Asher shot him a wary look and chewed on the inside of his lip for a second before he concentrated on the traffic for a moment. “Because it was you.”
Harry stared at Asher, at his gorgeous profile, at the hint of a smile on his lips. “I never realised you were a fan.”
Asher laughed, not entirely a happy sound. “Not quite. But I thought about it, what it meant that they wanted you dead. I knew you wouldn’t have done anything wrong, which means they’re cleaning house, and if they’re getting rid of you, then I had to be next.” He shrugged again. “Then my informant sent me the picture this morning. I can only guess they sent me to kill you so we’d be in the same place at the same time. Convenient to have us both taken out.”
Harry thought about what Asher was saying. It made sense. Except... “You knew I wouldn’t have done anything wrong? So youarea fan.”
Asher rolled his eyes. “We’ve been doing this a long time, you and me. I’ve followed your work. Keep-your-enemies-closer kind of deal. And anyway, there’s a reason you’re the second best.”
“The second best?”
Asher looked right at him and laughed, and Harry hated that he found him attractive.
Christ.
“You never received an assignment for me?” Asher pressed.
Harry shook his head. “No.”
“Shame,” Asher mused. “I’m a little disappointed they never sent you to try and kill me. It would have been fun, no? To finally see which of us would win.”
Was he enjoying this? He certainly looked like he was, like this was all a game.
Harry glared at him. He had more confirmed kills than Asher, and they both knew it. Asher was renowned for sniping, clean and efficient, from a distance; no one ever saw him. The man was an enigma. Harry was better on the ground, close combat. Oh, he could do stealth when he had to, but he had no problems backing himself in close quarters. “What’s in Morocco?”
Asher shot him a look. His jaw bulged. “It’s not Europe.”
Both men were quiet for a while. Traffic was light as they left the city. The weather was good. Harry did his best to ignore the pain that was now radiating through his ankle and foot and up his shin.
“How bad is it?” Asher asked.
“How bad is what?”
“You’re injured. You took pills before and you have sweat on your brow.”
Goddammit.
He couldn’t let himself be a liability. If he slowed Asher down, Asher would simply rid himself of the deadweight. Harry knew this because he’d do the same.
“I’m sure it’s just a sprain,” Harry admitted. It felt worse than that, but he’d never admit it. Anyway, he’d endured worse.
“When you jumped off the roof,” Asher deduced. “That was stupid, by the way.”
“It was jump or be shot. I’d take my chances with the jump, thanks.”
They were quiet again, the miles flying by.
“So,” Harry said eventually. “What’s your plan? You didn’t justnotkill me when you had a chance. You saved my ass. And I’m not buying the whole us-against-them bullshit.” He waited for Asher to look at him. “What do you need me for?”