Winter didn’t answer for a moment. He stared at the rhythm of light and shadow moving through the car.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to kill anyone,” he finally muttered.
A hint of amusement touched her lips. She sat back. “No murders required, I promise. Now, Morrison will undoubtedly require that you use his own technicians to set up the stage for you. You will be restricted from bringing most of your own backup dancers and crew. But we can install one of our own agents with you to masquerade as your bodyguard. I already have the perfect person in mind.”
“That so?”
“We call her the Jackal.”
Winter lifted an eyebrow. “She sounds nice.”
“She’s not,” Sauda replied, just as dryly. “But she’s very good at her job.”
A Panacea agent for a bodyguard. A limited number of his own people with him. This had to be a dream. He would jolt awake in his hotel bed, drenched in sweat, the images of this woman and this car already fading from his mind. It was all madness—why did he need to do any of this? He had a wildly successful life on paper. He could simply go back to it without agreeing to these agents’ demands. Could just force himself to forget what this stranger just told him about Artie. Nothing would bring him back, anyway.
“You don’t have to agree to the mission right now,” Sauda said quietly, studying his expression. “You just need to be interested in hearing more.”
Just interested in hearing more.
Winter felt himself dangling over a precipice with a blindfold on, struggling to see beyond it. He felt that eternal restlessness in him awakening, insatiable and ravenous.
A thankless good deed.
“I want my mother protected,” Winter finally said.
“Done.”
“And if any of my staff and crew are coming with me, they better be guarded.”
“They will be.”
“And I want a nice car.”
“We can start you off with a Mazda.”
Well, it was worth a try. Winter stared at her calm, collected face. How did these people do this job? How could you stay in the shadows of the world, day in and day out, doing things that others would never see?
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Winter said.
“It’s possible.”
Winter sighed. “How do I hear more?”
“Sign a contract, of course,” Sauda replied. “Obviously this entire conversation is strictly confidential. You will be bound to that until such time as we feel otherwise.”
Winter pursed his lips. “Contracts. Finally, something I understand.”
“Then you’ll do great with us.” She smiled. “Welcome to the Panacea Group, Mr. Young.”
3
The Jackal
Sydney Cossette got the call shortly after she stepped away from the bus stop across from her apartment complex, backpack bouncing, her messy blond bob blowing haphazardly in the breeze. The street was wet with drizzle and clogged with parked cars, and she made her way through them, squeezing between a van and a black sedan to reach the curb on the other side. Her lungs still hurt from her kickboxing session. She’d pushed them a little harder than she should have.
The news ticker along the top of the bus stop was running frantically. All week, it had been broadcasting the same headlines as the billboard screens near her home.
WINTER YOUNG TANTALIZES AGAIN ON STAGE
