Page 44 of Targeted By Vengeance

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Scooting closer, she pushed her head into the crook of my neck and rested on my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

With how loud her thoughts seemed to be, I doubted she’d be getting any sleep tonight. I was prepared for the tossing and turning, the crying, and the silent dissociations. She wasn’t going to face them alone. I was going to be here, holding her, for as long as she needed.

THE AGENT

The humming of Mateo’s pager vibrating on the nightstand was just the thing I needed to stop faking sleep.

I’d been lying here all night, eyes closed but not dreaming. I avoided tossing and turning by laying on my back. I didn’t want to wake Mateo. He was lying beside me, his arm slung over my waist and his face pressed in my hair. I could tell from the occasional brushes of his fingers on my hips and kisses on my head that he wasn’t fully asleep either. A part of me was glad he was worried about me, but another felt bad for burdening him with my feelings. This is what I’d been asking him for. Now that he’d finally given it to me, I shouldn’t be crying over it.

Mateo rolled over with a drowsy groan and grabbed his pager off the nightstand.

I turned onto my side and watched as he peered at the message through narrowed eyes. “New assignment?” I asked.

“Mhm.” The hand with the pager fell as the other ran over his face. “What time is it?”

I looked past him at the digital clock atop the dresser. “Eight-thirty.” I pushed myself up. “Are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”

Mateo didn’t have a chance to respond before I was out of bed and scurrying out the door.

After being still for so long with so much on my mind, I needed to move a little bit. Release some of the anxiety that built up overnight.

Cooking was a good way to do that. I knew how to make omelets and homefries by heart, so I didn’t need to think too much about it. I was able to move around the kitchen on auto-pilot. Honestly, I would’ve preferred going for a run, but I doubted Mateo was ready to let me roam around on my own.

I put on some music to distract myself from thinking about Marcos’ broken limbs and empty eyes. I tried to focus on the lyrics, humming along to some of my favorites. The music pushed away the clouds hovering over my head, allowing some room for sunlight to creep in. I assumed Mateo and Maria had their own ways of coping with this job. Perhaps music could be one of mine.

Footsteps were padding down the hall by the time I finished making breakfast. Mateo and Maria emerged through the doorway, both their eyes hanging low from drowsiness.

Maria gave me a wave and perched herself on the marble island across from the stove.

Mateo continued to stroll towards me. The fresh scent of his bodywash wafted through my nose as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pecked a kiss on my lips. “Smells good in here,” he murmured against my lips.

I smiled. “Tastes even better.”

His brow rose. He leaned down to put his lips against my ear. “Oh really?” He whispered, his already baritone voice dropping even lower.

Maria loudly cleared her throat, reminding us we weren’t alone.

Mateo rolled his eyes as he pulled away from me. “Don’t act like you and the hacker aren’t ten times worse,” he told her.

I couldn’t help but giggle when she flipped him off.

We all sat around the island and ate together. Mateo turned on the small television I hadn’t realized was sitting on the counter, so we could watch reruns of old sitcoms.

Once we were finished eating, Mateo took over the dishes while Maria and I headed into the living room. Maria connected her laptop to the television, so I didn’t have to look over her shoulder at the computer screen.

I watched as her fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard to access the encrypted file sent to her computer. My brows rose at the familiar face that popped up on the screen when she opened it.

Chester Roswell ran in some of the same circles as my stepfather. He was one of the new-money billionaires who’d built their business from the ground up. From how my step-father used to speak about him, he seemed like an alright guy. The only gripe a lot of the others in their circle had was how fast he’d blown up. Before, I thought it was a usual case of old money versus new money. But, knowing someone paid to have him killed, their suspicions might have been well-placed.

Instructions accompanied the bullet points listing his basic information. The buyer wanted him to die at a charity gala Roswell was hosting this weekend - in a dramatic but untraceable fashion.

The latter stumped me. How were we supposed to kill him in front of a huge crowd without being seen?

“Your wheels look like they’re turning,” Mateo said as he leaned in the doorway. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m trying to think of discreet methods for murder,” I replied. “If there even is such a thing.”