“Does it matter?” John croaks out after a beat. “I mean, you’re doing what you love—those are your own words. You’re getting regular work. You’re doing agreatjob and making decent money and—”
“It matters.”
John seems to turn this over in his head. I close my eyes, sigh,rub at my temple. Maybe it would have been better if Ian hadn’t told me. Then I could continue in blissful ignorance.
John coughs. “I’m not sure what to say, Nadia. I mean, I get the contracts and you either say yes or no. There’s no negotiating. My contact in the agency comes tomewhen they think there’s a job that’s a good fit.”
“Well, can you go to them? Can you ask around? Or what if we used a different name, what if I—” I stop myself.No.I will not pretend I’m a man, tempting as it is. But maybe a gender-neutral name…I’ve heard of women doing that on applications, turning Samantha into Sam. “Do your other clients get bigger jobs, John? Yourmaleclients?”
He doesn’t say a word. Which tells me everything I need to know.
Chapter Seven
The next evening is datenight. Piper is with the girls, I’m wearing a mid-thigh slip dress, and Brian’s hand is on my knee across the BMW. But my mind whirls with the possibilities. Before I got off the phone with John last night, he agreed—Yes, Nadia, I’ll see what I can do.And now it’s all I can think about. What does a bigger job even mean? It sends my heart stuttering at a faster pace. A combination of excitement and nerves, imagining it.
I can guess.
More bodies.
Or moreimportantbodies, higher-risk kills, maybe in public, maybe in daylight. The thought makes my hands sweaty with excitement.
Or perhaps going international, a well-known figure, maybe someone who even has security. A political figure? A scummy criminal responsible for not a few deaths, but hundreds? I turn my head to look out the side window, to hide my face from Brian. The glass reflects a hint of the smile curving at my lips. My fingersdrum a silent beat on the armrest, and a warm glow tingles in my chest when I think of the challenge—whatever it is.
I have no clue what this will entail and hadn’t thought to ask Ian. Iwon’task John, won’t admit I don’t even know what I’ve asked for. Butheknew, or he must have had some idea—his other clients are doing these jobs.
It’s not like I’ve been in an office where I can witness the other assassins getting the best gigs. According to Ian, most hitmen—hitwomen—hitpeople—stay far away from one another. The risk of attracting attention is too great in groups. It’s not like we have a yearly convention somewhere warm where we swap tips for how to best kill a mark or compare the size of our guns. It’s just John and me, my career resting in his hands.
“You all right?” Brian’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“I’m great. Excited.” It’s not a lie—I know Brian will think I mean I’m excited to head to one of our favorite restaurants for date night. And I am; we always have a good time.
Twenty minutes later, we sit across from each other in a darkened bar at the edge of the River Walk, windows open to the breeze giving us snippets of conversation from outside. Brian leans in, takes a sip of his craft IPA, and shares a secretive smile with me. It almost looks suggestive. But I can guess the next words that will come from his mouth.
“I had thebestmeeting today.”
“Oh yeah?” I let our hands meet across the table and nod, inviting him to continue, ever the supportive spouse.
“So, the owner of the company—”
I listen the best I can, but my mind wanders. I can’t help it. My leg jiggles as I think about the call with John—and that my work phone is tucked in my bag, just in case.
Brian says something, and I yank my attention back to him. He’s watching me with a playful smile, one that tells me he knows I was distracted, that he doesn’t mind, that he, in fact, thinks it’s endearing.
“Sorry.” I squeeze his hand, grateful for him. For us.
“As I was saying,” Brian continues with a wink, “he thought I didn’t know what I was talking about, but when he brought up the logistics of his business, mentioned that it was a multifactorial issue—”
I sip my milk stout and nod, try to focus on the man right in front of me. The man I love, who gave me my girls. Who I do this thing called life with day in and day out, through thick and thin. This vaguely mundane chatter is one of the things that attracted me to Brian. Sometimes I remind myself of that—it’s safe. Secure. He is predictable. And in a dangerous job like mine, that’s what I need. Stability in my chaotic world.
A spasm of panic hits me. Do I evenwanta bigger job? I hadn’t considered what that might mean—more danger. Puttingmyselfin danger, and maybe my family too. Of course, I’ve been oh-so-careful about keeping my home life and work life separated. So that should keep them safe. Right? And they won’t ever know what I really do. If that’s the price for me to be me, to staysane, so that I might continue being Brian’s wife and the girls’ mother, then I can live with that.
I think I’ve got it settled until I consider that the agency might need me to go to London or Moscow. I travel now, but only for a couple days at a time, and between Brian and Piper and my brother, it works. But if I went overseas, I’d have to go for longer. Who would take care of the girls, who would make sure—?
No.This is exactly the type of thinking thatleadsto beingmommy-tracked. I won’t do that to myself. I won’t set that example for Eliza and Evie, even if they think I’m merely planning fancy weddings.
“Anyway, how was your day?” he asks.
I refocus on Brian where he sits across the table, head cocked at an angle, smiling at me, and tune out the din of voices from other patrons.
