Chapter 10
“You look like shit.”
Duncan threw a hard glare over the top of his laptop screen at Enders sitting across from him at the dinette table with his own laptop open.
“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” Which was a lie. He’d had a full body, mirrored view of himself when he’d stepped out of the tub after showering that morning. And, yes, he looked rough.
Meaning, having his current roommate rub in the state of his appearance wasn’t necessary.
“Huh,” Enders said, leaning back in his seat and narrowing his eyes. “You know what? I just noticed something. With your new look and ratty clothes, if I squint really hard, you kinda look like that guy from Breaking Bad.”
“Squint hard on…” Duncan managed to catch himself before grabbing his crotch, choosing instead to ignore the other man.
Dammit. I’ve been spending way too much time with Wallace, Carter, and Rothe.
“I’m just sayin’,” Enders added, smirking while his phone dinged for an incoming text. “Nobody’ll guess you’re Duncan Sheppard.”
“That was the goal,” he said, scrubbing a hand from the top of his newly-smooth head down over his scruffy face, before letting it drop onto the tabletop. “Let’s just hope you’re right.” He glanced at Enders’ scowling face reading over whatever text he had gotten.
“Well,” Enders said, raising his head, his eyes taking on a gleam of excitement, “we can test that theory if you’d like.”
“How?” He waited while the big man closed his laptop and stood.
“I’ve arranged a meeting.”
“I didn’t like being kept in the dark before, and I don’t like it now.”
That hadn’t been all Haven had thrown at him when he’d shown up at her house and told her about his sabbatical. Of course, he hadn’t been able to tell her anything more. At least not anything of any substance. He grinned at how his daughter had stood up to him.
“I’m not a kid. I’m a grown woman with a baby on the way,” she’d groused, throwing her hands on her hips, bringing attention to her slight baby bump. Being his and Patsy’s daughter, she hadn’t been satisfied. “Just tell me why. That’s all I’m asking.”
“It’s not anything I can divulge right now,” he’d told her, while taking her by the shoulders and staring into her worried, hazel eyes. “But it’ll be over in three months. Maybe less.”
Her mouth had straightened into a thin, tight line. Haven Sheppard—soon to be Rothe—could smell bullshit from a mile away.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he’d said, drawing her into his arms and holding her close—his daughter and his grandchild, whose barely-there presence pressed into him. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”
Being evasive hadn’t set well with him. Neither had the fact they’d both known she’d known he was being evasive. Making it worse had been the undercurrent of truth passing between them. It was a truth neither had obviously been willing to address.
Not when, but if he came back.
That if was about to be tested.
He lifted his head and flashed his gaze around the loud, crowded, fast-food restaurant, glancing over adults taking their seats and kids—from toddlers on up—running in and out of the play area.
Of all the places…
The former CIA operative certainly chose odd locations for his covert meetings.
The man himself sat alone several booths over, directly in his line of sight, quietly eating. Duncan grimaced. If anyone took the time to notice him, he would appear to be just another customer completely focused on inhaling his food while scrolling through his phone.
But Duncan knew better.
If asked, Enders would be able to spout off how many people were in the restaurant—down to the workers in the back—their approximate ages, and if any of them were armed. He would have taken nothing to chance, no matter how random this location might seem.
And they’d been here…
Duncan checked his watch. Thirty minutes had now come and gone without the contact showing up. They’d arrived separately at different times—Duncan at one time and Enders ten minutes later. This waiting was enough to make him antsy—something completely out of character for him.
“This is absurd,” he muttered, while he pulled his phone from his jacket and pretended to dial. Then he lifted it to his ear. After a few seconds, he said, “Hello,” in a low tone, before continuing with, “and tell me again why you thought this was a good idea?”
Enders didn’t flinch, didn’t lift his head his way, or make any other kind of acknowledgement that he’d been spoken to through their shared micro-sized com links. But he did pick up his drink, mumbling around the straw, “You’re the one who agreed to come.”
“Yes, well.” Duncan’s glare at the other man was wasted, since he had on sunglasses.
At night.
I look ridiculous.
“I might not be in my right mind.”
It was as good an explanation as any.
Why else would he be sitting in a public establishment where the person facilitating his assassination would soon arrive for a meeting with the hired assassin?
“Do I need to come over there and hold your hand?” The other man’s grin was unmistakable. “You know, in case you’re nervous or something.”
Asshole.
“No,” Duncan grumbled. “And I’m not nervous.”
“Right, you…”
Duncan went on alert at the nearly imperceptible change in Enders’ posture and the deliberate way he set his drink down.
