Anya doesn’t reply, she’s too busy watching me. “You know him?”
“Who?”
“The target.” She takes a sip, but I can feel her eyes on me, watching.
“I’ve been told I’m not allowed to refer to him as that.”
“Stop deflecting.”
I turn around again and look at myself in the mirror, then jump down and step into the stilettos that are placed on the floor in front of Anya. The four-inch heel makes the pooling, red material more manageable.
“Can you run in those?” She raises her eyebrow, and I smirk.
Anya stands up and pulls my hair off my face, holding it in a messy bun again.
“Hair up, in a chignon, but with volume, some tendrils coming out here. And silver earrings, dangly, no necklace. And you know him? Why would Andrews break the one rule we have?”
Did I not mention that? As well as stolen mottos, us assassins also have a fucked-up code.
Our first rule is never taking on an assignment with a known subject. But this isn’t the usual MO, is it?
“I’m not killing this one, it’s different.”
“So, you do know him. How?”
“We grew up together. This is the easiest way to give him protection without him looking like he’s upped his security.”
Anya steps back and looks at me, nodding, her expression serious. “There’s a past between you two?”
“There’s a something between us, but no not like that. Just shared shitty experiences. Like us in Belfast.”
She snorts and squeezes my hand. “That was fun, though.”
“Fun? You blew up a perfectly good Porsche.”
“You really need to let that go. It’s been three years.” She grins at me, and I laugh.
“Honestly though, this will be fine. What happened, happened years ago. I bet he doesn’t even remember me.” I shrug, brushing it off. “Keep him safe for three months, and off I go with my cut. Andrews said this is it; I can retire after this. I can say goodbye to this life like I’ve been wanting to.”
“Yeah, yeah. We all say that. Didn’t you quit before? Plus, Andrews won’t be able to let go of hislittle one.”
I tie my hair back up and grab a clutch from another stall, holding it up against the dress, then switch it with another one.
“He will. He’s expecting this. It will all work out. These things always do.”
“Be careful Kara. You’re good, but if you’re emotionally invested in this—”
“Jesus. I’m not! Why does everyone keep saying that? Andrews gave me this sodding assignment, and I’m more than capable. It makes sense for it to be me, the cover story will be natural.” I’ve no idea how that will work, but I lie through my unease. “And you know me. I can sell a pen to a stationery shop if needed.”
“Okay.” She holds up her hands, placating. “You know best. Now, let’s get that dress and go get your eyebrows done. Then sushi.”
“Hmmm, yummy.” I walk past her and close the curtains to the changing room.
Three months, then I’m free. I’m a highly trained assassin. How hard can being a bodyguard be?
3
Owen King - Age 7
