Simon holds a blue ice pack to his swollen lip. His left eye is a balloon of purple. Butterfly stitches hold the split skin across his cheekbone together. His shoulder is a mass of white bandages. Another bandage crosses his bare chest from left shoulder to right hip. His chest is clean now, but when I first ripped off his shirt to press the fabric rope to the gunshot wound it was a mess of blood and dirt. The slice across his chest is a sharp line—not deep enough to be dangerous, but there will be a scar.
We are in the medical suite. Simon is lying on one of the narrow beds, his back propped up with pillows. Next door Heather Franks, the guard who was injured, is recovering. Merl and I stopped in there first to check on her. Ziggy knocked her out but didn’t hurt her otherwise. A real gentleman…
An IV of fluids drips into Simon’s injured arm; his good one is bent to hold the ice pack to his lip. He lowers it to say: “You have a leak, someone here is reporting to Scythe.” He makes it sound like a fact.
Merl stands with his arms crossed, biceps pressing against his T-shirt, a frown pulling at the edges of his lips. Our dogs all wait in the hall, the room not big enough for six dogs, three adults, and the narrow bed. “That’s not a light accusation,” Merl says.
Simon’s eyes hold Merl’s gaze. “I know. But how do you explain how they knew I was here? And where you had me locked up.”
“You left a trail,” I suggest weakly.
Simon shifts his focus to me, his expression neutral. “Not possible.”
I roll my eyes. “Your confidence is admirable, but your face is a hot mess.” He tries to smile but grimaces. “So this is a personal thing between you and this Scythe?” I ask.
“No.” He holds my gaze. The man knows I’m trying to catch him in a lie. Simon can guess how much I heard of his exchange with the intruder. Or maybe he knew I was there and said it all for my benefit.
“Scythe is the guy that Richard hired to arrange Senator Jackson’s death?” I ask.
“She’s not a guy.” Simon’s voice is neutral, but there is something under all that I don’t have feelings on this matter that makes me think feelings are indeed involved.
“Oh?” I raise both brows. “A jealous ex?”
He swallows and shakes his head. “No.”
“Go on,” I encourage. “We’ve got all the time in the world for that long story you mentioned before we hunted down Ziggy Stardust.”
I had caught Merl up on our escapades while the doctor was working on Simon. “Yes,” Merl agrees, glancing at his watch. “My entire day is free. And it’s early still.”
Yellow sunlight filters through a white shade. A faint humid breeze ekes past it, a fan in the ceiling helping to move it around. The day has turned hot and humid, the storm lingering at the horizon, moisture thick in the air. I showered and changed while the doctor worked on Simon. James and I had a short cuddle, and I left him with Mulberry working on a pile of pancakes. Mulberry had a streak of flour on his cheekbone that made my heart squeeze so tight I almost couldn’t leave. But I did.
Simon moves the ice pack to his swollen left eye, closing both. “His name was Marshal Thornton.” The words are edged with exhaustion.
“Sounds even more British than Ziggy Stardust,” I say.
“He’s actually South African.”
“Oh,” I say. “I guess I’m bad with accents.”
“He was educated in England.” Simon doesn’t open his eyes as he continues. “We worked together. We were…friends.” Simon shakes his head at that word.
“You’re not really one for friends though, are you?” I ask.
Merl looks over at me, his expression unreadable. I look away. I need to get my emotions under control here. Whatever I think of Simon isn’t the point. The point is that a killer snuck onto our compound. We need to figure out the risks here.
Simon lowers the ice pack, and I can feel his gaze on me. “I’ve never been great at relationships in general.” I bite my tongue because he’s obviously very good at faking them. “But Marshal and I had a bond.”
“You fought together?” Merl guesses.
Simon nods and winces as if the movement is painful. “He was with MI5, and I was with the American military intelligence. We were teamed up on a number of occasions.”
“Doing what?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll decide what matters,” I bite back.
Simon holds my gaze. “It’s classified.”
My laugh is hollow.
“Why did he try to kill you?” Merl asks.
“Robert Maxim,” Simon says. “He wants me very dead.” Simon is looking at me as he answers. Because we both know why Robert wants him oh so dead. Robert is my husband, a marriage of circumstance that has never been consummated, and Simon tried to kill him. He didn’t even challenge him to a duel first. Just snuck into his house and tried to take him out.
“He’s a dangerous man to betray,” I say, holding his gaze.
“Yes.” Simon’s split lip twitches at the edge like he’s on the verge of a smile.
Merl clears his throat. “Tell me more about Scythe.”
