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“What do I do?” The woman beside him asked.

In his mind, she was Jordyn. However, she’d grown up as Jenna. He’d have to get used to the new identity.

Officer Green stood and opened the conference room door. “You go home. Lock your doors. When you leave work, be careful. Don’t park on the edges of the parking lot. Use common sense precautions. At least until we have evidence that this isn’t a random attack.”

Brody followed Jenna from the conference room and outside. She shivered in the cold night air. It had to be going on seven in the evening. “Look, let me take you out to dinner. I’ll explain why I’m here. Then you can decide what to do.”

He thought she’d refuse. After a few moments’ consideration, she nodded. “Fine. You saved my life, so I’ll talk with you. We’ll eat dinner and you’ll explain why someone sent you to find me. Then I can go back to my life.”

He had to grin. She was spunky.

Just as quickly as it came, his amusement fled. Surely, no one else had figured out her identity? She’d been very well hidden. He shook off the thought. The chances of the two things being connected were slim. He didn’t want to muddy the waters with the idea. Instead, he grabbed his key fob and unlocked his car. “I’ll follow you. I don’t care where we go. I’ll eat anything.”

She nodded and briskly strode towards their vehicles. Thankfully, they were parked side by side. He could protect her without her feeling like he was being overbearing.

Brody practiced how to break the news of her true identity the entire way to the restaurant. She selected a familiar sub sandwich chain. They went in and ordered their sandwiches and drinks, then found a table in the back of the room.

They ate for a few minutes before she finally speared him with a level stare. “Now tell me. Who sent you to find me?”

Brody wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He set it aside and met her gaze. “Your grandmother hired me.”

It was too bad the girl got away. He wouldn’t get paid if he couldn’t provide proof of her death.

He wasn’t giving up. Fifty-thousand dollars for a single hit was a decent price. But now there was a complication.

His phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID. Right on time.

“Yeah.” He steadied his binoculars in his left hand and kept them trained on the woman and her companion. Something he said had shocked her. She’d sat back in her chair, her food forgotten in front of her, mouth falling open.

No doubt he’d told her the truth of who she was. Seemed she had a protector.

It wouldn’t make a difference. One way or another he’d collect the money.

“Is it done?” the robotic voice asked.

After fifteen years as a hitman, he no longer questioned who hired him. Names, ages, social standing, motives—none of them mattered. As long as he received the agreed upon deposit in his account, that was all he cared about.

“Not yet. There was a complication. I was interrupted by an armed male. Possibly a cop. Former military. They’ve stuck together like glue since.”

A sound of frustration reached him.

“I didn’t pay you to make mistakes.” Funny how menacing a robotic voice could sound. Why did his boss take such care to disguise his voice? Probably someone really well-known with a lot to lose.

Maybe there was a way to increase his payment.

“You haven’t paid me yet. But you failed to mention she’d be guarded.” Truthfully, the man hadn’t shown himself until he’d made his move. So maybe someone else was watching her, too.

“I didn’t know.”

“This will cost you an extra twenty-five grand. I’ll have to make two hits, instead of one,” he kept his tone bland. No sense in letting the man sense his growing excitement.

“You’re getting greedy,” the voice warned.

“And you’re being stingy. I’ll have to do away with the guard. I don’t make hits for free.” Hardening his voice, he let that thought sit between them.

“I can hire another.”