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There was an ad in the paper.
I blinked. Contract killers were now taking out ads? "What sort of ad?"
A problem-solved ad. I contacted them, told them about Johnson, and they said they could help me.
By sending around a hit man? Interesting. "Was it their idea or yours to accompany the killer?"
Mine. I wanted to see the bastard die, wanted to feel it. Wanted him to know just how it felt to spend the last minutes of your life in such pain and fear.
Which was why the scent of vengeance had been so thick and bitter.
"Which paper did you see the ad in?" Dizziness swirled through me as I spoke, and I dropped a hand to the concrete to steady myself. But the weakness was growing. I'd need to end this soon.
The local paper, Surrey said. It runs every week.
"And there's nothing else you can tell me about the man you hired? How did you pay him?"
Cash up front. His smoky form began to swirl and his anger sharpened. I can feel you growing weaker, guardian. Perhaps you should join me in -
I didn't wait for him to finish, just chopped down on the link between us, cutting him off. The abruptness of it sat me back on my butt, but it had an even more resounding effect on him.
He screamed.
It was a high-pitched sound of agony and frustration combined, and the tendrils that had formed his body shattered, flying like broken glass in a hundred different directions.
Then he was gone.
I swallowed heavily and hoped like hell I hadn't destroyed his soul as easily as I'd shot him.
For several heartbeats I sat there on the cold concrete staring at his body, but the trembling in my limbs got worse, not better, until it felt like I was shaking from the tip of my toes to the end of my hair. I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to get a grip, but it didn't seem to help. Coldness swept me - a coldness that had nothing to do with souls and everything to do with death.
And not just this death, but all deaths. The ones in the past and the ones in the future. The ones that had stained my soul and the ones that would.
I can't do this any longer.
I didn't want to do this any longer.
But short of death, I couldn't see a way out. I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand ...
I'm here. Like a cool, calming breeze, Quinn's thoughts poured into mine, instantly stemming the rising tide of panic. Talk to me.
I couldn't. The words wouldn't form. I just wanted him here in the flesh, wanted him to wrap his arms around me and tell me it would be all right. That in the end, fate's fickle finger would start pointing at someone else, and my life would become sane again.
His warmth and love flooded down the link, battering away the doubts, the fear.
My thoughts unfroze. Panic subsided.
Sorry, I said eventually. I didn't mean to disturb you like that.
Sweetheart, you can disturb me anytime, anywhere, for any reason. He paused, and I felt the wash of his concern. What happened?
I killed a suspect.
Not without reason.
No.
Then you were doing your job - nothing more, nothing less.
