BRODIE
AFTER MY CONVERSATION WITHKINGISTARTED WATCHINGEMERYBISHOP.Within a day or two, I knew that she liked a little coffee with her cream, had lived for a good time in high school, and was fiercely loyal to her friend Shiloh.
Despite the wild child persona I’d been expecting, I instead caught glimpses of a quiet, vulnerable woman who hid her wounds. Hurt trembled in the set of her mouth when no one was watching; shadows haunted the depths of her eyes. But when her friends were looking, she smiled and laughed and pretended to eat.
She intrigued me, and it pissed me off. She was a hit, damnit. I didn’t need to be intrigued or attracted or distracted from my purpose.
From my vantage point behind a stand of oaks, I trained the binoculars on where Shiloh and Emery Bishop were parked in front of the manor-style country home. They sat in the truck for several minutes, until finally Emery climbed out with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, Shiloh following. On the porch steps, an older woman engulfed her in a hug, then led her and Shiloh into the house. I lowered the binoculars.
This was Emery’s childhood home. From all appearances, she was visiting. But why so reluctant? And why was she staying with Shiloh and Gunner rather than her own family? I wasn’t certain who the woman was that had hugged her, but they seemed close.
I leaned against the tree next to me and waited, lifting the binoculars periodically and focusing on the various windows. There was a flicker of movement behind the sheers covering one of the first floor windows, but I couldn’t discern any details.
I didn’t have to wait long. Barely twenty minutes after they had entered, Shiloh and Emery emerged and climbed back in the truck. Returning to my Indian FTR, I climbed on and revved the engine into wakefulness. I’d parked on a gravel access road that edged their property, and it took several minutes to make my way to the main road. I’d be behind them a fair distance, but this was a sleepy town. It shouldn’t be difficult to figure out where they’d gone.
Although I’d never tell Donegal, I was still firmly on the fence regarding this hit. I’d watched her all day, sitting by herself in Gunner’s pool house until he scared her shitless by touching her ponytail, then eating in the diner with her friend, and now visiting her family. I couldn’t for the life of me figure why anyone wanted her dead. She was jumpy, so maybe the reason behind that would provide a clue, but so far, I hadn’t been able to come up with any intel on that. From everything I’d seen thus far, she was a private individual, with a Facebook account she posted to rarely and an Instagram that hadn’t been updated in over two months. Prior to December, her feed had been well-populated. Photos of her eating donuts, dressed in fatigues and winking, or peeking from behind a book cover were a continual stream. The comments I’d read had appeared to come from army buddies and Shiloh. And then they’d stopped.
Since she’d just arrived in town after an active duty stint in the army, I suspected the hit had something to do with that part of her life. The military was notoriously close-lipped, though, and there was nothing in the news or on public record. Donegal had his contacts, but I knew he wouldn’t be making them available to me.
It wasn’t sitting right with me, and that was not a good thing. Loyalty to Donegal, to the clan, was our most critical vow. It wasn’t something we dispensed with…ever. Contract hits were a part of the life, part of how the clan made its money, and we didn’t get to pick and choose the targets.
I knew all of this. I knew if I failed to follow orders, I might as well start running and never stop. Men had been killed for less. I knew this, because I had killed them.
I didn’t know this girl. Had barely exchanged a single word with her in the donut shop. I wasn’t convinced her life was worth that. Worth mine—because that’s what failing to kill her meant.
And yet perversely, I couldn’t convince myself she needed to die. Not yet, anyway.There was something about her that spoke to me. Something in her guarded demeanor, her wary eyes. She had caught my attention in the donut shop with the spark of instant attraction that had arced between us. She had held it when she extinguished it as swiftly as it had ignited.
In the distance, I saw Shiloh’s truck. We had entered the town limits a few miles back and the street we were on was lined with businesses. I watched as the truck made a left-hand turn into a grocery store parking lot and followed, hanging back and parking in a busy section of the lot several rows over. As the women climbed out and strolled toward the store, faces and body language animated as they chatted with one another, I removed my helmet.
They paused as they walked through the sliding glass doors, Emery slowing and glancing over her shoulder. She was dressed today in a pair of jeans that were molded to her and a thin quilted coat. She was slim and muscular, with a rounded, phenomenal ass that I could already feel in my hands. Even from the parking lot, I could see the crease in her forehead and the way her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. Shiloh said something to her, and she shook her head, continuing into the store.
I lit one of my clove cigarettes, a habit I indulged infrequently, and took a drag. Emery was nervous, which told me she had an instinctual recognition of the presence of a predator. She knew, on a base, lizard-level, when someone was watching her. There was a crawly sensation a person could feel when another’s eyes were on them, a weightiness. Most people ignored it, but Emery didn’t. It was strange, given my task, but I felt better knowing this. Her appearance, with that wavy fall of platinum hair and her slim build, was feminine, almost fragile. That she was instinctively aware of the danger stalking her made her seem stronger.
In the pocket of my jacket, my phone vibrated. I pulled it free to see a message from Donegal.
King:status
I stared at the screen for a minute, then ground my cigarette out beside my bike.What the fuck? It had barely been two days. This checking up, checking in…it was unlike Donegal. Scratching my head, I considered for a second before tapping out a simple truth.
Me:in process
There was a lengthy pause, then my phone rang. I answered to King’s impatient bark. “What the hell is in process? Is it done?”
“Not yet, sir. More data is required to establish the best means.”
“Explain.”
“You asked for an accident. I am patterning.” I didn’t go into further detail, as cellular connections were always a hazard in our work, but King would know what I referred to. It was necessary to identify a pattern of behavior in order to determine the best course of action. Maybe a mark always had coffee at the same place each morning or stopped at the same gas station on the way home. It was much easier to plan an accident around a person’s everyday behaviors. “Mind if I ask what’s the rush? It hasn’t been a full forty-eight hours yet.”
“Brodie.” King’s voice softened, and suddenly he was my uncle and not just my chief. “Boy, I know this isn’t quite your kind of job.”
“That’s not it, King. I know my place.”
“No. I shouldn’t have asked it of you. I’ll sent another to take care of it.”
What the fuck? Was I that obvious? “What? No, Uncle—”
“That’s enough. It’s already done. Carson’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
