Chapter 6
Eleven o’clock.
The team would be finished by now. Maybe even home. Meaning Solace would be at hers right now. Was she thinking about him the way he was thinking about her?
He squeezed his cellphone, then let it go.
Calling her wasn’t an option. Not anymore.
Not after the news he was still trying to process.
Duncan had lain in his bed atop the comforter staring at his bedroom ceiling for a good hour, going over in his mind the meeting with Henderson Knight—or Enders as he’d come to be known. To say what Enders had thrown at him was unexpected, was beyond an understatement.
“This is an interesting place,” Duncan had muttered, giving the…
Diner? Restaurant? Dive?
Whatever it had been, he’d given it a good long look. Stained, faded wallpaper. Vintage, discolored tiles and rickety ceiling fans over their heads. Mismatched tables and chairs. Sticky floors that had seen better days.
Some people might have considered it to be quaint and eclectic.
Duncan hadn’t been one of those people.
After taking all of that into account, he’d had to assume the small establishment must have been grandfathered in when it had come to building codes. More disturbing than that, he’d decided there was a good possibility they were all being poisoned by asbestos.
“Yeah, you don’t have to say it,” Enders had grumbled, something that had drawn Duncan’s gaze back to his dinner companion grabbing up his coffee.
“Lulu’s ain’t much to look at. But the food’s good.
Coffee’s better.” He’d taken a long drink from his big white coffee mug with a large L on it, leading to his hard features taking on a relaxed, blissful appearance.
It had been a strange look for an assassin.
“So,” the other man had said, setting his mug down, “did I drag you away from something?” A look of speculation had filled his gaze as Duncan had taken a sip of what was rather excellent coffee. “Or someone?”
Duncan had raised a brow and leveled his gaze on him over the rim of his own oversized coffee cup, then taken another long drink of the dark brew before setting his mug down.
“No,” he’d said. “No thing. No one.” He hadn’t felt the need to add in the unfortunately following that statement.
“Yeah, right.” The other man had snickered and picked his mug back up, still grinning as he’d taken a long swallow.
“Here we go,” a three-pack-a-day feminine voice had said from behind him, while Enders’ eyes had taken on a gleam of anticipation as his gaze had gone over Duncan’s shoulder.
The tiny, almost frail, older woman of indeterminate age who had taken their orders had appeared beside him with a round, food-laden tray.
How she’d managed to keep it balanced in one hand while doling out their plates with the other, had been short of miraculous.
Well, Duncan’s had been a plate. Enders’ could have been considered more of a Thanksgiving platter. Obviously, the lumberjack breakfast the other man had ordered for his dinner had been aptly named, and what had filled the plate would come close to feeding three of those outdoorsmen.
Or just one giant man who somehow managed to be one of the stealthiest human beings on the planet.
“Thank you, Millie,” Enders had said, licking his lips while pulling his plate toward him, before grabbing the bowl of grits and hauling it closer too. He’d smiled up at the woman. “Tell Gerald I appreciate the extra bacon.”
Extra?
He’d eyed what had amounted to a slab of meat nearly hanging off the plate, then the side dish full of more that Millie grabbed from the tray.
“Sure thing, sweetie,” the woman had said, setting the extra plate in front of Enders, before patting his cheek and giving it a little tweak.
It had been an amazing thing to behold.
If Millie had only known the man she had obviously doted on had taken out more targets than the number of patrons filling Lulu’s, she might not have been so comfortable with him.
“Dig in, big guy,” she’d rasped out. “I’ll be back with more coffee.” And then she’d whisked herself away, weaving her way between the tables, while holding her tray high over her head.
“Come here often?” Duncan had said, his eyes widening when he’d taken in how much had already disappeared from Enders’ plate. He’d had to wonder how. Duncan’s attention had only been pulled away for a few seconds, but the other man had already made a good-sized dent in the pile of food.
“Yeah,” he’d said, before shoving a whole piece of bacon in his mouth, then quickly chewing and swallowing it down. “When I can.” He’d grimaced at Duncan’s plate. “Eat it while it’s hot, man.”
At the time, Duncan had figured whatever the purpose of the meeting, it obviously wasn’t going to be addressed until they’d eaten.
So, he’d figured he might as well follow suit.
Duncan had taken a few hesitant bites of his steak, before realizing it was, in fact, delicious, making it easier to mirror Enders and dig in.
Silence had reigned at their table, while food had been eaten—or in Ender’s case, devoured—and coffee refilled. It had been a satisfying meal.
“Now,” Enders had said, finally pushing his empty plate away. “I guess you wondered why I need to talk to you.”
“The question had crossed my mind,” Duncan had said, pushing away his own not-quite empty plate.
“I figured you’d eventually get to it.” He’d watched the man closely, trying to gain any insight into what had been going on behind those gray eyes.
“Can I assume it’s not to take me up on my job offer? ”
The offer Duncan had made the night of the Spivey incident hadn’t been made lightly. If Enders wanted a job, he’d bring him on board.
