Kane: An Assassin's Love Story
Read Kane: An Assassin's Love Story Online
Authors: R.E. Saxton,Kit Tunstall
Amourisa Press and Kit Tunstall, writing as R.E. Saxton, reserve all rights to KANE. This work may not be shared or reproduced in any fashion without permission of the publisher and/or author. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 or over if engaged in sexual activity.
© Kit Tunstall, 2005, 2015 (Previously published as “Winter Thaw” by Kit Tunstall, but moved to this pen name because it’s a better fit with R.E. Saxton’s catalog.)
Cover Images: Depositphotos.com/robertprzybysz
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Kane: An Assassin’s Love Story
Kane Winter is cold and unemotional, two assets that make him an excellent assassin. Danika Rich, widow of a murdered senator, inspires unaccustomed emotions, making him want to protect her. The passion he feels for Danika began to defrost his frozen heart, but he knows she can never love him when she learns he was the one who assassinated her husband.
This novella shares a universe with R.E. Saxton’s mafia characters, but isn’t focused on the mafia. Please be aware there are dark themes and subjects included in this story, but it isn’t a dark romance.
Kane paused in the act of turning the newspaper page, his brown eyes drawn to the column taking up the lower half of the front page. The headline wasn’t a surprise: Senator Edmond Rich Assassinated. Normally, he would have skipped right past such news, receiving no pleasure in reading about the details of his work. This time, he folded the paper down to get a better look, not interested in the article, but rather the picture.
Senator Rich stood beside his young wife, his arm draped around her waist possessively, his hand cupping her distended, pregnant belly. She stood proudly beside him, with a soft smile curving her lips. Her hair was a curly halo around her head, blown slightly by a wind that disheveled it as the photographer took the picture. Her face was delicate and heart-shaped, but with a crooked nose that suggested it had been broken. His brow wrinkled at the incongruousness of such a detail before his gaze settled on her eyes.
It was like a punch to the solar plexus, and he immediately realized why this picture had caught his attention. Her dark eyes, an indiscriminate color because the photo was black-and-white, bore a haunted look, despite her Madonna-like smile and pose. Those eyes had known fear and called out for something the world ignored.
Kane wrenched his gaze from the troubled visage of Danika Rich, and it settled on the most recent picture of his sister at her college graduation, just a few short weeks before her death. She had the same expression in her aqua-blue eyes that shadowed the widow’s gaze. Even then, she had hidden her private Hell, refusing to endanger her family.
He sighed, forcing his gaze away from Melissa’s picture, although her image had burned into his brain long ago. He saw it now, so why hadn’t he seen it then, before it was too late to save her?
Hands balled into fists, Kane scanned the article, having no need to absorb the details. He knew them intimately. Most of the article was uninteresting, highlighting the senator’s many great works, his devotion to his community, family, and church, and his determination to make their state a better place to live. A few paragraphs gave a mostly factual account of the execution. A man on a motorcycle had shot the senator on the expressway during a traffic jam. The killer was still at-large.
After skimming the details of Rich’s memorial service, he finally got to a paragraph of interest.
When questioned, Mrs. Rich indicated she thought she was in no danger, that her husband had been a target because of politics, but expressed her intention to add to her security staff, at least for the time being.
A glance at the clock revealed it was a little past eight. That gave him time to change into a suit and prepare a new background worthy of a security consultant.
Kane paused in the act of rising from the breakfast table, his oatmeal untouched. Was he really considering trying to get close to this woman? It wasn’t to protect her. He knew she wasn’t in danger. The orders for the assassination had been the senator himself. Her precautions were prudent, but unnecessary. He owed her nothing. He had provided his services for a handsome fee. Nowhere in the deal did it include looking after the widow of the man he had killed.
As his gaze fell on her face again, her haunted eyes once again brought an ache to the pit of his stomach. They called to him, pleading for help. It was a foreign reaction to Kane, who prided himself on being methodical and unemotional, especially in anything remotely related to a hit. Assassins who cared were the ones who bungled assignments, got caught, or ended up dead. Even a shred of vulnerability could jeopardize everything for which he had worked.
Yet, he couldn’t resist the siren song of her eyes. Despite his internal urgings to ignore this unfamiliar emotion—surely not guilt—he stood up completely and walked to the bedroom, preparing to transform himself from assassin to security guard in hopes of getting close to Danika Rich, to discover what made her eyes so troubled. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save her. In the widow, he sensed a chance to atone for failing to save Melissa.
