Coming for You
Page 9
“So all those assassinate-the-assassin jobs I did over the past two years?”
He shrugs. “Setups, I guess. I really have no idea, Tet. They wanted them to appear dead, but not be dead. You tell me. You know these Company people. I don’t. I have no clue how they think other than they want to get rid of me and I’m not gonna go easy.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Regime change, my friend,” Merc says. “Someone else wants to take over. Think about it. Harper poisons all those higher-ups when she makes her escape. You pick off your brother—for real,” he adds. “Then you find Harper and trail her like a good dog. One barges in and steals her file in the last second. Why?”
“They don’t trust me.”
Merc laughs. “Would you trust you?”
“Whatever.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t trust you for shit.” His smile says otherwise. “But I don’t think that’s the reason. I don’t think they know about this file we have.” He looks over to Sasha. “What do you think?”
She looks stunned that he wants her opinion. And why not ask her? She seems to be the one with all the answers, whether she wants to have them or not. Her expression becomes sad. Her eyes droop. “They know. They killed my dad for it.”
“So why two files?” I look at Merc for this.
“From what I can tell, there’s some kind of hack going on in the code. They need both files to access the money. And this makes sense. Because Ford and I tried like motherfuckers to steal money out of those accounts. I mean, shit. You dangle numbers in front of a hacker and that’s just what we do. But fuck if we could figure it out.”
“Nick would know.”
Merc and I both look at Sasha at the same time.
“Nick will know what to do with it.”
“Sasha,” I say softly. “Look, you can’t trust that guy. OK? You can’t trust him. He put Harper in danger. He put you in danger. He’s gotta be working for the Admiral.”
Chapter Six
Sasha
They shut up about Nick after that, so I take that as my cue to leave so they can share their secrets.
I understand what they’re saying. Nick is part of this. Nick is setting us all up. Nick is not on our side. And I don’t have the energy to defend him, because to be honest, I don’t know him all that well. But they don’t know him all that well either. Nick has been working other parts of the world his whole life. He’s only in North America because he took off last year on his birthday. I don’t think he’s bad. I don’t have any proof, I just don’t think he is.
So I go out into the mall area and look around. It’s near closing and there’s hardly anyone around. I walk through my dad’s corner booth—he has the largest one in the mall, it takes up the space of a dozen regular-sized booths—and my eyes rest on the other booth we run.
Mine.
He sold illegal guns to Company men and legal gear to the general public. But I sold girly stuff. Books. Jewelry. Knick-knacks. Dolls. I used to love dolls as much as I loved dinosaurs.
My fingers trace the glass-top cabinet as I walk into the little entrance of my booth and a layer of dust collects as I push it along. I used to man this booth myself and kept most of the stuff inside the cabinets. But I haven’t been here since—
“Sasha?”
I turn towards the voice and put on one of my many fake expressions I’ve mastered over the past seven months. “Hi, Mrs. Sheldon. Long time no see.” My plastic smile never wavers. I meet her tired old blue eyes as a girl who accepts that her life was torn apart and will never be the same.
“Oh, honey. I’m so happy to see you again. After the accident I never got a chance to say goodbye. And then the fire up at the ranch.” She pulls me into one of those old-lady hugs where they squeeze you into their bosoms and starts to pet my hair.
She smells like rose water. Not a scent I care for, but it’s very popular with the old ladies in this mall. I let her hug me because she doesn’t know better. She doesn’t know I’m a killer now. She doesn’t know what I’m gonna do in the days ahead.
“How have you been, sweetie?”
I’m grateful for the opportunity to pull away and get the smell of her old satin coat lapels out of my nose. “I’m great. I live with my uncle now.”
“Oh, he’s such a blessing, taking over the store like that—”
“No, a different uncle,” I interrupt her and force myself not to laugh. I have so many damn ‘uncles’ people just stopped asking. Now that Mrs. Sheldon has been reminded of that fact, she changes the subject.
“Where are you going to school now, dear? Still homeschool?”
“Yes, ma’am.” When people ask about homeschool you gotta be extra special polite or else they think you’re a serial killer in training. I almost snicker at that one. I should really stop calling myself a homeschooler. I soften the blow with a lie. “I’m going to private school this fall though, so I’ll get the proper amount of government-mandated brainwashing before the cynicism sets in.”
She smiles but her eyebrows are all slanted like Eric Cartman’s when he’s mad. I prepare myself for the next question, which would probably require me to give her an answer worthy of calling social services, but I’m ready for her to move on and leave me alone. So I say nothing. Just let the silence hang between us.
“Well,” she says, finally taking the hint, “it was wonderful to see you again. You’re so grown up now. You look like a proper young lady.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. And then I plaster that expression on my face and wait for her to leave.
She smiles for a few more seconds, then nods. “OK. I must run. Bye, dear.”
“Byeeeee,” I call out after her. She never looks back.
I walk over to Mrs. Sheldon’s booth. She sells vintage clothing so she has a full-length mirror set up. I stand in front of it and take myself in. Harper is the only girl I know. We might not be friends, exactly. But I’m starting to think of her that way. So I compare myself to her.
I’m tall. I’ve definitely grown a couple inches this year. I’m not as tall as Harper, but I’ve only got an inch to go, I bet.
Blonde hair. It’s longer now than it’s ever been. James made me comb it in the truck, so it’s almost tidy. Harper’s hair is longer than mine. And more silky.
