Cry Assassin Read online

  He entered the vehicle without incident, locked the doors and put his key in the ignition. “Seat belt please,” he said, glancing over at Evelyn, who'd not moved at all since she got in. She was acting like a china doll, but the moment he instructed her to do so, she reached for the seat belt and pulled it across her body, clipping it in place. She accomplished the task without looking at the belt itself, or at anything but some vague point in the distance through the windscreen. It was almost eerie, the level of detachment she was showing, and Kirk wondered if she'd been traumatized in some way, or if she was perhaps simple.

  “Listen,” he said, fastening his own seat belt before he started the car. “My name is Kirk and I've no intention of hurting you, so you can relax.” He was not usually one to give unnecessary reassurances, but then again he was not usually one to trade nubile female flesh for Russian drug debts either. He was way off profile on this one, but he'd adjust. That was what life was about, making adjustments. You got too rigid, you failed to adapt to a situation, and that's when you started losing, making silly mistakes. Evelyn didn't so much as acknowledge that he'd spoken. Her hands were folded in her lap, her porcelain expression composed once more. “How old are you?” He asked as he pulled out into the steady stream of traffic.

  “Nineteen.” The reply came quickly, but still in that calm, detached tone.

  He was surprised. He'd thought she was older. The cosmetics she liberally applied to her face certainly made her look older, and the composure with which she conducted herself seemed alien for one so young. How much had she seen in her short life that she behaved this way at nineteen? “Do you go to school?”

  Her glossy hair caught the sunlight as she shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “My father says it is a waste of time. He says my talents lie in other areas.”

  Kirk nodded grimly, his jaw set hard. So Phil thought her talents lay in other areas, did he? Other areas like being traded like a side of meat, apparently. He continued the drive in silence, taking a long and complicated route designed to shake any tails he might have failed to spot, and also to disorient Evelyn. For best results he should have blindfolded her, but it would have been difficult to do that on a busy city street without drawing attention and his enemy was attention. Being noticed was the worst thing that could happen.

  He drove out to the outskirts of the city, where it was calm and peaceful, where children played on the streets and he was more concerned with dodging carelessly thrown footballs than stray bullets. Their destination was on the corner of two streets on a section ever so slightly elevated above its neighbors. It was a plain two story dwelling, the wood walls painted pristine white; the window sashes a deep blue that matched the front door. The sloping lawn was mowed and bordered by flower beds that held a riot of colorful wild geraniums protected by a waist high fence made of white pickets. “Here we are,” he announced, pressing the garage door opener.

  Evelyn looked vaguely befuddled. No doubt she'd expected to be dragged off to some horrific subterranean lair, but that wasn't Kirk's style. There was no better protection than the protection afforded by ordinary people. Sure he could have had an inner city apartment watched by armed henchmen, but he preferred it out here, where the air was clear and where his elderly neighbors often offered him excess lettuce from their gardens, and gave him unsolicited advice about his apparently lacking love life.

  Once inside the garage, he killed the engine and waited for the garage door to close before he spoke again. “Here's the story in case anyone asks,” he said. “I'm Kirk Brentwood and I work as an accountant in the city. You're a co-worker staying with me for a week whilst your apartment in the city is fumigated for bed bugs. Got it?”

  She nodded quickly, glancing at him with a touch more nervousness than before. She was firmly in his world now, entirely at his mercy. “Good. Remember, do as you're told and no harm will come to you,” he reminded her. “This is a good neighborhood, so refrain from hysterics if at all possible.”

  A door lead from the garage into the house and he ushered his captive through it. They walked through the washing room, where a pile of laundry was waiting to be done atop the washing machine, and into the kitchen, which was light and airy and friendly. There was a certain golden tone to the light out in the suburbs that cast a wholesome glow over everything it touched. That was one of the reasons he liked living out here, out here he could sometimes pretend that he lived an ordinary life, that he had ordinary concerns.

  He almost didn't feel the whisper soft touch at his hip, but he certainly heard the sound of a gun being cocked. His gun. Evelyn backed across the kitchen, the gun trained on him, her innocent brown eyes suddenly hard.

  He smirked at her. “Impressive,” he drawled, taking a step towards the fridge.

  “Don't move!” she barked the order at him, her lips thinning with determination. He ignored her forceful request and opened the fridge. It was well stocked with cold meats and cheeses and he paused a moment before settling on a pastrami and Swiss combination.

  “I have your gun,” she reminded him, her voice rasping in the background, made husky and raw by the adrenaline surging through her tender young body.

  “You do,” he agreed, elbowing the fridge door closed and placing his choices on the counter top. The bread bin was a few inches away and he slid it open. A ciabatta loaf he'd picked up that morning before heading into the city awaited him.

  “Aren't you afraid I'll shoot you?” Evelyn lost the battle with her curiosity as he pulled a bread knife out of the knife block. The flash of light on the silver blade made her hold the gun a little stiffer, but he didn't let that worry him. This was far from the first time a gun had been trained on him. The fact that her finger was drifting around the trigger concerned him slightly, but it was obvious from the way she held the weapon that she wasn't accustomed to such things. That meant the wavering finger was more likely a result of poor trigger discipline, not any real desire to shoot him.

