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“It’s not the first time.”
When I was on missions with my squadron, a lot of the time, we’d make it onto the news. Nobody would know it was squadrons with our headgear covering our faces, but we’d be all over television, newspapers, the internet. Not once were our identities compromised. There’s an art to being overlooked, and that is by weaving in and out of the shadows.
“Maybe not, but this isn’t some black ops mission that we can brush off. There’s nothing to fall back on. You’re not a ghost anymore.”
Once a ghost, always a ghost. People never understand that it doesn’t matter whether you’re on active duty or not, you’re still the person the military trains you to be. In my case: a shadow. A ghost. An invisible killer.
“The way I see it, I’m doing this country a favour.”
“By putting everything else at risk. Everything we stand for.”
“Justice comes at a price, Jules.” Glacial eyes dagger into me. “You should know that.”
“I also know that vendettas always end with more casualties than you prepare for.”
“That’s just war.” Finishing my coffee, I go back to the article.
Police are inquiring into all possibilities, with a source stating that it is very likely that the killer is a highly trained medical professional, with each of the victims having a precise wound to the lung, which is believed to be the cause of death.
“Medical professional,” I scoff down at the paper. “Suppose something has come out of all the hunts.”
Days spent stalking deer followed by evenings exsanguinating the carcass before we butchered the animal. My father would always take the moment to teach. It was his way of trying to push me into pursuing a career like his instead of the veterinary science I chose. There was enough shadow to live under without adding a career choice to it.
“Henry.” Julian braces himself over the table, leaning forward so that our stares are matched. “There’s an entire Scotland Yard task force being assembled as we speak to weed you out.”
“Yes, and their chief is in and out of our door.” I take a sip of my coffee as he watches me intently. The frustration in his eyes blazes brighter with every second. “Dick Warren has a certain taste for Mary. Maybe it’s time she made herself useful.”
“You’re enjoying this too much,” he laughs dryly.
“I am. It always feels better to do than to talk around in useless circles, debating right and wrong.”
“Good, you’re both here,” Percival says as he comes into the room. “We need to reevaluate ASAP.”
The atmosphere changes the instant he puts the iPad in his hand down in front of me.
“He was found this afternoon,” Percival states with a solemn sigh.
The sight is all too familiar, causing my chest to fist around my pounding heart. Death is never something easy to look upon. However, there are times when it looks back at you, and it’s then that it cuts the deepest. Times like now, where sorrow seems inadequate to plaster over the gaping wound its master leaves behind.
“Jules…” I glance up at him as his fingers zoom into the photo on the screen.
“He’s my godfather. Did you know that?” he says blankly.
“Yes.”
“Have you told Lady Sterling?” Julian asks Percival. His eyes are red with grief, and an angered flush glows over his entire face. “And…and Grania?”
Julian nods, his eyes narrowing on mine. “Here’s your first casualty, Henry. His blood is on your hands.”
“I can live with that,” I tell him as I focus back on Percival. “I want the commissioner up here, and we need to fill his chair fast.”
“Alastair left instructions on who was to take his seat.” Percival pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “We need to reevaluate.”
There’s a note inside, along with three pearl buttons. One of which is bloody and carved with a W.
Every life has a price.
What are you willing to pay?
