Last Hit (Hitman) (38 page)

"Then we will not worry about it."

My lack of concern over this is bothering Daisy, so I pull the bank book out of her hand and lay it on the table. "I don't care what I have so long as I can be with you,
kotehok
. I am happy living in a box as long as you are sharing the box with me." I pull her down on my lap.

She has changed into one of the sleek black outfits we bought in one of the gold-lettered shops that littered the shopping avenue. Some of those shops had no price tags, which made it easier for me to buy clothes for Daisy without argument. And since many of the shops had agreements with the banks in the financial district, I merely signed a discreet credit slip without Daisy noticing. So much easier that way.

I lay my mouth over my favorite part of her neck where her pulse beats. There is the evidence of her life and her passion. As I suck on it, I can feel the flutter of her heartbeat speed up and suspect that if I slipped my hand beneath her skirt, her delicate pink silk panties would be wet.

"Still, I think I should get a job when we get back, and we both should learn how to manage money," Daisy says, but I can tell her heart isn't in her scold. She tips her head so I can get better access to her neck.

"Are you sore,
kotehok
?" I only took her once, although she came several times. My bold question makes her squirm in my lap, and my cock responds predictably.

"Not really." She sounds a bit breathless. I suspect that Daisy's body, newly awakened, is just as hungry as mine. My fingers slide up her thigh and her legs fall open. Between them her arousal is evident. It coats my fingers, and the thin barrier between my touch and her clit is soaked. I push the material aside and rub her slightly. She moans, and I pull her chin around so that I can kiss her. My fingers push into her still-tight passage, and I fuck her with my tongue and digits until she is crying into my mouth.

"Let's see how a bath feels," I suggest, lifting her in my arms.

"A bath?" She sounds disappointed.

"Yes, I want to fuck you while you are sitting in front of a jet in the bathtub. And then maybe eat you out." I don't give her any time to protest, fastening my mouth on hers again and walking directly to the bathroom.

We don't come out until hours later, when our skin is wrinkled and we have used up half of the hotel's hot water capacity.

DAISY

When we return to the
States, we go to my apartment. It's quiet and lonely, dust on the counters and the food spoiling in the fridge. It's not the same without Regan. I still don't know where she is or what's happened to her. I'm terrified that we can't find my friend, and nightmares about what is happening to her keep me awake at night.

We were gone for six weeks. We haven't heard more about Regan. Daniel was in the wind, Nick said. We could trust him to bring her home safe. We just had to be patient. A number of past due notices were on our door and an eviction notice was stuck over them. Great. It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose, but the sight of that notice on the door upsets me. It's like no matter what I do, I am still ruining Regan's life.

Nick goes down and talks to the landlord and asks for a key.

The landlord comes up with Nick, grumbling about flighty girls and derelict tenants. By the way Nick is clenching his jaw, I can see Nick's patience is thin. The landlord lets us in, and there is crap everywhere, like some drug-addled neighbor broke in looking for valuable stuff.

I find Regan's phone by her bed. It's still broken. I'll have to charge it and call people. Her boyfriend. Becca. Regan's parents. I want to weep over all the bad news I must share. But for now, I've got to be strong.

Nick is always at my side. He rubs my back and helps me pack everything up.

After it is all taken care of at the apartment and the landlord is paid two months back rent and three months of 'nuisance rent' as he calls it, we are headed for a kennel where Nick says Mr. Brown's dog is. I've never had a dog, but I figure that he's an orphan like Nick and so the two belong together.

Besides, maybe it will help my dad.

Nick has promised that Daniel will find Regan, but Daniel is only one man, and the network of the
Bratva
is vast. I might never see Regan again, never hear her call me Pollyanna in that cheerful, laughing way of hers.

So when I pack my things, I pack up hers, as well. I will hold them for her until she returns to claim them. Nick assures me she will, because Daniel is an expert at what he does. I will have faith, and wait. And so I pack everything.

Because I am going home.

I realize, after everything that happened in Moscow, that I am different. I still feel that same joy at unfettered sunlight, pleasure in walking down the street and holding Nick's hand, and enjoy things as small as going to dinner together.

But I'm not as innocent as I was. I embrace that small, broken part of who I am. If Nick is darkness with a kernel of light inside him, I am light with the matching kernel of darkness. It's what makes us so perfect for one another.

Nick takes the phone to the cellular store so that he can obtain a list of Regan's contacts. The conversation with her parents is excruciating. I have no answers for them. Regan's boyfriend seems almost disinterested. He never even stops by the apartment.  It takes several days to pack up the place. I work slowly, partly in the hopes that Regan will pop through the door one day and surprise all of us, and partly because I am enjoying this time with Nick.

My sweet, broken Nick.

Despite the fact that I know the truth about him, he's convinced, somehow, that I will reach a breaking point someday and turn from him. So at night, he pulls me close to him, and we talk. I tell him of my upbringing, my sad memories with my father, and he tells me stories of hits he has undertaken. They are always hits on awful people: organ harvesters, drug users, smut peddlers. Never innocents. And he tells me the stories of his tattoos, and what they mean, as if seeing these brands of who and what he was will somehow drive me away.

But I listen to his stories without comment, and I kiss each tattoo as we make love. It will take time before Nick realizes that he is worthy of my love, but I am patient. How can I not love this man who watches me with such adoration in his eyes? Who worships my body and soul? Who treats me like I am the most precious thing he has ever touched and scarce believes he is allowed to breathe my air?

