Chapter 2
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. I accidentally ripped off my entire toenail and spent six days crying because I’m an empath and my feet were sad.
Milo
Well, fuck.
I stop myself from punching a wall, but it’s a near thing. In this business, leaving behind a ripped glove is the kiss of death. Or blood from a skinned knuckle. Or, God forbid, letting the guy you came to kill disappear.
Little shit didn’t even have the decency to help me move the body before he ran. Guess I shouldn’t have let it slip that I’d come here for him. In my defense, I told him out of courtesy. He could’ve at least let me explain.
Once I’ve muscled the big dead weirdo back onto the bed, I remove the suppressor from the gun—thank fuck it’s not one of my favorites—and position the body so the wound can pass for self-inflicted. It’s not pretty, but it’ll have to do.
Hey, look at me improvising on the fly. If I didn’t have blood on my gloves, I’d give myself a high five.
After pulling the gloves off and stowing them in a wet bag in my pack, I grab my phone to dial my handler.
“Done already?” is the way he answers.
A frustrated growl comes out of me as I glance at the closed hotel room door, through which Rowan disappeared a few minutes earlier. “Ran into a bit of a situation.”
Which is an understatement. I switch the call to video, showing Ray the scene on the bed.
“Who the fuck is that?”
“Driver’s license says Christopher Mercy. Do me a favor and dig into him, will ya? Something’s not right about this guy.”
“Sure. Fine.” Ray nods before giving me a look that says he knows I’m leaving something out. When I offer nothing further, he breaks down and asks, “What happened to the mark?”
I let him fucking escape.
Since I will not be admitting that today or any other day, I answer instead with, “What’s the reason for the hit on Rowan Rangecroft?”
Ray blinks. “You don’t usually care about particulars.”
“I rarely care because you know better than to send me after innocents.”
“And I don’t.” Ray pauses, rustling some papers out of frame.
For a handler, the man’s disorganized as fuck.
After a minute, he sighs. “Although…I remember now that the buyer gave me very little in the way of details. They stated that he was armed, dangerous, and carrying sensitive information. That’s why I asked you to retrieve his phone or any other devices. ”
You mean the phone the guy grabbed from the nightstand before he dressed and departed? Oops.
He likely wasn’t armed, though. Not sure where he’d even have kept a weapon given the way I found him. I sure as hell got a look. A good look. At all of him.
“What kind of information is he supposed to have?”
“Aside from it being sensitive, I don’t know. Again, they didn’t give details.”
I roll my eyes. “Very helpful.”
Ray squints at me. “You’re thinking the buyer lied?”
“Come on. ‘Armed and dangerous?’ Sounds like something from an old timey police bulletin.” Not to mention the shock and fear on Rowan’s face when I told him why I was really here. “He’s practically a kid, Ray. Twenty, maybe. How dangerous could he really be?”
“You already had a body count at that age.” After a few seconds of me scowling through the screen, a deep sigh lets me know he’s given up. “Fine. I’ll see what else I can find out.”
“Good. So will I.”
“You need cleanup?”
“Nah.” Taking another look at the body, I think I did a pretty sweet job, actually. “Staged it and everything. Let me know what you find out, but I have the feeling the police are going to need to know about this guy.”
“You gonna write a note?”
“Who do you take me for? That’s a rookie move.” Even if I had a pen and paper to leave one, I wouldn’t. Most suicides don’t bother.
“So is letting the mark escape.”
Ray’s level of perception is uncanny. How the hell does he always know? A frisson of nerves slices across my gut, but I give the camera the finger. “Let me know if you find any more information.”
“Milo.” There’s a warning in his voice. “Figure this out. I don’t want to have to issue a refund.”
Nobody wants that. Especially not me.
“If I get the job canceled, you won’t have to.” Refund is code for the guy he assigned couldn’t get the job done, so he had to send someone else. And a professional who’s bungled a job? They don’t live long. But canceling the job requires me killing the person who ordered the hit.
“If you get it canceled.”