  “Let's think about what happens if you shoot me, shall we?” He removed the thin end of the loaf and carved two thick slices of bread as he spoke with her in entirely conversational tones. “Mrs Kransowsky next door hears it. She calls the police almost immediately. You're seen running and picked up, taken to jail and charged with either murder if you manage to hit me anywhere that matters, or assault with a deadly weapon if you miss, which is more likely.” He quirked a brow at her as he laid a slice of pastrami on one piece of bread. “You go to jail, and your daddy dies.” A slice of cheese followed the pastrami, then another layer of meat, and another of cheese all placed by capable, calm fingers.

  “Fine,” Evelyn said, the gun wavering in her hands as her muscles began to grow tired of holding the weight of the pistol out in front of her like some sort of talisman. “Then I'm leaving now. Don't try to follow me.”

  “You want to escape?” He smirked cruelly. “Be my guest. The Russians will look for you and sooner or later they'll find you.” He placed a piece of bread on top of the sandwich and glanced over at her casually. “My guess is sooner rather than later,” he drawled before bending his head to the task of cutting the crusts off the sandwich. “And when they find you Princess?” He slashed the sandwich into quick halves, using the knife with the assured motions of a man who considered it an extension of his body. “You know what they'll do to you? They'll use you until they're done with you and then they'll set you to work somewhere.” It was a crude, harsh insinuation, but Kirk knew all too well that he spoke the truth, and a muted version of the truth at that.

  “I wouldn't do that,” she bit back, her voice thick with disgust at him and his kind. She was doing a damn fine job of maintaining her composure, but there was a tremor to her lower lip that belied her bravado.

  “You would. They'd give you drugs, drugs so addictive that after one dose you'd do anything, anything at all to get another hit.” He turned to her with a half-smile. “Sandwich?”

  “I'm no
t hungry,” she said bitterly, turning her head away from him as she put the gun down on the counter, giving up on her grand idea of escape. He resisted the urge to rush for it. Instead he bit into his sandwich, savoring the taste. He was glad she'd pulled his gun on him actually, glad because it finally gave him some insight as to her character, insight he'd been lacking when she sat next to him like a doll, not moving or speaking. She was tougher than she looked.

  “Go have a seat in the lounge,” he said, overtly taking charge of the situation once more. He'd never lost control of course, but she didn't know that. She thought that she was playing him. The quiet demure act was just that, an act. He couldn't wait to see what emerged now that she knew her ploy had failed.

  It didn't take long for Evelyn to start displaying her true colors. Instead of the ladylike motion she'd used to enter the car, she almost stomped into the lounge and basically flopped into a wide, comfortable arm chair, her legs splayed, but still pressed together at the knees. She might have been angry and petulant, but she was still a lady. Kirk smiled to himself at the change. She was off balance, good. Her plan had failed and now she would have to come up with a new one. He was determined to make sure she didn't have a chance to formulate one that would work. She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him with hostile eyes as he wolfed his sandwich down.

  “You're a bad man.”

  He chuckled at the child like cadence of the observation. “Am I now?”

  “Yes, and bad men always get their comeuppance. Always.” She spoke with a sheltered, self-satisfied smugness that seemed genuine. He cocked his head to the side, wondering if she really believed that. If she did, she was simple minded. He made no effort to educate her at that moment. A simple woman would be easier to control than a recently disillusioned simple woman.

  “As I'm a bad man, you'd better be careful to keep on the right side of me,” he said conversationally. “Here are the rules. You don't leave the house. You don't go near the windows. You can eat and drink anything you want in the house, but if you need anything you can't find here, you tell me and I'll get it for you. This is one week you'll survive easily if you follow those rules. If you decide to test them, you'll regret it in more ways than one.”

  He let the threat hang between them, unspecified. She'd seen enough to know that he could make her life unbearable if he chose to do so, but he had no intention of harming her seriously if she decided to test his resolve. Kirk had better ways of handling a misbehaving woman, ways that would leave Evelyn's cute rounded behind stinging for days.

  Chapter Two

  Staring at her captor with muted loathing, Eve forced herself to remain calm. She was angry. Angry at her estranged father, who had lured her in and used her as bait, angry at the gangsters who had trussed her up with foul words and fouler threats, and even more angry at this man, this arrogant fool who appeared not to be afraid of death.

  At first she'd been afraid that he might hurt her when he got her alone, but it was clear now that he intended to wait until the week was up. She was worth something to him, no, she wasn't worth something, her body was. She should never have answered the call that told her to meet her father at his office to discuss tuition for the coming year. She should have gone with her first impulse, to call him a liar and go to work. She was scraping together some savings as a waitress. It had been only a matter of time until she had enough to go to college on her own dollar. Now that plan lay in ruins. Even if she escaped now, she'd missed a shift without calling in. At Ringo's that meant you'd fired yourself.

