“Absolutely not. It’s fact-based commentary.”
* * *
“Shouldn’twe conceal ourselves in some fashion?” Tobias stood stiffly next to the couch Soren had dropped onto in an apartment in South End.
“You mean hide behind the couch or something?”
“Well, yes.”
“Not for this one. It’ll be pretty straightforward.” Soren waved the gun to indicate the dingy room. “No security system, no cameras. Hardly even any properly sized furniture. This target is small potatoes. Can you take a seat?”
Tobias smiled. “Does it make you nervous when I’m standing and you’re sitting? That’s a classic power—”
“No.” Soren cut him off with a chuckle. “I just don’t wanna shoot you if you panic and jump in line of my shot. That’s question number one, by the way.”
“Hold on just a minute. One, no, that doesn’t remotely count as one of my questions. Two, I won’t panic. Three, even if I were to panic, if you shot me that would seem to discredit any claims of you being a skilled professional.”
“Touché, Glasses. Can you sit the fuck down anyway?”
Tobias dropped down beside Soren with a smirk. “Itisthe power imbalance.”
Soren grunted in response. The doc could take what he wanted from the sound, even if he was spot fucking on. Soren didn’t like people hovering over him. But fuck, who did?
“What helps you decide the manner in which someone dies?” Tobias crossed one ankle over his knee as if settling in for a long head-shrinking session. “And no, you cannot count that as one of my questions since it is specifically task-related.”
Soren quirked a smile. “Sometimes, whoever orders the hit makes that determination. But if not, I take stock of all the information I have on my target: the location, the setup, the target himself, and gut instinct usually delivers an answer.”
“And it told you that this guy…”
“Would be an easy hit in the entryway of his own apartment with a gun, yeah.” Soren chuckled. “Sounds like a game ofClue. Did you play that as a kid?”
“Oh, I see, you get to ask me personal questions now?”
“Just curious, Doc.”
“Yes, I did. I enjoyed that game.”
“Me, too. And look where we are now.”
Tobias cocked his head. “You’re making a correlation between murderers and those who enjoyedClueas children?”
Soren shrugged. “It’s probably not the most outlandish correlation. You should start asking your patients. Write up a paper on it. That’s what academics like you do, yeah, write papers? Get awards? Thank me later.” Once again, Soren got a little thrill out of the warm sound of Tobias’s laughter and the amused sparkle in his eyes when he glanced over. It wasn’t put-on like so much else was where it concerned the doctor. “I’m right. Admit it.”
“It would be an interesting question to ask.” Tobias didn’t sound like he begrudged the admission and started to say more when noise near the front door interrupted him.
Without thinking, Soren reached aside and gave Tobias’s tense thigh an encouraging squeeze.
As soon as the door opened fully and Soren’s mark stepped inside, two bags of groceries swinging from one hand, Soren lifted his weapon and dropped him with a single bullet between the eyes before rising and ticking his head toward the door.
“You’re not going to double-tap him?”
Soren glanced at the man’s sprawled body. “He’s one hundred percent dead. Two-hundred percent would be the literal definition of overkill.”
Tobias’s expression was startled. “And we’re just going to walk right out the front door?”
“Yep, if you’ll come on.” Soren started for the door, grinning as he heard the doctor moving behind him. He skirted the dead guy and his grocery bags and opened the door wider for Tobias. “People overestimate others’ interests in happenings outside their own lives. A decade ago? Sure, I’d have to be more careful, but nowadays, most people don’t give a good goddamn what’s happening outside a five-foot radius of their iPhone.” He ticked his chin toward the quiet hallway as an example. “It’s a blessing and a curse, I suppose.”
“Noted. Impressive, too.”
