells me she’s sad I did it without her.
“How…”
“I have access to almost everything, and I get notifications on everything regarding you, to make sure your name doesn’t fall into any systems, so I was surprised to see an alert for a marriage license,” she explains. I should have known she would find out.
“Not intentionally,” I answer. “I don’t even like the man. Sure, he comes in handy, you know, to meet my sexual needs, but other than that…” I shrug and try to play it off. I don’t want her to know that I have feelings for him, because I’m still trying to work out what they are.
“Boston, right?” she asks.
I glance at the door to find him standing there.
“You aren’t packed,” he states, not even commenting on what I just said.
“I hate packing,” I tell him as Carrie waits quietly on the other end of the phone.
“I’ll send a mover today.” He turns and leaves.
“I have to go, Maven. Can I call you back?”
“Of course,” I say as Boston shuts the door.
I disconnect the call, then rush out and chase him down, finding him just inside the front door of the apartment complex. He’s about to open the door and leave, but he pauses when he hears me come up behind him.
“I’m lazy,” I whisper. “And I hate to clean, let alone pack.”
He turns toward me. “I gathered as much,” he says as he looks down at me.
“I’d be the worst roommate.”
“Wife,” he corrects.
“Roommate,” I assert.
He shakes his head and then steps up closer.
I’m about to say something else when suddenly he slides his hands over my ass and then picks me up.
My legs wrap around his waist without conscious thought.
He turns, pushes me against the door, and starts kissing me.
He takes the fight straight out of me and replaces it with need.
Technically, it’s the start of a new week, so I’m not really breaking my rule about sex once a week.
“No, we can’t—” He slams his lips back on mine, not even caring about what I was about to say.
I feel his hardness between my legs, and he starts moving me up and down his length. The only thing separating us is a few thin layers of fabric, which do little to mute the sensations he’s evoking in me. Fuck, he feels good.
I shake my head and lean back. “Put me down.” He obeys, placing me on my feet, and I stand tall. Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I glare up at him. “Goodbye, Detective.”
He adjusts his pants, then steps past me to the door, opening it and walking out.
There are so many ways to kill a person.
I don’t discriminate. I’ll kill either a man or a woman if the price is right.
I don’t generally get a lot of information on who my next target is; Carrie handles most of that.
This target was given to her before she went away; she just never told me about it.
The client has increased the price to get the job done faster, and yesterday I received an encrypted email from her with all the info I need to finish the job.
I spend all of the following day watching the target.
He’s a doctor who works at a large hospital, and while he doesn’t seem to be working today, he goes into the hospital several times.
I watch him as he strolls to his car and pulls out some syringes that I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to have.
But as I’ve said, no judgment. I don’t judge what they do or the reason why I’ve been hired to kill them.
It’s always best to navigate a hit without emotions involved because they lead to lingering on the what-ifs.
He goes back to his large house, and he only stays there for about thirty minutes before he leaves again, dressed in something completely different. I follow him on my motorcycle, maintaining a decent distance between us, making sure he doesn’t spot me as he goes into an unmarked building.
I wait out front for a good four hours before he finally emerges with a woman on either arm as he struggles to walk.
They put him in a cab, and I can hear him calling them to come with him, but they both decline with a soft giggle.
One of the women shuts the cab door, and when the driver takes off, their demeanor immediately changes.
The giggles stop, and they look at each other, and there is no doubt about the disgust written over their faces.
They’re not impressed with the doctor.
I expect the cab to go directly to his house, so I’m quite surprised when it pulls up to a fast-food place. He gets out and stumbles inside. The cab drives off, not bothering to wait for him.
I park my bike, carrying my helmet inside as I stand in line behind him. He’s trying to order, but every other word he speaks is an incoherent mumble, and I can tell the young man behind the register is having trouble understanding anything he’s saying.
Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, they manage to take his order, and he walks to one of the booths and sits down.
“Do you have a strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream?” I ask, hopeful. He shakes his head, and I just shrug. “A Pepsi, then.” I pay and head to a table behind where the doctor is seated. He looks up as I pass him, and his eyes linger a little too long.
Stupid man.
Taking a seat, I pull out my phone and put it to my ear, pretending to talk. “He just doesn’t know how to please me. Yes, yes. I get it. But can’t a girl want the same thing a man does? Sometimes she wants to be pleased and for them to go away after.”
He takes the bait.
I knew he would.
Because now he’s sliding into the booth, taking a seat across from me.
“I have to go. Okay, yeah. I’ll call you back.” I put the phone down and look at him. “Can I help you?” I ask him.
“I can assist with … what you’re looking for.” His offer comes out somewhat slurred, but it’s just what I was hoping for.
As soon as I walked in, I discreetly scanned the place for cameras.
Thankfully, there aren’t any except at the cash registers, and I made sure to stay back as I placed my order so I wouldn’t be visible to them.
I paid cash for my drink, and I don’t have my regular phone on me.
I have a burner, so I can’t be pinged to my location.
There can’t be any trace of me that connects me to the target.
“You can?” I ask.
“I can.” He nods.
“Okay, good. Meet me in thirty minutes at the creek down the road. It should take you twenty to walk there. Don’t be late.
” I get up, throw my drink in the trash on the way out, and make my way back to my bike.
I drive down the road and stop at a spot he’ll have to pass to get to where he thinks I’ll be.
I check my watch, and it only takes ten minutes before he comes into my line of sight.
He’s walking relatively straight for someone who was very drunk or high moments ago.
He reaches into his pocket to pull out a phone.
I grab my gun and then wait for a car to pass over the bridge above me.
Thankfully, I know this bridge well, and I know the sound it makes when a car hits a certain spot on it.
I wait until the precise moment and then I shoot.
He doesn’t have time to register what’s happening.
The bullet hits him right between the eyes, and he falls dead to the ground.
Job done.
Now I should probably go home and prepare to move in with my husband.
Maybe.