  She should have walked out when she had Kirk's gun, should have just gone. She couldn't have cared less what happened to the sack of shit that was her father, but she had no desire to be used to recover his debts and from what Kirk was saying, that was the plan. Tearing her eyes away from her lean jailer, she looked around the lounge, trying to distract herself from the thoughts that were leading her into panic's clammy embrace. It was a pleasant enough space lit naturally through large windows covered with net curtains. The furnishings were homely. A large television was mounted on the wall, but the furniture was oriented around a gas fireplace. She imagined that on cold winter's nights the heavy curtains that hung at the sides of the windows could be closed, the fireplace would be lit and the room would be toasty warm and cozy.

  Kirk's eyes never left her. She felt him watching her even as she looked around the place, trying to form a fixed opinion of the man. In the basement he had scared her. He'd seemed ruthless and dangerous. Even the Russian gangsters had treated him with respect. Here in his home with his jacket shrugged off his shoulders, his shoulder holster empty he still seemed powerful, but he was far more relaxed.

  She raised her eyes and met his for a long moment. He smiled, but it wasn't a real smile, it was the smile of a charmer, the smile of a man who knew how to make a lady swoon. It didn't reach the magnetic gray eyes which remained aloof. He was handsome, she decided. He had a dancer's body, muscular shoulders, but lean hips. Would he be capable of chasing her down if she ran from him? She was in pretty good shape, but men were usually faster than women. Perhaps if she got a head start, then she might have a chance. He chuckled at her, and this time the amusement did reach his eyes. “Look at you sizing me up. Are you planning on attacking me, little one?”

  The casual endearment sent a jolt through her body. He thought her little. He thought her weak. And why not? Had she not deliberately cultivated that impression with her painted lips and painted fingernails? Had she not silently acquiesced to all he demanded and come with him as a willing prisoner? He thought himself smart, she could see that, but he was not as smart as her. She was still several steps ahead of him and though he had the upper hand, she was determined that it would not be for long.

  “Violence is abhorrent,” she replied with a sniff of derision.

  He smirked. “So naive,” he purred, settling himself onto the cream leather couch. “It is a great pity that your father put you in this position, Evelyn,” he said with mock empathy.

  Eve didn't let herself believe for a moment that he felt any sympathy for her. No, this man was cold, calculating. Until her father had thrust her into the deal he hadn't bothered to give her a second look. He would have let her die down there if she hadn't proved useful to him. She did not reply to what was clearly an invitation to conversation. From the moment he'd had her alone, Kirk had been trying to draw her out into conversation. A sillier, more vapid girl might have thought that he was genuinely interested, but Eve knew precisely what was going on, he was trying to find some hook through which he could control her. The less he knew about her the better. That was why she let him think that she cared about her father's fate, why she'd been pretending to be concerned when he threatened the old man with death. She was advertising a weakness that did not exist.

  “I'm going to take a shower,” he announced at length when she did not speak. She thought she sensed some irritation in his tone. It didn't scare her, she rather enjoyed it. The idea that she had the power to make him uncomfortable pleased her greatly. “Remember those rules,” he said, giving her a hard look before he strode out of the room.

  She heard doors opening and shutting and then she heard the shower go on. He was really going to take a shower apparently. He was arrogant enough to think that his threats and warnings were enough to keep her sitting there placidly. She smirked to herself. Her play acting had paid off. He thought her dull and compliant.

  Eve waited until she heard the rhythm of falling water change as it started hitting his body and not the bottom of the shower, then she took her purse and tried the front door. It boasted some heavy deadbolts, but they were easily slid open from the inside and it was otherwise unlocked. With a broad smile on her face, she walked out the front door, down the garden path and let herself out the little white picket gate.

  It was tempting to run, but running would draw attention from the nosy neighbors he'd mentioned. She didn't want any old biddies pointing her out, so she ke
pt her speed down to a brisk walk as she looked for a way out of the neighborhood. Her prayers were answered when she rounded the block and saw a bus stop. An elderly woman and a disinterested teen boy were both waiting there, which told her a bus should be on its way shortly.

  The wait for the bus was the most tension filled wait she'd ever had in her life. At any moment Kirk would discover that she was missing and then he would come tearing out of the house looking for her. She was only a few hundred yards down the street and the corner would not protect her forever. She checked her watch what felt like a hundred times, even though she had no idea when the bus was due. One minute passed, then two and she was certain that by now Kirk would be out of the shower. Would he have checked on her and discovered her absence? Or was he too arrogant to believe that she would dare defy him?

  Three minutes ticked by, then four. At four minutes, the distant rumble of a bus made her heart leap with glee and the square, squat outline of the vehicle as it slowly came into view was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

  Five minutes. Six minutes. The bus had pulled in at a stop further up the road. She shifted impatiently from foot to foot, willing it to start moving once more. In the distance behind her she was almost certain she heard a door slam. It was illogical to think she'd be able to hear Kirk looking for her from here, but it didn't stop her heart pounding in her chest.

  Slowly, but surely, the bus drew closer and finally it was pulling up beside the stop. The shuffling gait of the elderly woman as she attempted to mount the step almost drove Eve wild. She wanted to rush forward and pick the lady up in her arms and toss her into the bus, but aside from being ridiculous and rude, it would certainly have caused a scene and probably slowed their departure. She held it together, gritting her teeth as the old woman, finally having made it onto the bus began digging in her purse for the fare.