Danika Rich’s eyes were a startling light-gray, rimmed with black, and fringed with thick lashes several shades darker than her hair. They were also just as haunted in person, if not more so. As Kane sat across from her, beside Johnston, who had interviewed him before introducing him to the senator’s wife, he studied her through narrowed eyes.
Not only had the picture failed to capture the true extent of the shadows in her eyes, it hadn’t done justice to the rest of her appearance either. Her hair was a gleaming shade of brown so dark it was virtually black, with sable highlights. It framed her delicate bone structure in a cloud of loose waves that fell below her shoulders.
Her figure showed pleasing feminine roundness that wasn’t attributed just to the presence of her pregnant belly, discreetly concealed in an Anne Klein forest-green suit jacket with a boxy cut. Although seated behind the desk, she appeared to be taller than average. Fingers adorned with a French manicure rested loosely on the desk, giving the appearance of complete control. Only the lines of tension around her mouth, stiff set of her shoulders, and darting eyes betrayed her true emotions.
She leaned forward in the Presidential chair, causing the leather to creak slightly, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Winter.”
He nodded his head as he accepted her hand. Kane’s breath escaped from between his teeth with a gasp, and he hoped neither Danika nor Johnston heard it. His head spun at the reaction, as darts of electricity arced up his arm, emanating from where she touched him. How could this be? Drawn to her the moment he saw her picture, he had assumed it was because of the similarities between the widow and his sister. Never had he suspected attraction was part of what brought him here.
Or had he? Hadn’t he appreciated her delicate beauty in the picture? Hadn’t he experienced a moment of anger at the thought of her supple young body fused with the senator’s, a man old enough to be her father? Had he allowed his mind to entertain thoughts of him beside her in bed, without acknowledging those fantasies flickering through his brain?
He couldn’t deny that he had with any sort of confidence, but could certainly push away the notion for examination at a more appropriate time. “Mrs. Rich, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Her reply was a brisk nod before she turned to Johnston, who slid across the credentials Kane had brought with him. She examined the paperwork in silence for several moments before looking up again. “This is all impressive, Mr. Winter. Do you do your job well?”
“I’m the best.” Kane wasn’t boasting. It was simple truth that he was one of the best assassins, both by reputation and deed. Perhaps it was stretching the bounds of her question to refer to his real profession, but he knew he could keep her safe—if there was anything to keep her safe from, which he doubted. If she had been a target, he would have received orders to eliminate her along with Edmond Rich.
The thought of killing her brought a lump to his throat, and he frowned at the reaction, discomforted by the emotion. He approached assignments with levelheaded logic, refusing to allow emotion to intrude. In his line of work, vulnerability was dangerous. For a moment, he was tempted to cut short the interview and get the Hell out of the confines of what surely must have been the senator’s office, judging by its dark furniture, masculine colors, and general male aura.
He looked up, catching her gaze, and opened his mouth to say he had changed his mind. The words refused to come, because her eyes drew him in once again.
She seemed not to have noticed his temporary lapse. Her eyes were frankly assessing, as she looked him over. Once again, Danika nodded. “Welcome to the team, Mr. Winter.”
Johnston cleared his throat. “Mrs. Rich, there are several other candidates to consider.”
She gave him a cold look, dismissing him. “Please inform them the position is filled.”
He stiffened, sitting straighter in his chair. “I don’t think you understand. I was amenable to letting you meet the applicants, but I must insist on full hiring discretion, ma’am. I’m trained for this.” His eyes raked over her with barely hidden scorn.
Danika didn’t blink. She met his eyes, her own as cold as ice. “Mr. Johnston, I want a security agent who is loyal to me, not to my dead husband.” Her eyes spoke volumes, although Kane didn’t know what they were saying. Apparently, Johnston did, by the way he slumped in the seat. “If you aren’t comfortable with me making this decision, I will accept your resignation. After all, there is a pool of highly qualified candidates awaiting an outcome to their inquiries.” She didn’t overemphasize her threat. The silence remained unbroken for a moment, as Johnston seemed to mull over his options.
Finally, he turned to Kane, a pained expression on his face. “Welcome to the team, Winter. Report in at nine tomorrow, and I’ll have your assignment.”