“That I can’t do.”
“Or won’t do,” I say.
Simon swallows. “A little of both. She’s not after you. Knowing more about her won’t help you.” He starts to lean forward like he’s going to sit up.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping forward to stop him. He needs to rest.
“I need to go,” Simon says.
“Go?” I laugh. “You’re my prisoner. You don’t get to leave unless I say so.” I push down on his good shoulder, easily forcing him back into the bed.
“I’m a target. I’m dangerous to be around.”
I laugh. “You’re not getting free that easy. We don’t know you’re not the one who leaked our location.”
Simon’s nostrils flare. “You think I set myself up?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” And I wouldn’t.
“You think my assassin sacrificed himself so that I could…what? Leave the place I’ve been working on reaching for months?”
His logic is strong. But so are my emotions. “You’re not going anywhere.” I look over at Merl whose eyes are narrowed. “Right?” I say.
“For now,” Merl says. “I want more information about Scythe. It’s important for us to have as much intelligence as possible. We can set up a meeting for Simon and Rebecca to talk. She will have questions.”
Simon relaxes back onto the bed. “I’ll do whatever you want. I just don’t think Scythe is worth your time. She’s not the problem. She’s just a solution the problem uses. If you stopped her, another would replace her in a moment.”
“That’s true of all the bad people in the world, doesn’t mean we don’t do anything about them.”
“She’s ethical in her own way,” Simon says, his voice defensive. “Won’t touch children.”
“But female senators are not a problem.”
“I’m not condoning what she does.” There is an edge of annoyance in Simon’s tone. “I’m just saying, she could be worse.”
“Is she another one of your ‘friends’?” I put the word in bunny quotes.
Simon lets out a slow breath. “Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s my sister.” The exhaustion in his voice plucks a chord in my chest. It resonates there, making me sympathetic toward the beaten man in this narrow bed.
“Your sister?” Merl asks, not even trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Yes. My twin.”
“Your twin sister took a contract on your life, and you think she’s not that bad?” I ask. “But wait! You said your family was all dead.”
“I lied.” Simon holds my gaze and there isn’t even an apology in his eyes. He lied. That’s what he does. No need to get upset about the fact that the man is a facade.
“Do you have a relationship?” Merl asks.
Simon looks over at him. Gives a small head shake. “She did send someone she knew would be quick—Marshal isn’t a sadist like a lot of her assassins.”
“What about the silent one I sent flying? What did they call him? The Mute Strangler? Another gentleman killer?”
Simon shrugs, pain lancing across his expression.
“He’s known for hurting kids,” I say.
“Scythe doesn’t take contracts on families. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Not families, just family members. She sounds like a saint.”
Simon’s eyes slide closed again. Exhaustion lines his face.
“We’ll let you rest,” Merl says. “I’ll set up a time for you to talk to Rebecca later.”
“Okay,” Simon says.
Merl and I leave, closing the door behind us. The hallway smells like our dogs—musky canine. The doctor comes out of another room. He’s a man in his late fifties with silver hair and kind chestnut-brown eyes. “Marco,” Merl says in greeting. “We will be back later.”
“Let him rest for a while. He’s lost a lot of blood. And his wounds are ripe for infection. This environment is bacteria’s dream.” Marco’s expression is grave.
“He’ll be fine though, right?” I ask, anxiety trying to twist in my gut. Like it cares about that liar in there. Bacteria would be doing me a fucking favor.
Marco nods. “Should be.”
Merl and I step out into the humid morning; our dogs fall into position behind us so that we each have a tail of three dogs as we proceed along the narrow walkway, headed back to Merl’s office. Our phones both ping at the same moment, and we fish them out of our pockets. It’s a message from Rebecca.
Power back on in NYC.
“Thank fuck,” I say.
Merl doesn’t respond, he’s typing a response. I wait while he finishes. When Merl’s dark intelligent eyes raise to mine I see relief but also concern. “What?” I ask.
“I’m apprehensive about you going to Robert Maxim.”
“He’s not trying to kill me,” I point out, turning to continue toward Merl’s dojo.
He falls into step with me. “You just got out of there.”
“What, like it was hard?” There is teasing in my voice and I catch a hint of humor at the corner of Merl’s mouth. “Besides, why would the fact that Robert is trying to kill Simon affect our plan?”
“Robert might think that you’re protecting him. Because you are, even if it’s as your prisoner.” He’s quick to add the last part. Because I am not protecting that lying bastard. But I did and I would again…a voice in my head reminds me. Fucking voices in the head are such a pain in the ass.