“You have your assignment, Chandler. Deliver the girl to Morrissey unhurt. The rest isn’t your concern.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll feel better.”
For a moment I wondered if we’d been cut off. Then Jacob cleared his throat.
“I’ll see what I can find.”
We ended the call. Jacob was right. Worrying about this was not my job. I was trained to follow orders, a weapon to be deployed. I’d saved Julie from the fake modeling agency and now I was to turn her over and walk away.
The rest didn’t matter.
I had suspected from the beginning that I was given this assignment precisely because my teen years were similar to Julie’s. Because of those similarities, this didn’t feel like any other mission to me. I cared about what happened to her, but that didn’t mean I could allow my personal feelings to skew my judgment.
If there was reason to worry, Jacob would find it and let me know.
The drone of the hairdryer ended. Time being short, a shower for me would have to wait. I focused on accessorizing, strapping the folding knife to the back of my left thigh, under the dress. On my right thigh, I donned a Velcro holster for the Ruger. A brush through my tangle of hair, and I was out the door.
Even without my taking time for a shower, we were pressed to upload the camera images to the dropbox and make it to Columbus Circle. I would have preferred to walk, since it was much easier to spot tails by foot, especially in rush hour, but since we were short on time, I opted for a subway ride to Lincoln Center. Backtracking one avenue and four blocks, we reached our rendezvous spot.
I checked my phone. Twenty minutes before six, just as I’d planned.
Jacob hadn’t called back.
I focused on my surroundings. I hadn’t picked up any evidence that we were being followed during our walk, and I didn’t spot any shadows now. I smelled exhaust, hotdogs from a nearby food cart, and the tang of horse manure wafting from the park. A woman passed by, the scent of some sweet vanilla coffee concoction trailing in her wake. Behind us, a small group of men offering pedicab rides through the park spoke in broken English, trying to talk tourists into paying a small fortune for an evening jaunt in the half-bicycle, half-cart contraptions. Horns honked and cabbies yelled, typical New York City on a summer evening.
When I spied the Town Car, my nerves surged.
He was early.
The car swung to the curb and Morrissey stepped out. He was tall and lean and calmly dangerous, and I felt that same little burst of edginess mixed with lust as when I’d first met him this morning. This time he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, and I caught a flash of ice blue eyes that just added to his allure. Like the perfect chauffeur, he climbed out and circled the vehicle.
“Nice car,” I said. “This one rigged to blow, too?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “You did a good job.”
“You, too. Want your Glock back?”
“Sure. At least until the next time you’d like to borrow it.”
He stepped close to me to shield the exchange from onlookers. He smelled of Giorgio Armani For Men’s Acqua Di Gio.
At least someone had gotten a chance to properly clean up.
I took the gun from my purse. When he pulled me into a hug, I placed it in his hand.
“Take good care of her, okay?”
He brushed my fingers as he took it from me, lingering a moment too long, then he slipped the weapon into a holster on his left side.
“She’ll be safe. And if you need to get in touch with me, you have my card.”
“I do?”
Morrissey’s hand slowly made its way down my side, then up under my dress. He slid a business card into my thigh holster. His breath on my neck was hot, and for a brief moment I could practically feel his lips on my bare skin.
He pulled away, then glanced at Julie and opened the back door. “Ready?”
We exchanged a quick hug, her grip a lot tighter than mine.
“Thanks,” Julie said. “For everything.”
“You bet,” I told her. “It’s all going to be okay from here on out.”
When she climbed into the limo, Morrissey shut the door behind her and circled to the driver’s door.
“I hope we get to work together again,” he said.
“Me, too.” But I actually had play on my mind.
On impulse, I took out my cell phone, miming making a call. Instead, I took a quick picture of him.
It was natural to be horny as hell after a mission, especially after almost being killed. It was an affirmation-of-life kind of reaction. If I wasn’t going to get laid tonight, I could at least have a photo to get myself off. And fantasy sex was safer than real sex, especially in my profession.
He smiled, then slipped behind the wheel and pulled into traffic.
I watched them follow the flow around the circle and head uptown on Broadway. My role in this was finished, another assignment completed successfully. Soon I would be on my way back to Chicago or on a plane bound for who-the-hell-knew. My thoughts would be on other things, my focus riveted to threats from other quarters. I would file this experience into its compartment in the back of my mind and go on with my life.
The cell phone buzzed against my hip.
I answered.
“I need to speak to Ursula,” Jacob’s electronic voice said.
The code signified urgency, and I could feel a dose of adrenaline surge into my bloodstream.
“I’m afraid she has already left for the hospital.”
“You’ve met with the contact?”
“He just took Julie.” I peered at the cars flooding around Columbus Circle and up Broadway.
“Damn. He’s early.”
“What is it?”
“You were right to have me check him, Chandler. He’s not Morrissey.”
Oh, shit.
“What do you mean?” I knew the suspicion was originally mine, but Jacob’s words carried a shock wave anyway.
“Morrissey’s body was found—or at least part of it was—a week ago in New Jersey. He was mutilated, no face, no hands, so we didn’t identify him right away.”
“But you’re sure it’s him?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t ask how or when. Worrying about that was someone else’s job. “So this guy, who is he?” I was already walking, rimming Columbus Circle, waving my hand for a cab.
Goddamn rush hour.
“We have no idea. Can you describe him?”
“I can do even better.”
I forwarded the photo to Jacob, pleased that being horny might have actually come in handy for once.
“Hmm, he’s cute.” Odd thing for Jacob to say. “I’ll run it through facial recognition software. Hold on.”
I squinted into the distance, breaking into a jog. The limo was still in sight—thank you bumper-to-bumper—but getting further away. As I ran, I fished the business card out of my knife holster.
No name on the card. No phone number either. Just a generic Hotmail address.
I took another scan of the roundabout, searching for a vacancy light in the flood of cabs. A green SUV caught my attention. Rental plates. Five men inside. Not South American, maybe of Middle Eastern origin. But it wasn’t the vehicle or their ethnicity that caught me. It was the intensity behind their eyes, the way they assessed the crowd … just the way I would if I were searching for someone.
Maybe I was being paranoid, but I doubted it.
Keeping my expression neutral, I glanced at the cars beyond, not letting on I’d made them.
“Got a match,” Jacob said after only thirty seconds. Jonathan Kirk. Former special forces. He fell off our radar about a year ago. Apparently he’s been operating without a leash.”
“Merc?” I eyed Broadway, but I’d lost the car.
“Yeah.” Jacob paused, but I could feel what was coming next. “Most recently, he’s been doing wet work.”