I stare at him, suddenly uneasy. Is this a trap? “You want to know this because you have a target?” It’s a bold question, but justified. If he’s here to kill me, I’d like to know. Even if he is wavering on whether or not to fulfill his contract.
“You’re not my target, OK?” But he doesn’t look me in the face when he says it.
“You first then.”
He smiles and holds the gate open for me and we walk down the path to the building, then head downstairs. I get my key out and I’m about to push it inside the lock when his hand rests on mine.
“Tet,” he says. “My code name is Tet.”
I look up at his face to try and figure out what he’s thinking. “Why did you tell me that?”
“What’s yours?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“You’re here for me, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head. “No, I swear it. I’m not here for you. But I need to know where you fit in. Code name?”
“I’m no one. Someone’s daughter, that’s all.”
“Code name, Harper.” His eyes are still soft, like he hates to ask, but he has no choice.
I swallow hard and bow my head. “Come. My code is Come.”
He lets out a long audible breath of relief. A small chuckle follows. “That’s a dirty little name for such a sweet little girl.”
I ignore his innuendo. “I could’ve been your target.” It unnerves me. The reality of what that means.
“You’re not,” he says sternly. “You’re not and that’s all that matters.”
“But I’m someone’s target.” He takes the key from my hand, but this time I put my hand on his and it’s me who stops it from entering the lock. “Where do you fit in?” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. It’s so taboo. We could both be killed for these few words. But just like he needs to know where I fit in, I need to know his place too. Come is a verb. A verb code name means I’m a nobody. But Tet, I’m not sure what that stands for. I know all the ranks, but I’ve never heard of a Tet.
He lets out a long breath and looks down at his feet, like he doesn’t want to tell me. “Number Six.” I shake my head and turn away, but he catches me by the waist and pulls me back. “Please don’t turn away.”
“Six?” I cannot even comprehend it. “Six,” I say again.
The organization my father is married to, indebted to for life—the same one he sold his children into when he joined, the same one that will take my children as well, should I live long enough to have any—is deeply compartmentalized. Everyone has a place. Everyone has a code. There are thousands of members all over the world. Most are innocuous. Verbs like mine. Come. Dance. Ride. Skip. They’re endless.
The higher-ups have nouns. There are hundreds of them. Bear. Desk. Claw. Grass. The names are meaningless, just a label to put you in perspective.
My father has a rank. The Admiral. There are twelve members with ranks.
But only ten people have a number.
The assassins.
Chapter Eight
JAMES
“Why do you look so familiar?” she asks. “No, wait, that’s not the right question. Why do you feel so familiar? Is it because you’ve been watching me?” Her eyes scan mine, searching for the truth, but at the same time second-guessing whether or not she actually wants to know it.
“What’s your brother’s code?”
The slap cracks across my face before I even have a chance to react, but once I do I take her out like any other threat. I grab her arms, twist them behind her back, push her forward with a knee to the ass, and take her down to the hard concrete floor.
She struggles beneath me, slips out of my hold and does a half turn, just enough to thrust her foot into my abdomen.
I grab her ankle, but she twists again, elbowing me in the neck. “Fuck!” I grab her foot, twist her body until she’s forced to roll and then hold her with an arm across her thigh and a hand on her calf.
“You better snap my knee, James,” she seethes, her breath coming out in long gasps, matching my own from the sudden effort of the fight. “Because if you let me up, you’ll regret it.”
I lean into her a little harder, making sure she’s pinned good and tight to the concrete floor. I’m not quite sure if she’s serious. I know she’s capable. I’ve heard all about the mistakes they made with her upbringing. It was drilled into us in the debrief. She’s dangerous. Do not underestimate her. Never turn your back.
Watching her all these months, the severity of the little warnings diminished as the days grew longer. She never got angry. She never raised her voice to anyone. She was no more intimidating than any of the other young girls on the beach.
But the venom in her voice right now jars my memory and the warnings are back in full force.
“Harper—”
“No,” she snaps. “You’re here to kill me? Take me back? Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Give it your best shot.” She wiggles again and I lose my grip. Her knee comes up and almost connects with my jaw. But I’m the one who twists this time and she slides out from under me and bounces to her feet.
She’s fast. And young. And angry. And cornered.
I’m up a fraction of a moment later, but I back up and throw her the surrender hands to ease her down off the ledge. “Whoa, OK? I’m not here to do any of that.”
“Why did you ask about him?” she snarls. “You—”
“Harper, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead, honey. I’m a dirty killer, I get the job done and get the fuck out of Dodge. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She just stares at me, shaking her head. “You’re trained to say that. You’re trained to make me believe you, to lie about anything and everything to get what you need. You’re trained to make me vulnerable and needy and weak—”
“And so are you, Harper,” I bark, cutting off her rant and snapping her back to attention. “So. Are. You. You’re just as ruthless. More maybe. Because you plotted this for years, didn’t you? Maybe you’re playing me?”
“Maybe I am,” she retorts.
“You say they call you Come? And maybe they do. But that’s not your code, so don’t feed me that bullshit. At least I was honest. Do you really think I’d give you my number if I was here to kill you?”
She swallows and I know I’ve won.
Chapter Nine
HARPER
I turn away quickly so I don’t have to look at him.
“Harper?” he asks softly.
I have no words. I just have no words.
“Harper?” He touches my shoulder this time and I shrug him off.
“Don’t.”
“I swear to God, I’m not here for you.”
“Where were you last?”
“I can’t say.”
I already knew that. So I change the question slightly. “Where were you last year?” He pauses and I turn so I can see his face as he makes his decision. He looks like he’s thinking hard, counting back the months, maybe. But they are trained to do that, aren’t they? “I’m waiting.” I tap my foot like a petulant child and his eyes drop down to my flip flop and then he looks up at me and smiles.
How could this man be one of them? I don’t understand how anyone with those dimples could be a killer.
“I was fucking up a friend’s job over in a small, nondescript European country. Which is where all my trouble really started.”
“Not in the South Pacific?” I ask warily. Like he would tell me.
“No. I don’t work that side of the world. Haven’t been back in there since I was assigned when I was sixteen.” He watches me as I process his words. Since he was sixteen. He’s been killing people since he was sixteen. “OK?” he asks, breaking the silence. “We good?”