One advantage of the sunglasses was that no one could see where his eyes tracked toward the entrance and how his gaze followed the young woman sauntering toward Enders’ table.
“Mind if I take a seat?” The com clearly picked up her slight southern drawl. That was his contact? He’d expected some jaded-looking guy, not this brown-haired, wisp of a girl not much older than Haven.
Enders shrugged and waved a hand toward the other side of the booth, then picked up another burger.
“Mind if I take a fry?”
Enders shrugged again, while the woman took a couple of fries from the pile and ate them.
“So,” she said, grabbing up a napkin and wiping her fingers, then her mouth. “No success, I see.”
Enders continued to chew, but set the burger down, then lifted his drink back up to his mouth and took a long draw from the straw. The woman stared at him the whole time without saying a word—her smooth, clear, makeup-free, fair profile showing no emotion whatsoever.
“Nothing to say?” Her tone held the slightest of rebukes.
After taking another drink, Enders placed his cup in front of him, his eyes narrowing on the young woman.
“No.”
Duncan wouldn’t be surprised if the woman stomped a foot. Everything about her demeanor said her patience with the assassin might be low.
“You do know you have a time limit, right?”
“About that…” Enders leaned forward over the table. With his size, he ended up in the woman’s space. “Why?”
There was a distinct possibility it had to do with a certain upcoming special election in several months. The given timeline fit. And who was on that special election ballot?
None other than Tolbert Spivey.
But would this young woman acknowledge that? If he could see her eyes at Enders’ question, he might be able to glean something. But her body language was telling its own story, since she went visibly stiff. Enders’ question wasn’t appreciated. Her next, succinctly ground out words confirmed that.
“The why, of anything, isn’t your concern.”
“Listen, sweetheart…”
The woman’s back went completely straight at Enders’ low, growled words.
“Everything is my concern when it comes to taking a man’s life.”
Enders didn’t budge. Neither did the woman who had yet to relax her rigid shoulders.
“Mr. Knight,” the woman said, finally breaking the silent, staring standoff. “We don’t call it that. We’re completing a deal. That is all. And when you’ve provided proof you’ve held up your end of said deal, you’ll be paid a lot of money.”
“About the money.”
What is Enders up to?
“What about it?”
“Having to actually search for this dickhead is taking time I didn’t sign up for.”
“Dickhead?” Duncan whispered, well aware Enders heard him. As expected, the man didn’t react.
“We hadn’t anticipated his sudden disappearance.” The woman’s profile hardened. “But you have contacts. You have the necessary incentive to?—”
“Two million?” Enders snickered like that wasn’t a huge amount of money. “As I informed your go-between, that incentive needs to be upped.”
The woman’s chest rose and fell with a heavy breath and exhale.
“So, I believe you need to provide the downpayment I discussed with them.”
“Downpayment?” The woman slowly shook her head. “You were told by the facilitator that wouldn’t be a part of our agreement.”
“It is now.” Enders’ tone remained flat. “And the facilitator must have agreed, or you wouldn’t be here.” His profile hardened. “This isn’t my problem. So, I shouldn’t have to front money for something that’s yours.”
Another heavy silence followed those determined words. Strange how that silence was louder than the boisterous activity going on all around them. It was so intense, Duncan found himself holding his breath.
“Fine,” she said, sliding from the booth and standing. “For all your trouble, another million when it’s done.”
“No, like I said, I’ll expect that extra million now.
” Enders picked up the remaining bite left from his burger and shoved it in his mouth.
The snarky son-of-a-bitch followed that up with something that would likely finish pissing the woman off.
He smiled and lifted his drink, then loudly slurped the last of his drink through the straw.
“Ahhh…”
The woman’s hand fisted at his overly-dramatic sound of satisfaction.
“I’ll expect it in my offshore account within the hour.”
Her brows lifted, then slammed down when he gave her a smile that Duncan would want to knock off his face.
“And if I don’t get it, you can tell your boss I’m out.”
“My boss? You’re…” The woman’s lips tightened and, if Duncan wasn’t mistaken, her eyes narrowed on Enders. “Within the hour.”
“One more thing,” Enders said, stopping the woman short after one step. “About the timeline?—”
“That’s nonnegotiable.”
“Still not gonna tell me why, sweetheart?”
“No. And I’m not your sweetheart,” she grumbled. She then walked away, her lips moving the whole time. He doubted anything she muttered was complimentary.
“You certainly have a way with the ladies,” Duncan murmured around his own straw as the door closed behind the woman.
“It’s a gift,” Enders muttered, picking up his phone. “Now…” He typed on the screen for several seconds, his brows drawn, before dropping it in his jacket pocket. “Let the tracing begin.”