Brady should have been prepared. He’d thought he was. But he’d never really said the word, not to himself.
“Killer for hire,” he breathed, seeing it all so clearly.
Eric sagged against him, like the hiding had taken all his energy and now he was sapped. “I prefer assassin,” he said, his swank accent coming back on like a tattered disguise.
“No rock this time?”
Eric grunted. “A gun.”
He proceeded to regale Brady with his first kill, from dumb mistake to dumb mistake to once again catching a scumbag with his pants down. When he was done, Brady felt the beginnings of a smile tugging on his lips.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” he said, shaking his head.
“God, am Iever.” And that was pure Charlie, Southie and all. “But I knew it then. I took the money and learned some more about guns—about the whole idea, really. If I was gonna be a Martin Q. Blank—”
“Who?” Brady asked.
“John Cusack inGrosse Pointe Blank,” Eric said. “It was either him or Jason Bourne. But if I was going to be an assassin, I was going to be agoodone, one who wouldn’t get caught. One who only killed people who needed killing. I didresearch, you know? The people I killed had to be bad—and a lot of them were abusive men, and I honestly have no regrets about them. I wish I did.” Eric sighed and stiffened in Brady’s arms. “But even if it means you walk out right now, go back to the bedroom to sleep alone, leave me here, I can’t lie to you.”
Brady could sense the effort it took for Eric to straighten and look at him.
“I killed bad people,” he said soberly, those arctic eyes bruised and vulnerable in the moonlight. “But I did kill them.And some of them I killed for money—a lot of it. And I grew up poor, and I won’t lie, I’ve enjoyed theshitout of that. But some of them I killed for free. Because they were hurting people—women, children—I killed one fucker who liked raping college-aged boys. They were terrified to tell their parents, their girlfriends,anybody. I-I did that one forfree. But you understand?Thatthing Ace did? The one that it took you so long to wrap your head around? That act defines myentire life. So I get it. I get it if you want to sleep alone tonight. If you want to forget you and me ever happened. But… please let me know. Don’t… don’t pull in like a snail in its shell, okay?”
Oh God. If he’d said that in his cold, aloof, “Eric Christiansen” voice, maybe—maybe—Brady could have done it. Maybe he could have packed up the remains of his morals, his soul, his pride, and shoved them in his pocket and pulled back into the rear of the camper, then marched out the next day to risk his life—hell, to risk the life of the only friends he had—on a perhaps fruitless quest to make the world a little safer, a little less corrupt, for the innocent and vulnerable.
But Eric’s—no, Charlie’s—voice was pure lower-class Boston. Southie, Brady supposed. And gruff.
Real.
A killer. Yes. Brady wasn’t going to argue—Charlie Grackle was a killer.
But Brady wasn’t a saint. People did the best they could, and Brady had never felt as safe as he did right now, staring into a killer’s eyes.
“I’m still here, Charlie,” he whispered, holding his hand to Eric’s cheek. “Not going anywhere.”
Eric nodded and swallowed. “Good,” he said. His mouth quirked up, just a little. “Because we’re miles into the desert, and I seriously need GPS to find the freeway again.”
Brady smiled back. “Who says I have no sense of self-preservation?”
Eric sobered. “I do,” he said. “But I’m going to try to keep you safe.”
“Same,” Brady promised. He leaned forward and rubbed their temples together. “Can we open the back windows? Open the curtains?”
“Yeah, why?” Eric pulled back.
“’Cause I’m freezing my ass off, and you’ve got areallygood comforter.” He took a breath. “And I want to hold you tonight.”
“Same,” Eric said softly. “And don’t worry—the alarm systems are still intact. Now that we’re stopped, I can set an alarm.”
Brady had to ask. “So, uhm, is this thing like an aluminum can just waiting to be filled with holes or—”
Eric snorted softly. When he spoke next, his Southie accent was merely a memory, and the smooth affluent traveler was in its place. “I’ve been a paid killer for twenty years, darling. If you think I haven’t reinforced the siding in the back, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Brady thought he might sleep a little better tonight. “Alarm systems, reinforced walls—you spoil me.”
Eric patted his cheek. “All part of the Winnebago experience, my good sir. I aim to please.”
BRADY LAYcurled under the comforter as Eric knocked on the Kevlar-enforced panels in the RV. Then he opened the curtains and the windows, and while the air was brisk, the space under the blankets stayed toasty. Before Eric crawled in, the lights alerted them to something, and as Eric held up a pair of night vision goggles, he laughed softly.
