“That sounds like a collateral damage kill, Bentley, and you know I won’t do that.” My job is all about precision, and if I’m doing it right, there is no collateral damage. “Maybe she has it and doesn’t know it.”
Bentley pauses to stick his cigar into his mouth and light it. “You’re thinking Beijing, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Two years ago, I was hunting down an American-born terrorist who stole a highly communicable virus from the CDC with intentions of selling it to extremists in North Korea. It took some blood and sweat, but he finally admitted to smuggling the tiny vial through American airport customs on his five-year-old daughter and then hiding it inside one of her dolls for the flight to Beijing, where he would await buyer contact.
News of the missing virus never made it beyond the walls of the CDC, buried to avoid pandemonium and public scrutiny; and whichever high-ranking CIA member tapped Bentley’s shoulder for help ensured that there would never be a paper trail to the U.S. government when the thief’s battered body washed up along the shore.
“Well, if that’s the case, she’s going to find out soon. She called a real estate agent about putting the place on the market within the next couple of weeks. She’ll have to clean it out to sell it, and if she finds a hidden videotape in there, she’ll sure as hell play it.”
Will it mean anything to her? Will she care?
Bentley draws several long pulls off the cigar to get it going, all the while watching me with a knowing gaze.
The copy of her driver’s license says she just turned twenty-five a few weeks ago. “Well, it’s definitely not hiding in one of her dolls,” I mutter quietly.
Bentley barks with laughter. “She looks like the type of girl who used to light dolls on fire instead.”
There’s definitely an edge to her, her heavy boots zagged with fluorescent pink laces, balancing out the plaid schoolgirl skirt that barely covers her ass. A skull stretches across her shirt, drawn in pink jewels, the California sun reflecting off them.
I wonder if it’s just a look, if her tongue and mind are as sharp.
“I need this handled right, Sebastian, and you’re the only one I trust,” he says between puffs, the rich, aromatic smoke fighting for my attention.
It’s the second time he’s said that.
“I’ll eliminate a known threat without question. You know that.” I settle my gaze on Bentley, who watches me intently. “But I won’t end an innocent life.”
He pauses and smiles, and there’s a hint of sympathy there. “I’m not asking you to. If she doesn’t know about the tape, then keep it that way. Find it and bring it to me, and she and the world can go on believing that those other two were random, unfortunate deaths.”
“That means I can’t question her openly,” I warn him. A few hours of questioning always gets me the answers I need. “This will take longer.”
He sighs. “Yes, I realize that. But if she has any knowledge of this . . .” He tips his head back and releases a ring of smoke. It holds its shape for a few seconds before dispersing into the air above our heads. “We need to ensure that she doesn’t have a chance to talk about it to anyone. Ever. Make it clean and quick and low-key. Coincidental.”
Low-key. Coincidental.
A car careening off a road. A body found underwater, tangled in the weeds. A used needle laced with heroin. Something that is tragic but doesn’t raise suspicions, especially given that her beloved uncle was murdered so recently.
The way Bentley’s talking about it, it’s like he’s already decided that she is a liability and needs to be gone. But I also know that he’s not sure, and that puts doubt in my mind. I never pull the trigger when there is doubt.