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“Send name and location. Wire funds immediately.”

The line clicked dead, and Colton felt a rush of relief. Soon, he would have exactly what he wanted. With Donavan dead, the knowledge he’d attained would die with him. And now he would have Serena Donavan’s full cooperation.

Unless Donavan died from his injuries before the next check-in that Colton had granted Serena, there would be no way for her to find out about her husband’s subsequent murder. And once she had proof that he had survived the surgery, she would have no choice but to get to work.

If he played his cards right, he could hang the threat of Donavan’s life over her head for a while. Even if she eventually found out he was dead, it would be too late. She would be so deeply indoctrinated into their project that she would accept his death as an inevitable outcome.

Yes, Colton had been more flexible and accommodating with her than anyone he’d ever known. But things were going to work out just fine for him. They always did.

Chapter Twenty

County General Hospital

Mystique, California

A bouquet of flowers in hand, the assassin entered the hospital. Anyone would assume he was just another visitor there to see a family member or friend. No one would suspect that he had something else altogether different on his mind.

Others, like his employers, would view the film later and easily recognize a few trademark moves. Those were the people he needed to impress. He knew it frustrated them that they had no real idea what he looked like, nor did they know his real name. He’d attracted their attention through the dark web, and word of mouth had built his reputation. Some of the intel was total bullshit, but lying was part of the game, and he was a very good player.

Today, he had longish silver-gray hair, a bulbous nose, and a tendency to shuffle when he walked. He looked to be between seventy and ninety, wore dark glasses, and spoke in a soft, almost timid tone. Voice alteration was always the hardest for him. He could change his appearance like lightning, but he had a distinctively gruff voice that wasn’t easy to disguise. Because of that, he usually portrayed standoffish loners, or on occasion, he was mute. Since he had a good command of sign language, pretending to be unable to speak was more comfortable for him, though not always convenient.

As he tottered down the hallway, he thought about the man he had come to kill. What had he done to get on the bad side of his employers? Most killers didn’t care about the reasons behind their assignments, but he wasn’t like any other. He had a definite need to know. Had he been hired to kill someone as evil as his employers, or was this man just some poor schmo who’d gotten on the wrong side of one of the bad guys? He would soon find out.

He hadn’t really wanted to take this assignment—he felt ill prepared. Not only was the time frame extraordinarily short, but he hadn’t had all the accoutrements for his disguise. It hadn’t helped that he’d dropped one of his contact lenses on the bathroom floor of the ratty motel. Getting an eye infection was not his idea of a good time, so he’d thrown it away and ordered more. When the job request had come through, he’d had to decide between wearing only one contact or none at all. His eye color was already distinctive enough. Two different colors would definitely be memorable. He’d chosen a pair of tinted glasses and hoped that would work.

He could’ve said no, but turning down this assignment hadn’t felt right. Something told him he needed to take this one on. So here he was.

Most of the people he passed as he made his way toward the ICU paid no attention to him. For the few who did notice him, he met their gazes head-on. Why wouldn’t he? No one would be able to identify him later. After ten minutes in a hot shower, he would have no resemblance to the old, lonely-looking man.

By the time he arrived at the ICU, he’d ditched the flowers. Here, things got a littler trickier. Even a harmless-looking old geezer couldn’t just walk in without being questioned. Fortunately, he’d taken the time to hack the cameras and knew this shift change was the best time to access the area without getting too much attention.

Not knowing the identity of his target was an unusual turn of events. He didn’t like to back away from accepting any job—he had a reputation to maintain—but he always made sure he knew as much as possible about the target. He’d tapped into hospital records for additional information and come up even more curious. The hospital had registered him as John Doe. His injuries were consistent with torture, and the guy had been dropped off at the hospital by two men wearing masks.

Why would he be brought here for help, only to be targeted for elimination later? None of it made sense, and that wasn’t a comfortable position for him. He was a planner. Not knowing details beforehand went against his rules.

He mentally shrugged. He’d accepted the assignment, and he’d do his job. The who and why would have to be figured out later.

Shuffling down the hallway, he kept a careful eye on the head nurse. She would be his toughest challenge, as she would check each patient before she handed over the responsibilities to the next shift. She was frowning at something on the counter in front of her. He glanced around and noted that several nurses were huddled together, chatting. He hoped the head nurse would join them soon to communicate about the changing of the shift. He could walk only so slow.

When one of the nurses laughed out loud, the head nurse turned toward the group, gave them a smile, and joined them. He took his chance and slipped through the doors.

It was quieter inside the ICU. The only sounds were the beeping of the machines keeping the occupants alive. Even though this was a smallish hospital, there were a surprising number of ICU patients. All were lined up in a row, with the occasional curtain giving a modicum of privacy to the poor slubs lying in their beds. With just a glance, he knew which patient he’d come here for. He was at the end of the row, and though his head was slightly turned away, he had no problem seeing the bruises of a badly beaten man.

Needing to work quickly, he strode over to the silent, unconscious man. He was within three feet of him when he realized he had a major problem. He was accustomed to handling things on the fly, expecting anything and everything to go wrong in an instant. That was the nature of the job. But this assignment had just gone from zero to a hundred in one second flat.

He knew the man lying on the bed.

This changed his entire mission. Plan A was now out the window. And while his ultimate goal would stay in place, and he hated plan B, he would not let that stop him. He’d always known his master scheme couldn’t be written in stone—there were too many variables.

Putting aside his frustration, he pulled his phone from his pocket, pressed a key, and spoke in a low voice when a man answered with, “Boss?”

“I need a distraction.”

“How big?”

“Entire grid.”

“For how long?”