The stark white, windowless walls were bare, and Kade pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the bed as he headed to the kitchen area. Pulling open the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and drank half the bottle in one long gulp. A moment later, he was heading back down the stairs to where he’d set up his computers.
Various green and blue lights glowed in the dark as Kade flipped on the overhead lights. A server rack was on his right, the computers it contained humming. The noise was familiar and comforting to Kade. At least he had control over this part of his life, considering the rest had gone to complete and utter shit.
Six computer monitors, stacked two tall, sat on a large table. Kade sank into the chair in front of the monitors, toggling a key on the lone keyboard. The screens flickered to life. Two of the monitors showed the black-and-white footage of surveillance cameras—some for here, others for his apartment in Indy. Glancing over the ones in Indy, he saw the housekeeper hadn’t yet taken care of the place as he’d directed.
Kade’s need to know about Kathleen ate at him, and it was only because of an iron grip on his self-control that he didn’t try and call her. He briefly considered calling Blane, but knew he couldn’t do that, either.
It was clear he should get to work. There were jobs waiting to be done, just sitting there on his desk. Jobs he’d taken when he’d thought going legit would solve all his problems. Now, he didn’t give a shit.
The next night he sat in a bar, drink in hand. He’d lost track of how many he’d had. But still, no matter how much he drank, it didn’t seem to numb the pain eating him from the inside out.
He’d been a fool to think somebody like him could have a happily-ever-after.
The joy and peace he’d felt when Kathleen had said she loved him, wanted to be with him, told him she was carrying their child—all of it had faded to ash. It had been so close . . .
Kade tipped the glass back, emptying the clear liquid in one swallow. He set it back down on the bar, caught the bartender’s eye, and tapped it to signal a refill. Obligingly, the man came over, grabbing a bottle on the way, and poured another double for him.
“Everything all right there, buddy?” the bartender asked. “You wanna talk about it?”
Kade glanced up and frowned, pulled from his thoughts by the questions. The man was watching him with some concern, which just pissed Kade off. “What are you, a fucking bartender or a shrink? Fuck off.”
Immediately dismissing the man from his attention, Kade returned to his thoughts. The bartender went away. He might’ve been pissed. Kade didn’t care.
He left when the bar closed and the now not-so-friendly bartender kicked him out. Kade was unlocking his car when he heard the scuff of a shoe behind him and a voice say, “Give me your wallet, dickhead.”
Kade sighed. He really didn’t feel like this shit tonight. Turning around, he leaned back against the car, surveying the guy who was stupid enough to try and mug him.
He was about Kade’s height, with a slightly heavier build. It was hard to tell his age in the dark, though there was no mistaking the knife in his hand.
“Listen,” Kade said, his lips twisting into something resembling a smile, “you seem like a real nice guy, so I’m going to give you some advice. Go find someone else to play with tonight. I’m in a shitty mood.”
“Shut up and give it to me, or I’ll hand you your fucking spleen,” the guy threatened.
Kade gave a mock frown. “Do you even know where the spleen is?” he asked. “Not that I’m doubting your sincerity, just your capability.” This guy was starting to piss him off, the anger burning away both the alcohol and the pain.
Apparently, the guy didn’t know where the spleen was located, because when he lunged, he was miles off. Kade reacted quickly, twisting to the side to avoid the clumsy knife thrust, then grabbing the guy’s wrist.
Now they were in close quarters. Anger spiked hard in Kade. He jabbed his bent elbow up, catching the mugger on the soft spot underneath his chin. The guy faltered at the blow, his teeth clacking hard together. Kade bent the guy’s wrist down and shoved, a crack letting him know he’d broken the joint. The guy cried out in pain, the knife dropping from his fingers, but Kade was too far gone to let things go with that.
His fist shot out in a crushing blow to the man’s esophagus, then Kade’s elbow caught him in the solar plexus. The guy went down, his good hand flying to his neck as he tried in vain to suck down air.
Kade watched for the one hundred and eighty seconds, thereabouts, it took for a man to suffocate. When the guy was still, Kade reached down and picked up the dropped knife. It wasn’t a bad piece. Flipping the blade closed, he pocketed it and got in his car.
As he drove away, the anger and rage ebbed, replaced by the familiar tide of despair. It was an odd realization to come to and it only took Kade as long as the drive back to his office to figure it out. So long as he was inflicting pain and death, he didn’t feel the pain of missing her. And it had felt good to not feel so fucking bad for even a little while.
Well. Problem solved. Because if there was one thing Kade could do, it was kill people. And as a bonus, it also paid well.
Once word got out that Kade Dennon had come out of retirement and was back in the field, business started booming.
Kade fell back into the routine almost too easily. Take a job. Study the target. Plan the mission. Execute it. Doing it kept his mind busy. You had to be cold on the inside to look someone in the eye—someone for whom you had no personal animus, no grudge or hatred—and kill them. And with each new contract he fulfilled, that coldness grew larger and even more frigid.
He took jobs no one else would, because in the end, there’s nothing more deadly than an assassin with nothing to lose. Everything he’d almost had was already gone.
It was close to midnight in the part of the world he now inhabited, and the flat he was invading had a security system. Had being the operative word, as Kade had already disabled it.
In the past Kade had lived by a code of sorts, and it determined the contracts he’d taken. He’d choose only those jobs whose targets were already criminals, but for whom wealth or politics put them beyond the reach of traditional law enforcement.
Now he didn’t particularly care what the job was. The more dangerous, the better. Some might say Kade had a death wish. He’d say he was already dead.
A guard stayed with his current target in his flat, and Kade stepped over the guard’s now lifeless body while scanning the shadows for any further threats. The stairs were carpeted, which further muffled Kade’s already silent footsteps. The study was down the hall and to the right, which was where—as the past three nights of surveillance had shown—the target always was at this hour.
Kade slowly approached the doorway, a sliver of light leaking through the open crack. Reaching out, he pushed the door open.
Only to be faced with a gun.
His target was standing in front of a desk, gun in hand, and pointing it directly at Kade.
“I’ve been expecting someone to come,” he said.
“Well then, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you,” Kade replied evenly.
“Toss your weapon on the floor,” the target ordered. Kade complied. “Now put your hands behind your head.”
Kade did as he was told while the man stepped back, carefully keeping an eye on Kade as he reached behind him for the phone on the desk. He dialed 999.
“You’re calling the cops?” Kade asked in disbelief as the man held the receiver to his ear. He rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”