“Yep.”
Darius began checking his equipment. “Great. We knew he was an amateur.”
“Seriously, he looks so sketchy. Maybe this isn’t our guy.” James handed Darius an earpiece. “Or maybe he’s trying to lull us into a false sense of security.”
Darius set the earpiece aside. He didn’t need it until James left the room. Darius hated that part of the plan, but it madesense to put someone on the ground in case the target took an exit Darius couldn’t cover.
“He knew enough to hire me,” Darius said. “He’s clearly never hired an assassin before, and he’s probably never arranged a drop before. But he’s familiar with the business. My guess is he just worked a different angle. Intelligence or tech? Finance? Client management?”
Darius mostly worked solo, but his mentor’s operation was larger. Less picky.
“So where are his partners?” James asked. “Why is he working alone this time?”
“We’ll find out when we follow him home.” Darius surveyed the warehouse yard. It was past 5 p.m. now, a bad time for optics. The late October sun wouldn’t set for another hour, but the shadows would keep changing. “Where’s our guy?”
“Still fucking around out front.”
Darius left the window to peer at James’s screens. The man with the green hat leaned against the side of the bus stop.
James handed over a tablet. “Here, you can bring that to your window. Swipe to switch between the street and the interior.”
“Have you gotten a clear photo yet?” Darius couldn’t quite make out the guy’s face.
“Not yet.” James shrugged a backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll send it to Kit as soon as I have it. Oh—there we go. Got the pic, and our boy’s on the move.”
“Follow the plan,” Darius ordered. “We’re not killing him.”
James’s cheerful wave was not reassuring. “Not unless we have to.”
Kit’s phone buzzed at the same time as Bishop’s. A photo message from James. Kit scrambled to unlock his phone as Bishop paused the shark movie they were watching.
“I told him to send it to me,” Bishop grumbled from the other end of the couch.
“And I told him to send it to me,” Kit countered, equal parts smug and nervous. A photo from James could only mean one thing.
Well, it could be a dick pic. Probably not since it was sent to Bishop too, though. It was at least twice as likely to be a photo of the mysterious client who wanted Kit’s life.
Bishop had wanted the photo sent to his phone because he wanted to limit Kit’s connection to any crime. That was sweet, but kind of like locking the barn door after the horses had escaped, stampeded across county lines, and galloped onto a ship to sail across the ocean.
Kit curled up in the corner of the couch as he opened the message—and froze.
Why him?
Below the ragged green baseball cap was a face Kit had only seen a handful of times. Smith. The man Kit got his fake ID from. The man who helped him create the role of Kit Byron.
Kit didn’t know Smith’s real name. He just went by Smith. Whether it was a transparently obvious fake name or a reference to his technological crafting skills, Kit had no idea. He just knew Smith as Dad’s computer guy. The obvious choice—the only choice—when Kit wanted to start over.
But Smith had no reason to want Kit dead. Unless he was working for someone else now? But Smith’s own life would be forfeit if the wrong people learned he helped Kit hide.
“Do you recognize him?” Bishop asked.
Kit jerked out of his daze. Fuck. Bishop had that infuriating, knowing look. Kit had been quiet for too long to pretend he knew nothing.
“I’ve seen him before, but I don’t know his name.” Kit typed that into the group text with James too. “I think it was at a party last year. Maybe. I’m trying to remember more.”
Had someone noticed Kit was missing? Was Smith having second thoughts about helping Kit?
The two of them plus Ed Addersen were the only ones who knew Kit’s current identity. Now that Ed was dead, it was just Smith and Kit. If Kit died, nobody would be able to rat Smith out.
