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MY TRAINING WITH Angie McKenna, assassin, began the next afternoon in an abandoned warehouse south of the town of Lakewood. Her proposal gave me everything I was looking for and more. I couldn’t deny it, working with my former enemy was hard to wrap my mind around, but after a while it was almost normal.
Almost.
She was a good teacher, albeit a tad impatient. When I didn’t get something right away, she’d rant about how I could never learn to be a top-flight assassin. This would be followed with a string of expletive-laced insults the likes of which would have made a sailor blush. I reminded her that I wasn’t looking to become the next Jason Bourne, just that I’d like to know what I was doing in case things went south, but she ignored me, apparently wanting to believe that I was her protégé.
I didn’t bring it up again. Arguing with an assassin skirted bat-shit crazy territory. I didn’t want to remind myself training with an assassin was, in fact, bat-shit crazy.
The idea of taking on Chacon was, too, but I couldn’t come up with a better way to deal with my anger other than to exact revenge. Lisa’s coma had unearthed a part of me that I had no idea existed.
Except when I shot Salazar.
After Salazar’s death, I’d convinced myself that the incident was a one-off. I had to kill him or he would have killed me. A case of self-defense that could have happened to anyone.
What I hadn’t counted on was the power I’d experienced in the aftermath. The long-denied ability to direct my own life on my own terms had come roaring to the surface. The power to make my enemy pay. A thick, black vengeance coursing through my veins. Now I understood why the cartels struck back, hard, any time their right to exist was threatened. The fury with which rival cartels went after each other made a little more sense now. Not that it was right, or that I empathized. Just that I understood.
Well, I could play that game, too.
Angie’s training consisted of rigorous drills using knives, guns, and household items to dispatch a life-size dummy, along with a mind-blowing amount of online research-slash-homework—the use of poisons and their effects, the vulnerable points on the human body, especially those that were lethal, weapons characteristics, ammunition. The studying and skill-building kept my mind off of Lisa and how I’d failed the Whitmores, a miracle in itself. During the first week, I dutifully called my DEA contact and asked him how things were progressing but I could tell that he was only there to make me feel better about staying out of the way and letting the agents do their jobs.
I couldn’t blame them. They didn’t want some civilian with a personal stake in the case trying to help them out. They had a job to do.
So did I.
After the first week, I quit calling.
Underlying all of this were the lies I told Sam about where I was going when I left for “class.” I told myself they were only little white lies that wouldn’t hurt our relationship in the long run. That he’d ultimately understand. I hated deceiving him, knew he’d be hurt and angry if he found out what I’d been up to, but I couldn’t stop. The idea of meting out justice to whomever was responsible for distributing the deadly painkillers had begun to consume me. Let Sam and the Feds do their investigating by the book.
I was taking things in another direction.
When I stopped long enough to think about it, the idea was liberating. I convinced myself that I was only doing what law enforcement wanted done but was hamstrung from carrying out. They had to follow the law. I didn’t.
I just had to make sure I didn’t get caught.
One morning, Sam and I were having our usual breakfast of fruit, yogurt, and coffee. I could tell something was bothering him. He’d hardly said a word throughout the meal. Even though Sam’s a man of few words, this was unusual. He took our dishes and silverware to the sink and ran water into the basin. Shutting the water off, he turned to look at me.
“What?” I put down my coffee cup and tilted my head, giving him a little smile. He didn’t return the sentiment.
Clearing his throat, he glanced at the floor as if trying to formulate his thoughts. I waited for him to speak.
“Are you seeing someone else?” His voice was tight, as though taking a deep breath wasn’t possible. He raised his eyes to mine.
My heart melted at the raw emotion I saw in their depths. I reached across the counter for his hand. He didn’t move.
“No. A thousand times no. I would never do that to you. You know that.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“There isn’t anything going on. What do you mean?” The lie slipped out before I had a chance to think. His question caught me off guard and I needed time to formulate a response.
He frowned and shook his head. “I know when you’re lying, Kate.” He crossed his arms. “And you’re lying now.”
