Chapter Three
Julien
I watched Mia St. Rose practically run out of the little café, her eyes huge with surprise when she’d seen me. It had been there again, that innocence in those emerald depths, and I almost felt a pang of guilt at what I’d have to do.
Almost.
Contrary to what some believed, I didn’t enjoy killing people — at least not the ones who didn’t deserve to die. But I didn’t know enough about Mia St. Rose to say what the hell she deserved. My belt across her ass for spying, maybe, but that was far from death.
I was about to leave the café when I saw the waiter return to her table and pick up the check. In her rush, she’d forgotten to pay. The waiter was shaking his head, muttering some words under his breath.
“How much does she owe?” I asked.
The waiter looked up at me, surprised. I took the check from his hand and handed him a bill that would more than cover her. Then, before I even acknowledged his thanks, I left the café and followed the hurried sound of her clicking heels. I took my time though, held back far enough to conceal my presence. There was no reason for me to chase her. I knew where she was going¸ and I didn’t intend on introducing myself. Not yet, anyway. After I’d finished with the blonde earlier that evening, I’d figured out which room belonged to Mia and picked the lock — a ridiculously easy thing to do at many of the older, cheaper properties in the city — and figured out who she was.
When I rounded the next corner, she was almost back at the hotel. I ducked into the shadows of a building a moment before she turned to look over her shoulder, scanning the quiet street before disappearing inside. I had an uncanny feeling I may have been just one of the things she was looking out for.
But I didn’t have time to think about that when my cell phone buzzed to life. Sighing, I turned the corner before pulling the phone out of my pocket. There was no need to look at the display. I knew who the caller was.
“It’s almost one in the morning.” I did not want to have this conversation now.
“I have a watch, Julien. Why the fuck isn’t it done?” my contact said, a man I’d never met, whom I knew simply as “Cash.” He sounded pissed.
“I ran into a difficulty. It’ll be done tomorrow.” Honestly, I had planned on finishing it tonight, but for some reason, I liked the idea of my little voyeur watching and had wanted to see her face one more time, wanted to watch those eyes.
“You thinking with your dick again?”
Bastard was right, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Fuck you. I said I’d get it done.”
“What kind of difficulty?”
“Nothing I can’t manage.” I wondered if he heard my hesitation.
His silence told me he had. “No witnesses. You know the deal.”
Yes, I knew the deal. The blonde had to die. She was a traitor, and treason warranted a penalty of death. It was just more of a sure thing to call in a guy like him to make certain justice was served rather than going through the court system.
“It’ll be done within twenty-four hours.”
“See that it is,” Cash finished, disconnecting the call.
Just as well.
I turned to walk back to my hotel, reaching into my pocket for a cigarette. I lit it up and took one drag before tossing it onto the street. I’d been trying to quit for over a year now. No fucking discipline when it came to nicotine though. That and fucking. They were my two addictions. At least fucking was healthy.
I pulled my phone back out of my pocket and dialed Ryan. Even as the phone rang, I wasn’t sure why I was doing it.
“Yeah,” came his usual greeting.
“It’s Julien.”
“That’s why I answered the phone.”
I almost smiled. Ryan was young, in his early twenties, and cocky as hell, but he did a good job and he did it quietly — as long as he got paid. Fuck him with a payment though, and your shit was all over the six o’clock news.
“I need you to find out what you can about a Mia St. Rose.” I pulled out the passport I’d stolen from her room. “Birthday May 24, 1991. Born in Pittsburgh, PA.”
“Got it. I’ll see what I can find.”
“How long?”
“Few hours, unless she’s hiding something.”
“Call me as soon as you know.”
I reached my hotel then and hung up. It was almost one in the morning and I wished I could sleep, but insomnia went hand in hand with the job. I went up to my room and changed into workout clothes before hitting the gym. It was well-equipped and blessedly empty. No one worked out at one in the morning except for insomniacs. I went to the treadmill first. I needed to sweat, clear my head and go over the details of the kill first. Once that was done and out of the way, I could think about Mia St. Rose’s pretty green eyes.