He shrugs. “Setups, I guess. I really have no idea, Tet. They wanted them to appear dead, but not be dead. You tell me. You know these Company people. I don’t. I have no clue how they think other than they want to get rid of me and I’m not gonna go easy.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Regime change, my friend,” Merc says. “Someone else wants to take over. Think about it. Harper poisons all those higher-ups when she makes her escape. You pick off your brother—for real,” he adds. “Then you find Harper and trail her like a good dog. One barges in and steals her file in the last second. Why?”
“They don’t trust me.”
Merc laughs. “Would you trust you?”
“Whatever.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t trust you for shit.” His smile says otherwise. “But I don’t think that’s the reason. I don’t think they know about this file we have.” He looks over to Sasha. “What do you think?”
She looks stunned that he wants her opinion. And why not ask her? She seems to be the one with all the answers, whether she wants to have them or not. Her expression becomes sad. Her eyes droop. “They know. They killed my dad for it.”
“So why two files?” I look at Merc for this.
“From what I can tell, there’s some kind of hack going on in the code. They need both files to access the money. And this makes sense. Because Ford and I tried like motherfuckers to steal money out of those accounts. I mean, shit. You dangle numbers in front of a hacker and that’s just what we do. But fuck if we could figure it out.”
“Nick would know.”
Merc and I both look at Sasha at the same time.
“Nick will know what to do with it.”
“Sasha,” I say softly. “Look, you can’t trust that guy. OK? You can’t trust him. He put Harper in danger. He put you in danger. He’s gotta be working for the Admiral.”
Chapter Six
Sasha
They shut up about Nick after that, so I take that as my cue to leave so they can share their secrets.
I understand what they’re saying. Nick is part of this. Nick is setting us all up. Nick is not on our side. And I don’t have the energy to defend him, because to be honest, I don’t know him all that well. But they don’t know him all that well either. Nick has been working other parts of the world his whole life. He’s only in North America because he took off last year on his birthday. I don’t think he’s bad. I don’t have any proof, I just don’t think he is.
So I go out into the mall area and look around. It’s near closing and there’s hardly anyone around. I walk through my dad’s corner booth—he has the largest one in the mall, it takes up the space of a dozen regular-sized booths—and my eyes rest on the other booth we run.
Mine.
He sold illegal guns to Company men and legal gear to the general public. But I sold girly stuff. Books. Jewelry. Knick-knacks. Dolls. I used to love dolls as much as I loved dinosaurs.
My fingers trace the glass-top cabinet as I walk into the little entrance of my booth and a layer of dust collects as I push it along. I used to man this booth myself and kept most of the stuff inside the cabinets. But I haven’t been here since—
“Sasha?”
I turn towards the voice and put on one of my many fake expressions I’ve mastered over the past seven months. “Hi, Mrs. Sheldon. Long time no see.” My plastic smile never wavers. I meet her tired old blue eyes as a girl who accepts that her life was torn apart and will never be the same.
“Oh, honey. I’m so happy to see you again. After the accident I never got a chance to say goodbye. And then the fire up at the ranch.” She pulls me into one of those old-lady hugs where they squeeze you into their bosoms and starts to pet my hair.
She smells like rose water. Not a scent I care for, but it’s very popular with the old ladies in this mall. I let her hug me because she doesn’t know better. She doesn’t know I’m a killer now. She doesn’t know what I’m gonna do in the days ahead.
“How have you been, sweetie?”
I’m grateful for the opportunity to pull away and get the smell of her old satin coat lapels out of my nose. “I’m great. I live with my uncle now.”
“Oh, he’s such a blessing, taking over the store like that—”
“No, a different uncle,” I interrupt her and force myself not to laugh. I have so many damn ‘uncles’ people just stopped asking. Now that Mrs. Sheldon has been reminded of that fact, she changes the subject.
“Where are you going to school now, dear? Still homeschool?”
“Yes, ma’am.” When people ask about homeschool you gotta be extra special polite or else they think you’re a serial killer in training. I almost snicker at that one. I should really stop calling myself a homeschooler. I soften the blow with a lie. “I’m going to private school this fall though, so I’ll get the proper amount of government-mandated brainwashing before the cynicism sets in.”
She smiles but her eyebrows are all slanted like Eric Cartman’s when he’s mad. I prepare myself for the next question, which would probably require me to give her an answer worthy of calling social services, but I’m ready for her to move on and leave me alone. So I say nothing. Just let the silence hang between us.
“Well,” she says, finally taking the hint, “it was wonderful to see you again. You’re so grown up now. You look like a proper young lady.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. And then I plaster that expression on my face and wait for her to leave.
She smiles for a few more seconds, then nods. “OK. I must run. Bye, dear.”
“Byeeeee,” I call out after her. She never looks back.
I walk over to Mrs. Sheldon’s booth. She sells vintage clothing so she has a full-length mirror set up. I stand in front of it and take myself in. Harper is the only girl I know. We might not be friends, exactly. But I’m starting to think of her that way. So I compare myself to her.
I’m tall. I’ve definitely grown a couple inches this year. I’m not as tall as Harper, but I’ve only got an inch to go, I bet.
Blonde hair. It’s longer now than it’s ever been. James made me comb it in the truck, so it’s almost tidy. Harper’s hair is longer than mine. And more silky.