My mind raced for something to say to ease the worry on his face. I yearned to tell him everything but didn’t know if he’d understand. How could he? He was Sam Akiaq, ex-cop turned private eye. Righter of wrongs, seeker of justice, man of integrity. He’d never understand my need for revenge, for some sort of closure. I couldn’t let him know what I’d been doing. If I did, it might be the end of us.
I blew out a long sigh. Something. I had to tell him something.
“Okay. You’re right. But it’s intensely personal.” I ran my thumb along the back of his hand and looked him in the eyes. “I’m working through my feelings about Lisa the only way I know how, and I’m not ready to let you in yet.” I let go of his hand and walked around the counter to wrap him in a hug. His shoulders inched lower as he relaxed into the embrace and leaned his head against mine. “I love you, Sam. I would never hurt you like that.”
Sam sighed and pulled me closer.
“I don’t know what I’d do if you found someone else.”
“I won’t. We’re meant to be together. Just give me some time.” I pulled back to look into his eyes. “I’ll work through things and then we can talk, okay?”
Sam nodded and kissed me. The sweetness of the kiss nearly stole my breath, and I melted into his arms.
Maybe Angie can wait. I glanced at the clock on the stove. I was already fifteen minutes late. Knowing Sam, it would be another hour, which would probably piss off Angie so much she might not stick around. Already regretting my decision, I took a step backward, breaking off the embrace.
“Hold that thought until tonight, okay?” I gave him a lascivious grin and wiggled my eyebrows. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he dropped his hands to his sides.
“Sure. I’ll see you tonight.”
***
Angie’s Aston Martin was still parked at the warehouse. I skidded into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. A cloud of dust enveloped the Jeep as I shifted into park and jumped out.
Entering the cool, dark building, I waited until my eyes adjusted before spotting Angie. She sat on a folding chair, arms crossed, looking like she wanted to put me out of my misery. Her phone was in a docking station on an old card table, attached to two small speakers.
“What’s up?” I asked, peeling off my sweater to reveal a T-shirt. She glanced at the image of Kurt Cobain on the front and rolled her eyes.
“You’re half an hour late.”
“I got held up. Sam had something he wanted to talk to me about.”
Angie’s eyes glittered in the low light. “How is ol’ Sam, anyway? You never talk about him.”
“Fine.” I didn’t like where the conversation was headed and changed the subject. “So what are we working on today?” The drills had been relentless. To help me concentrate she’d added a noise component by streaming heavy metal through her phone combined with smashing garbage can lids together, and occasionally firing a gun. All while screaming at me.
Needless to say, I learned to tune out distractions.
“Well, darlin’, I think it’s time to try out your newfound talents.”
“You what?”
“Don’t you want to try out what you’ve learned?”
My stomach did a little flip at her smile.
“Why, I would think you’d be rarin’ to go, what with all the practicin’ you’ve been doing.”
“I am, I mean, of course I want to, but are you sure I’m ready?” My mind scrambled for what Angie would deem “trying out my newfound talents.”
She chuckled and rose from her chair. “The only way you’re going to learn is to actually use what I’ve taught you. Now.” She moved closer to where I stood. “Who’s the first target?”
This was moving too fast. I needed to back her up. “I wouldn’t necessarily call him a target. More a person of interest. I need more information from him before I pick my target.”
“Ah. So that’s why you were so interested in the enhanced interrogation techniques we covered on Wednesday.” She nodded, tapping her chin. “Well, then, let’s run over a few more things before we plan the operation. Have you been surveilling the subject?”
“I know where he’s conducting business, if that’s what you mean.”
“Let me guess. The warehouse where I followed you that first day?”
I nodded. “That’s the one.”
Angie paced in front of the small table, head down, thinking. “I don’t like the location. Too many variables. You need to follow him home, find out his vulnerabilities.”
“What if he doesn’t have any?”
She smiled. “Oh, believe me, he has them. Everyone does.” Walking over to a satchel resting near her chair, she pulled out a sheath containing two fixed-blade knives. “Let’s do a little more practicin’, shall we?”