Kicking my feet down, I lean forward, allowing myself a brief beat to sort through what it means that my father is the primary handler. He told me the Kazakhstan and La Lune Noire missions were connected, and numerous events back that up, but the nature of the connection is still unclear. I need more.
“Is Claudia still the asset on that job? You talk to her sometimes, don’t you?”
“Not lately, but … yes, she’s the asset.” He sounds hesitant, which pisses me off.
“Verify.” I jump up, smoothing out my sleek black attire and hugging the shadows as I pace the balcony, eyes still on my target as the scents of garlic and cayenne waft from a nearby restaurant.
“Tell me what is going on,” he volleys.
Realizing I’m not going to get anywhere with my justified wrath, I adopt my most guileless tone. “I will. I promise. It’s just something Beck said. And … a girl doesn’t get married every day. I was attached, you know?”
“You’re still talking to Beck?”
It’s unclear what it means that his response was (a) about Beck and not the marriage I abandoned and (b) that he either doesn’t know Beck was killed or is pretending he doesn’t.
“We bonded,” I say simply as I take a picture of the pair I’m surveilling with another phone.
“Well”—he stalls there, searching for a retort—“I don’t know what insight Beck would have for this mission, but … I’m sorry you got attached to the Noires. Regardless of my feelings about that family, I’m sure it was hard. But you going rogue looks really bad right now, so pull your shit together because there’s only so much I can do.”
“I’m sure it does look bad.” My heart pounds in my temples and against my rib cage, due to this conversation, the fact that numerous contracts are undoubtedly out on my life, and the hit I’ll carry out in a few minutes. “I have a plan to fix it though. I figured some things out, and I know what needs to be done. But it’s vital that I have that contact in Kazakhstan.”
“Okay.” A heavy breath breezes through the phone, harmonizing with his keyboard pecks and the melody of the city. “Yes. Claudia is in the field. She reported out this morning.”
“All right. I know how to get in touch with her. Thanks.”
“Of course.” He hedges with a hint of concern or remorse that I can’t fully accept right now. “I’m always here, Zar. Keep me posted.”
“I’ll be in touch, but keep this between us until I am. Give me a chance before you squeal to Dad, Tripp.” I end the call, and though my stomach roils because of all the plausible explanations for why various events happened, I choke down the bile and move forward with what I came to do.
After removing the SIM card, I smash it and the phone with the heel of my boot and break them into several pieces. As I rush down the back stairwell and out into the crowded streets, I distribute the various parts in several trash cans.
Twilight hour has passed. The city is cloaked in darkness, apart from the twinkling lights of the streetlamps and seasonal decor. Wet roads make for a noisier trek, so I stick to the sidewalk and wait around the corner. It’s mustier down here with the fragrances of damp earth and cinnamon trees blending with chicory coffee.
My hair is caramel today, but I pull up the hood of my cardigan anyway as an extra precaution. Since Axel announced me as his wife, I decide to own the Big Easy like a Noire would. No whistling this time. Just pure, unadulterated comeuppance. As my mark parts ways with her confidant—a man whose identity leaves me too uncertain to kill—I skulk behind her, prepared for her to reel on me.
A hit in the city requires extra measures. The first is to drop a self-made explosive device into a dumpster that we pass. It has a digital timer on it and will detonate in thirty seconds, causing a disruption for distraction purposes. No one will be harmed.
The second is my weapon of choice—a suppressed .22 caliber pistol with subsonic ammunition. It’s small, light, quiet, and easily concealable. It’s best used for close-up shots. I have more robust weapons on me, but I won’t need them.
When she hustles down a side street, I snake by a couple to keep pace. She senses me and whirls around, as I predicted. But she’s in four-inch heels and a pencil skirt because sex appeal is her primary weapon.
I’m on her faster than she can blink, kicking her gun out of her hand and sending it flying into a puddle. She’s a fighter, so if it wasn’t for the throngs of people roaming downtown, I’d let her go down swinging. I might despise her, but the truth of this life is that it’s hard to know which side to choose in the dark. I’m sure she has her reasons for who she aligned herself with.
But as it is, people are already gawking. Some bolt in other directions. And others whip out their phones.
I let her draw closer while she reaches for another weapon because her proximity provides a little more coverage and I want her to recognize me. This kill feels more personal than any other has. I’m not sure I’d classify it as vengeance, but it is retribution.
The dumpster explosion resounds, sending people into panic and chaos and clearing the onlookers from our area. Perfect timing.
As soon as her eyes latch to mine, I smile.
“You bitch,” she sneers, realizing who I am. “Did you think I wouldn’t avenge him?”
“You can’t fuck your way out of this one, Claudia.” I lodge a bullet in her forehead, catch her in my arms, and dig through her bag for her phone.
She has two. I grab both, along with her wallet so she’s unidentifiable, and I scurry through the umbra to the chorus of shrieks and screams before her words sink in.
Avenge him.Shep? She knew he was dead when no one else did. Further confirmation.
