Hello, Ella Gibson.
Target number two.
Asher and I share an intrigued look, because Ella isn’t our usual job. Traffickers, murderers, rivals, people in our shadowed side of the world—that’s who we kill. Not cute five-foot-four brunettes in sundresses.
What could she have possibly done to have a bounty of fifty grand on her head?
Not that we can cash in right now. Not with a detective on her tail. Asher eyes my hand, where he knows my knife will be, but I subtly shake my head. He reads the gesture and beams a handsome smile at Ella.
She blushes. “If you want, I can look at that for you; I’m first aid trained.”
Asher’s eyes light up. “That would be great, thanks.”
Ella goes to the kitchen sink to wash her hands, and Asher eyes my knife. The tilt of his head relays a question that years of friendship means he doesn’t have to voice.
Why aren’t we killing her now?
Another shake of my head.I’ll explain later.
“Okay.” Ella finds a first aid kit under the sink and returns to sit on the couch where Barnaby died about two hours earlier. Asher sits beside her, and I stay at the open door, arms crossed, my temper fraying. The longer she’s here, the more chance the cop will show up.
“So, how do you know Barnaby?” she asks as she rests Asher’s injured arm on her lap.
“Old friends.” Asher’s gaze moves over her face as she concentrates. His expression is no longer the calculating side of him I know so well. He’s softening. I can see the fucking problem before it even happens. “How do you know him?”
“I live upstairs.” Ella is focused on his arm as she answers. “And I’ve threatened him once or twice.”
Asher smiles. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep, he’s a creep.” Her flush deepens. “No offense.”
“None taken. We’re friends out of obligation more than anything,” Asher says.
I sigh. “Can you hurry up?”
“Can you shut up?” Ella suggests. Asher doesn’t even hide his satisfied grin. “Is he asleep?”
Asher tilts his head. “Who?”
“Barnaby.”
“I told you, he’s out,” I snap. “I said it when you barged through the door like a fucking wrecking ball.”
Ella pauses for a moment and tears open a packet of gauze. “Out.”
“Yes,” I say. Is this woman deliberately obtuse? “Out.”
I notice the change in her demeanor, and so does Asher. She isn’t expressionless as she works on Asher’s arm; now, she’s … confused.
“Barnaby doesn’t go out.” She looks between us. “Ever.”
“It was an exceptional circumstance,” Asher answers without missing a beat. “His mom is sick, so he asked us to look after the place while he’s visiting her. The first thing we did was clean. It was a mess.”
God, this man can lie. I was just gonna try and kill her again, detective be damned.
“Ugh, I don’t blame you.” Ella rolls her eyes, the explanation seemingly satisfying her. “He keeps all these boxes and then does like ten trips to the trash, and then there’s no space for any of our recycling. He’s an ass. Again, no offense. So, you’re both staying here?”
“Just me,” Asher says. “Gable tags along because he’s lonely.”
