I smack at a mosquito, squashing it against my forearm. “We have to figure out who put the hit on you.”
It takes him a second to process. “And then?”
I shrug. “We kill them.”
“Nadia—”
“Brian, think about it. It’s not like someone’s going to suddenly be convinced they don’t want you dead.”
“Well, maybe we could talk to them. Try to understand why—”
“You work for the FBI. You find people like me. That’s why.”
“Yes, but there are tons of people like me, who do what I do.”
I cock my head. “Are they as good at their job as you are?”
“Well…” He hesitates, his humble nature stopping him from saying no.
“That is why you’re being targeted. Do you know how much money they offered for your death?”
He blinks like he’d never considered the matter. “How much?”
“Half a million dollars.”
His jaw drops. I lean in, press a fingertip to his chin, help him close his mouth, then press my lips to his. “See, darling? You’re so…desirable.”
His face hardens. “I guess you’re right. We have to kill them.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
“John, answer your damn phone.”I hit end, tuck my phone away, and ignore the sidelong glance from a couple directly ahead of us in the security line.
This isn’t where I thought my day would lead. After we buried the body and went home to shower, we made coffee and pretended everything was normal. But halfway through scrubbing the top layer of skin off my body, I realized the only way to end this is to talk to John. He’s my best chance at finding the source, even if he claims he doesn’t know where the jobs come from. Someone wanted Brian dead, andthat’swho we have to go after.
Cue half a day of trying to get a hold of my (ex?) handler, only to conclude that he either a) is never going to take another phone call from me again, ever, or b) has been told by the agency to pretend I don’t exist.
Neither of which is a problem we can fix from Texas.
“Wait, where are we flying in to?” Brian squints at the boarding passes.
“Kansas City.”
“But I thought we’re going to Missouri.”
“Kansas City isinMissouri. Well, half of it.”
He looks up at me like I’m speaking a different language. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s the Midwest, a lot of things don’t make sense. Then we’ll drive to Columbia. We’ve been over this.”
“Right. Home of the Mizzou Tigers. College campus. Location of your…handler.” He says the word like it’s distasteful.
“And don’t forget—”
“I know, I know. I’m not allowed to use any of this in my day job.”
“Exactly.” I step up to the TSA officer and hand over my ID, clutching my carry-on. I hate leaving my guns behind anytime but especially now, with someone trying to kill Brian. Unfortunately, TSA tracks guns shipped on a plane—yes, you actuallycancheck an unloaded gun, and they will put it with all the other luggage—so I’ve made a habit of never boarding a flight with one. It might cause someone to look at me a little closer, and that simply won’t do.
