My car is waiting for me out front, keys in the ignition, ready for me to head for the airport. A real workhorse. Battered old Ford to the eye, but with an engine that might have come from a fucking jumbo jet.
I told him to give me some horsepower, but he’s shoved the entire Kentucky Derby under the hood. One tap on the gas and I’m slammed into the back of the seat, almost hitting the bus in front of me as I set off into the city traffic.
“Fuck me, Morgan,” I say out loud as I get used to the power. “You’ve outdone yourself this time.”
When I get to the airport, I park up in the long stay and climb out, checking the case in the trunk. The weapons are all there. Ceramic, behind hidden panels designed by Morgan himself, never brings up a single concern on the metal detector or the X-ray. I should know, I’ve taken them on enough assignments.
While waiting for my flight, I memorize the layout of Grant’s Hollow and the surrounding country. Not much to the town. Four thousand souls. Two gas stations. Two banks. Two churches. Two bridges. Two of fucking everything, it seems. Her place is five minutes from the kindergarten where she works. Shouldn’t be hard to scope the place while waiting for her to emerge.
Take her at work or at home? Home, she might see me, but work will have more witnesses. Maybe I can get her on the short commute between.
Get the job done. That’s what I’m there for. I can’t get attached. Not when there’s so much at stake.
One more job. That’s all it is. Nothing more to it. No feelings. None of that shit. Just get in, get the job done, get out. Not my fault she got on the wrong side of the wrong people. I’m just doing my job. Getting Isobel back and getting the fuck out of Dodge, that’s what matters. Nothing else.
* * *
I sit low in my car, newspaper on the dash, baseball cap half over my eyes, looking for all the world like I’ve pulled over for a nap.
The car doesn’t stand out. I’ve seen three like mine since I got here. They’ve got a few more dents and a lot more rust but no sign mine’s anything special compared to the standard in a town like this.
I’ve done small town jobs before and they make me the closest someone like me gets to uncomfortable. Everyone knows each other. They all talk and laugh and smile like none of them have got a care in the world.
Not somewhere I could ever live. That’s for damn sure.
I glance at the time, shifting my wrist slightly, just enough to move my eyes down. I’m not looking away from the door for long. I’ve not got much of a window of opportunity here.
Seven twenty seven. Last three days she’s left home bang on seven thirty. Walks to the kindergarten but stops at someone’s house on the way. I’m guessing she picks up a colleague on the way to work each morning.
I need to get the job done before she gets to that house. I’ll only have two minutes. From her house to work is five, and she doesn’t stop for long. One hundred and twenty seconds to get it done. Got to get it right. Won’t get an easy second chance. Not that I’ve ever needed one.
My watch clicks to seven thirty and the front door swings open. Out comes Clarissa and for a moment I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything at all. The morning sun catches her face and she looks like a fucking angel.
I can’t kill her.
Shit, what does that mean? I’ve never had any trouble taking out a target. What the fuck is going on in my head?
Twenty seconds have passed and she’s still on the doorstep, calling to someone inside. I’m guessing her roommate. “Come on, Sophie,” she shouts. “Meghan has got choco crispies for you this morning, or so a little birdie tells me.”
I frown. Sophie? Who the fuck is that? Maddy is her roommate’s name. I didn’t plan for a witness to this. Do I still go ahead or abort and regroup?
I shift in place, the gun hidden in my lap beneath a blanket. Clarissa grins at someone inside and my heart flips. That smile does things to me I don’t understand. Punches me hard. Then something happens that doesn’t just punch me, it knocks me the fuck out.
A kid emerges on the doorstep. A little girl. Not much more than a year old. Walking unsteadily on her feet like she just learned to do it. Chocolate brown hair tied back with a red ribbon. She looks like her mom, got the same chin, same eyes. She’s also got milk on her lip and she’s grinning like a hyena. “Chocchoc?” she asks and my gun goes limp in my hand.
I’ve already done the math by the time they’re walking down the far side of the street, passing my car and heading the other way, no idea how close they came to disaster.
Kid’s fourteen months. Add that to nine months of pregnancy and you get right back to that one night we had together.
I didn’t use a condom.
That’s my daughter.
Has to be.
The gun almost slips from my hand into the footwell of the car. For a moment I can’t do anything but watch as they head up to the house marked on my map.
Clarissa’s handing the kid over to a smiling woman on the doorstep. It’s not a colleague she visits each morning. It’s a childminder. Sign right there on the stoop.