“Like I already said, Ray, something feels wrong about this. And if someone ordered a hit for someone who didn’t deserve it, then I can guarantee you that someone definitely does.”
Before Ray can say anything else, I hang up and dial another number. One I haven’t called in years.
“You better not be calling for the reason I think you are.”
“Hey, Jalen. Nice to talk to you too. Long time no see. How’s life? You know, the one I saved back in New Orleans?”
“About a thousand years ago.”
It was five. “And yet…”
“What the fuck do you want, Milo?”
“Are you still in that frou-frou beach town? Belle Argo, Florida?”
He’s silent for a second. “How did you know that?”
“I keep tabs. Duh. What’s that saying? You save someone’s life, so you own it?”
“Man, I don’t fucking know. Big words for someone who roams the countryside looking for souls to steal.”
“Says the guy who pretends to enjoy working for a criminal where it’s a hundred percent humidity. And at least I’m making a good living.”
“You say living, but I think you mean the opposite.”
“Dick.” I’m trying to bat Jalen’s words away. I don’t like how they land. “Are you, of all people, really going to lecture me on my life choices?”
“Hey, Milo, why don’t you get to what you need before I track you down and put a bullet in your head to stop your yapping?”
Cutting my gaze to the man on the bed with a bullet hole in his head, I can’t help but laugh. “I’m in town and I need to find someone. Rowan Rangecroft. Heard of him?”
Another silence stretches out too long. Which tells me at least half of my answer. “Why are you looking for him?”
“Why do you think?”
“He’s one of my boss’s guys, which means he’s off limits. You come after him, I’ll have to come after you.”
Great. The last thing I need is to start some kind of turf war. “One of your boss’s guys. I thought your boss was a dealer. He’s also a pimp?”
“Drugs, loans, a few other things. He’d probably say he’s more of a Renaissance man.”
Okay, well, I’ve officially reached the limit on my small ration of giving a shit. “Look, I’m not going to hurt him.” Not yet anyway. And if I’m being honest, I hope I don’t have to. “But I do need to find him. I need to talk to him.”
My gut says he won’t blab about what happened here, but people can be unpredictable. And also? Until I get confirmation on my suspicions, he’s still my mark. Not that I’m sharing that part with Jalen.
On the other end of the call, Jalen is silent. Before he can say anything else, I add, “I could also use a safe house, if you’ve got one. Until I work out who sent me after him and why.”
“My boss is going to want to know.”
“Figured. The person who placed the order stated that Rowan was armed, dangerous, and carrying sensitive information. They lied about at least part of it.”
“We talking about the same Rowan? Red hair, grumpy, kind of shy? If anything, the kid’s on the naive side. Not sure about his history, but he seems sheltered and jaded all at the same time.”
Something uncomfortable worms its way through my belly. Something dangerously close to a sympathy I can’t afford to feel. “What kind of sensitive information would he have?”
“Aside from the same kind of sensitive information any of Brennan’s escorts would have? Fuck if I know.”
That information only makes my suspicions stronger. But if Rowan hasn’t done anything to warrant sending someone after him, what the hell am I doing here?
As I scan the room one last time for anything I might have left, I spot a necktie Rowan must have dropped in his rush to leave. I stuff it into my backpack and pull up the hood of my sweatshirt.
Chances are nobody will find this body until housekeeping shows up the next morning, but I’ve already been here too long.
“Look, I need to get out of here. Can you help me or not?”
Jalen’s sigh fills my ear with static. “I’ll text you a location.”
“And Rowan?”
“I don’t know exactly where he’s staying. I’ll have to ask around.”
“Thanks.”
A last-minute attack of conscience has me pulling out my money clip and dropping the contents on the dresser by the television. An apology to whichever poor sucker is going to be traumatized when they come in here to clean.
“Oh, and, Milo?”
I stop in the middle of turning the doorknob with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “What?”
“Don’t fucking make me regret helping you.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Then I slip out, keeping my head down to avoid any cameras.