Enders’ once relaxed features had hardened, turning him into the man many whispered about, and all feared. None of those fears were unfounded. His reputation hadn’t been inflated as a means to instill terror in his enemies.
The terror was real. Because Enders Knight was one deadly son-of-a-bitch.
“No, I’ve had another offer.” Duncan had blocked the voices and clatter all around and braced himself. “I was offered an assignment.”
Duncan hadn’t needed to have it spelled out. Enders had been contacted about eliminating a target.
The food he’d just eaten had turned to lead in his belly. Enders wouldn’t have bought it to Duncan’s attention unless it’d had something to do with someone in his sphere. The team had made enemies. Some while in service, others in the private sector.
“I see,” he’d said, maintaining an outward calm, while inside a sense of apprehension had raced over him. “I have to assume I know the target.”
“You could say that,” Enders had said, his expression never changing. “In fact, you know this person very well.”
He wasn’t much of a praying man, but in that moment, he’d prayed hard the other man wasn’t going to say Haven or Solace’s names.
“It’s you.”
Relief had mixed with a touch of foreboding at Enders’ matter-of-fact statement. Relief, because if Enders had planned on ending Duncan’s life, it would have already be done. The foreboding? Who wanted him dead?
He’d attempted to run a quick list through his head, until he’d had to stop when he’d realized that list was basically endless.
“Okay…” He hadn’t been sure what else he should have said. Though one question had come to mind. “Do you make a habit of taking your targets out for their last meal just before taking them out?”
“First off, you’re buying since I’m technically unemployed.” A slight grin had lifted one corner of Enders’ mouth. “And having a man pay for his last meal and his assassin’s would be a pretty dick move, don’t-cha think?”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Millie had chosen that moment to bustle up to their table to gather their empty plates, halting their conversation.
“Thanks, Millie,” Duncan had said, glad that it seemed the woman hadn’t noticed the tension in the air.
“You’re welcome, doll.” After that, she’d scurried off to another table to do the same.
“Nice woman.”
“She is,” Enders had said, his eyes trailing after her, before meeting Duncan’s gaze. “So, make sure you leave a big tip.”
“Of course.” He’d leaned forward, placing his forearms on the cleared table and staring directly into Enders’ eyes.
“Now, who put out the contract?”
“No idea.” The big man had shrugged and taken a sip of coffee, then grimaced into his cup. “Eh, cold.” His narrowed gaze had met Duncan’s. “The request came through, um, a third party.”
“I won’t ask.”
“That’s appreciated.” Enders had paused and smiled up at Millie setting a fresh cup of coffee in front of him, saying, “Thanks.”
A few seconds had passed as the other man had watched Millie walk away, Duncan had supposed to make sure she hadn’t been within earshot, before he’d finished with, “What I can tell you is, they want you dead.” Duncan had held in a groan when the bastard had taken the time to drink from his cup, then set it down, saying, “Bad.”
“Generally,” Duncan had groused, “if someone wants another person dead, it wouldn’t be seen as being good.” The other man had quirked a brow. “And just out of morbid curiosity, how bad do they want me dead?”
“Two million.”
Holy fuck.
That sentiment had run through his mind as Enders’ already austere features had tensed even more. That’s when he’d realized there had to be more.
“And?”
“I was given three months to make it happen.” Enders’ unwavering gaze had held his. “And they don’t care who gets taken out with you.”
He’d known exactly what that meant.
No one would be safe.
So, not only Haven and Solace, but the whole team would have to be…
“Three months?” The unusual timeframe had finally sunk in. And it had made no sense to him. “Why such a long window?”
“Yeah,” Enders had said, grimacing and picking up his cup, before saying over the rim, “My question too.” Enders had taken another long drink.
At that point, Duncan hadn’t been able to decide if the man had done that for dramatic effect, or if he was just an ass.
Duncan’s bet had been the latter, as Enders had cast his gaze around the restaurant.
“Again, and?”
“Oh.” Enders had, unbelievably, taken the time for another drink—the word was ass—before skewering him with his intent gaze. “They want it to look like an accident. I guess they figured that took planning.”
“They hired an assassin to plan an accident.”
“Crazy, right?” Enders had chuckled out. “A bomb or bullet to the head would be a hell of a lot quicker.”
“Lucky me,” Duncan had muttered, then scrubbed his hands down his face. This had not been what he’d anticipated when he’d sat down more than an hour earlier.
“So…” He’d focused on the man once again calmly drinking coffee. “I assume you’re not taking this assignment since you’re technically unemployed, we’re sitting here discussing it, and a bomb hasn’t blown me up or a bullet put through my head.”
Enders had grinned and set his cup down, then settled back in his seat and clasped his hands behind his head.
“Who said I wasn’t taking it?”
“What the hell am I going to do?” Duncan muttered, then sat up on the edge of his bed. The time on his beside clock drew his gaze. It was going on midnight.
Was Solace already asleep?
“And if she’s not…” Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair, then dropped them into his lap before staring straight ahead at nothing. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
Nothing. That was what.
After tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter. Because tomorrow, he was going to make sure Solace wouldn’t want anything more to do with him.