“Actually, you’ll report to me at nine, Mr. Winter.” Danika straightened his packet of information before sliding it back to Johnston without looking at him. “File those, and see that his employment documents are taken care of today. I want him ready to start in the morning.” She gave Kane a small smile before rising from her seat to walk to the door.
Kane stood impassively beside Danika, whose dark sunglasses shielded her eyes and helped hide her emotions. From the corner of his eye, he watched her watching the reverend as he spoke. Her face remained focused in the direction of the cleric, not once straying to the handsome mahogany coffin where Edmond Rich would rest eternally.
Her posture was rigid, and the dark suit accentuated her height, while minimizing evidence of her pregnancy. On this day, she had bound her hair in a sophisticated roll, and a black pillbox hat with a short veil rested atop her head. She was the picture of elegant aloofness, except for the tense way her fingers clutched the straps of the black Vuitton bag in her hand.
He let his attention stray to the closed coffin of the man he had shot just three days past. The casket had been open in the church, and the man had looked dignified, without a hint of the bullet wound showing. Someone had taken great pains to hide the head wound with cosmetics and a toupee.
He cast his mind back to the moment he had stood a couple of feet behind Danika Rich, as he did now, and gazed over her shoulder to look down at Senator Rich. Once again, he mulled over the unexpected rush of emotions that had assaulted him when looking down at the man. Guilt had been among them. Not true guilt, maybe, for he didn’t regret taking the man’s life. No, what he regretted was causing the woman beside him a moment’s pain.
Kane shifted his weight slightly, letting his eyes wander over the attendees gathered at the graveside, trying to block out earlier memories of being in the church, and of his reaction. He wasn’t comfortable with the changes happening to him, and analyzing his feelings just seemed to make them clearer and more real. He didn’t want to closely examine his motives for being near the widow Rich, or for wishing he hadn’t taken the assignment of killing her husband in the first place. After thirteen years, it was no time to develop a conscience.
Movement to his left caught his attention, and his hand moved to the gun holstered under his jacket. He relaxed his posture when he realized it was just the senator’s daughter moving closer to the coffin. He wondered what instinct had prompted him to reach for the gun anyway, knowing full well Danika wasn’t a target. He couldn’t deny the press of the crowd made him nervous, and he hated having his back exposed to more than a hundred people. The police lining the edge of the crowd did nothing to reassure him. Maybe he was worried about his own hide, not Danika’s.
With an impatient shake of his head, he turned his brown eyes back to Danika just as the reverend finished speaking, closing his Bible with a soft thump. Kane took a step closer to her as others surged forward, some seeking to offer her their condolences, while others tried to get one last avid glimpse at the senator’s coffin.
A woman in a navy-blue suit stopped by the coffin, touching the wood reverently, before lifting two white orchids from the bunch draped across the top. When she turned to Danika, Kane recognized her as Senator Rich’s aide. In her mid-forties, she still presented an attractive picture, with flowing auburn hair, large green eyes, and a pale complexion, with just a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The tears in her eyes and general stance indicated she felt very strongly about Edmond’s passing.
He speculated about the closeness of their relationship as Sheila Weathers approached, extending a gloved hand to Danika. The gesture seemed extravagant and insincere, as if the other woman was performing. Danika seemed to be debating about whether to facilitate the act, hesitating for a moment before taking the offered hand. They stood without speaking for a long second.
Finally, Sheila said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Danika nodded just once. “Thank you. I know how close you were to Edmond. This must be difficult for you as well.” Her words were bland, but Sheila stiffened, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m sure you’ll want this, for remembrance.” There was no mistaking the cool note in the redhead’s voice when she pressed an orchid into Danika’s hand. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her high heels leaving deep impressions in the slightly wet ground. With a smile of amusement, Kane decided the stiletto design was better suited to a nightwalker than an executive aide attending a funeral.
He allowed those greeting Danika to fade to a blur, while remaining constantly alert for any signs of trouble. The line seemed to be never-ending, but he stood silently behind her, admiring the way her shoulders never sagged. Her cool mask didn’t slip once as she endured the same platitudes over and over again. Still, he could detect her relief when enough people had finally left that the cemetery. Staff began the process of removing the tarp and covering the fresh earth before lowering the coffin into the ground, via a wench that emitted an efficient whine.