Every day that passes, I love Nick more and more. I don't care about his past. We will build our own future, together.

He's agreed to return home
with me. My time in Moscow taught me a lot about myself, but it also taught me a lot about my father. I now know that I handled the situation between us all wrong. I shouldn't have run from my father's control; I should have asserted my own. My father's obsessive control came from fear, and I allowed it to rule me. Now that I refuse to live in fear any longer, I want to return to my father's side, and support him…and help him return to the real world.

Nick has promised to be by my side every step of the way.

We rent a sedan and pack it full of my few possessions and Regan's things. Nick only has one bag, and it is clothing. I am sad to see that my poor
ubitsya
has no personal possessions, save those that he has stolen from me, and his weapons, which he carefully stashes in the rental.

Even though it has been weeks since Sergei's death and Daniel has promised to wipe us from the network's database, Nick will not move freely about unless he is prepared for any and all attacks. He will not let me be taken from him again, he says.

I'm fine with his protectiveness; I don't want to be taken from him again, either.

When we drive up to my father's farmhouse, it looks as lonely and abandoned as ever. Paint is peeling off the boards, the grass in the yard is knee-high, and sheets of wood still board up the windows.

Nick gives me an incredulous look as we pull up. "This is where you lived, Daisy?"

I nod. I've got a lump in my throat at the sight of it. To me, it doesn't look like a prison any longer. It just looks sad. Lonely. I want to fix it because I'm not lonely anymore. Not with Nick at my side and his love fueling my heart.

We park the car, and Nick goes to my side and opens my door for me. I pretend not to see the gun hidden in his jacket, because Nick is not comfortable unless he is vigilant, and this is something my father will understand. Nick helps me out of the car and then his fingers link with mine. We hold hands as we approach the door, and I give my father the special knock to let him know it's me.

Moments later, I hear the fumble of the locks—all six of them—as they are undone. The door opens into darkness, and there's no one there to greet us. It's my father's way—he opens the door and then hides behind it, just in case of an intruder.

It makes Nick instantly wary, and I watch his hand go up to his jacket, but I calm him with a pat on the arm and step forward. "Father?"

"Daisy?"

It's my father's voice. He sounds so old and tired. We step inside, and Nick shuts the door. As soon as we are in, the lights come on.

"You've come home," my father says, stepping forward, and there are tears in his voice.

I hug him close, surprised at the contact. My father hadn't touched me for so long—at least not out of affection. His normally tidy appearance is disheveled, and the living room is a mess. While I have been gone, my father has been falling to pieces. I feel guilty, and give Nick an unhappy look over his shoulder.

"I'm here, but I'm not staying," I tell him. I won't live under this roof again. "This is Nick. We're moving in together. There's a house for rent down the road, and we're going to move in down there."

We're going to get married, too, and have children, but I know I'll be the one to propose. And I like that, too, because I like the control. I just haven't told Nick all my plans yet. He still thinks he's not worthy of them. I'll give it time—and give
him
time to realize I'm not going anywhere.

My father is crying, but I only pat his back and murmur things to him. I understand him now, when I didn't before. I tell him I won't leave him again, and that we can start over.

Because I know enough about myself to take control of what I want, now. With Nick at my side, I can be strong and fearless enough for my father and myself. And once my father starts to get over his crippling terror, we'll move forward—all three of us—with our lives. I want to go to college. I want Nick to go, too, so he doesn't feel like he is worthless and skill-less. My Nick loves art, and he talks about the curator so often. I want him to take art classes, and I know it'd please him.

It's a fresh start for all of us.

I think of this, and then I think of Regan, who said the same thing to me so many weeks ago.
Oh, Regan,
I think.
I'm so sorry. I pray that Daniel finds you soon.

NIKOLAI

"Do not talk to me
of this man."

Daisy and I have rented a small property just down the road from her father. We are settling in, but I have an outstanding obligation. Daisy would like for me to just forget it, but I am a man of my word.

"Why not, Nick?"

"This is what I do, Daisy. I kill people for money. I'm a killer. See, you recoil. You said 'Nick, I understand you. Nothing you've done will make me stop loving you.' This is a lie, correct?"

My greatest fear is that the terror of the nights in Russia will fade and Daisy's understandable revulsion will rise up and drive her away from me. Perhaps this is a test for both of us.

"No! No, it's not, and
yes
, Nick, there are some people who need killing. Those people who took Regan and me. Maybe that accountant you were watching. I don't know, but do you know either? It eats at you, Nikolai. I can see it. How long can you act as judge, jury, and executioner before you're completely lost to me?"

She knows that when she calls me
Nikolai
, it cuts to the bone. I turn away and continue packing my bag. No disguise is needed this time. The trauma surgeon will be shot in traffic on his way home from a surgical treatment. I have figured the optimum distance, wind, and location from my one visit and satellite imagery. Freeway shootings are ideal. Few people expect them, and you can be in your vehicle and gone before anyone ever knows a thing.

"I am already lost, then." I must be strong against her sadness. I have been paid for this job, and it is something I must complete.

 "You are wrong, Nikolai." Her face is turned up to me, the look on it so earnest and trusting. "I love you unconditionally. You can go off to Seattle and kill this doctor. He probably needs killing. You can come back to me because I will
never
stop loving you. I just wonder when you'll start loving yourself."

I pick up my bag in silence and walk toward the apartment door. With the knob in my hand, I ask, "Will you—" The words stick and I clear my throat and try again. "Will you be here when I get back?"