“Precisely.”
He wasn’t just a monster for monster’s sake. He was part of an organization that paid him and others to kill people.
Pushing my luck, I asked the question that was now the elephant in the room. “Who do you work for? Who is Home?”
He sighed. “Go to sleep.”
It was too much to hope for that I might unravel the mystery of my executioner a little bit more. I guess I should have been thankful to the little bit I was privy to.
Instead of counting sheep, I counted down to the next flight, the next destination.
Two days. Less than forty-eight hours. Roughly thirty until we left the hotel. A nine-hour flight, followed by a possible two-hour connection and in three days, I’d be back on American soil.
Eight days in Paris, and I barely saw anything besides the interior of a beautiful hotel room.
Maybe there was a chance I could get away.
I said I’d play by his rules, but I refused to give up on living, on the small sliver of hope that I would make it through to a life past Six and his bullet.
“Welcome to Miami,” I said as I stepped out into the hot, humid air of southern Florida. Ah, heat, how I’d missed it.
Almost an entire month had passed since Six tore me away from my life. One month I’d spent living with an extremely hot, extremely deadly hit man. One month where I’d spent days on end staring at the walls of hotel rooms.
It was a long flight from Paris to Atlanta after our near two-week trip, then a short hop down to Miami. Hard to admit, but I was actually glad we’d soon be seeing a hotel room. I really needed a nap.
There was a car waiting for us in long-term parking, and I pursed my lips as I looked at the black sedan.
“How in the hell is this waiting?” I asked.
Six had already started to load our bags into the trunk and didn’t respond, while I stared at the handle. How long had it been baking in the Florida sun? The car was bound to be stifling if I could even get it open.
Wrapping my fingers in my shirt, I squatted down and pulled on the lever. The door popped open and I caught it with my foot, prying it open.
Even hotter air flowed from the vented interior. There wasn’t a thing inside that wasn’t going to burn me.
Suddenly the car started, making me jump back. A low chuckle made my head turn to the back of the car where Six was loading in the last suitcase with a smirk on his face.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” Remote start gag equals not funny.
“No.”
“But you thought that was funny.”
“Yes.”
I rolled my eyes, not that he could see behind my sunglasses, and reached down to feel the air coming from the vents. It was warm, but began to cool. Soon, cold air was pumping out at top speed and I braved the leather interior.
Thankfully, I was wearing jeans, so no dreaded thigh burn, but I could still feel the heat of the leather through them. The burn zapped my arms, though—the armrests were definite no-gos.
Six slid into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition, then shut his door. He sat back and did nothing, touched nothing.
“Are we waiting on something?” I asked after a few minutes. “The car will cool down faster once it gets moving.”
“I’m waiting until a silver sedan two rows over and three back leaves.”
Once again I was reminded that Six always knew his surroundings.
“Did you scare me on purpose?”
He smirked and glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Haven’t you realized by now that everything I do has a purpose?”
I thought on that, my mind wandering back. I was a wildcard dropped on him, but from the moment we were out of the city, there was a reason for everything he did. Even the harsh things he’d done to me served a purpose. Reminders that my life was in his hands, and if I wanted more time above the ground, I had to get in line with the program.
A flash from the mirror caught my eye, and I watched the silver sedan head for the exit, whooshing past us.
“So, secret spy guy, what made that driver suspicious?” I asked as we both turned.
“He was sitting at arrivals with a carry-on. When we passed, he followed.”
At the exit, the driver paid, then zoomed away down the street.
“He could have just been resting or tying his shoe.”
“Slim possibility.”
Paranoid much? “Is it really so slim? His car was in the parking lot.”
“So was this one. Waiting for us.”
Touché. Which reminded me…
“You didn’t answer—how was it waiting for us?”
He picked up the keys from a car rental counter, but didn’t fill out any paperwork.
Silence.
Damn it. I hated when he pulled his no answer crap.