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“Hm,” Asher agreed. His phone vibrated in his pocket at that moment and he pulled it out, reading the message on the screen.
He stopped walking.
Harry pulled him into the shadows of an alley. “What is it?”
Asher looked up at Harry. “The fisherman who took us from Gibraltar to Tangiers was found dead. They have the car, footage from a highway camera, and you and I are wanted for his murder by the police in Gibraltar.”
Harry stared at him, disbelieving. Because Asher knew that Harry knew that meant one thing: murderers crossing international borders—and not just any murderers, but one Australian government mercenary and one nomadic assassin—now put them on a different kind of radar.
“Interpol?”
Asher nodded. “At the request of the Royal Gibraltar Police.”
“Fuck.”
* * *
Waitinguntil it was dark to leave made sense.There is very little option, Asher told himself. He was quite content to sit on the bed patiently and wait.
Harry, on the other hand, paced like a caged tiger.
“Sit down,” Asher said. “You’re only hurting your ankle more with all that stomping and turning.”
“I’m not stomping,” Harry said. “And my ankle’s fine.”
Asher sighed. Whatever. “Being on Interpol’s radar makes no difference.”
“Except now we have to avoid the police everywhere we go.”
“Did we not avoid them before?”
Harry growled at him. “They weren’t actively looking for us before. This is just one more fucking hassle.”
Asher kept his voice calm. “I sent everything we found out at our meeting to my informant.”
Harry stopped pacing to stare at him. “Do we even keep chasing that information? Now that we’re on Interpol’s shitlist, hasn’t the game changed?”
“The game hasn’t changed at all. We keep focused. We head to Ghardaïa and hopefully—”
“The only thing we’ll find in Ghardaïa is a dead man’s wife and three kids and the pool of dried blood outside their family home.”
Asher stood up from the bed so he could look Harry in the eye. “You did nothing wrong.”
Harry snorted out a laugh. “I shot him in the head.”
“You carried out an order from your government. You’re a soldier they placed on the other side of the planet to use like a remote-control gun. A kite whose strings would be cut as soon as you became an inconvenience. Gone with the wind and no ties to your country.”
Harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes turned to blue steel. “Stop calling me that word.”
Asher raised his chin. Now was probably not the time to goad Harry, to push that limit he’d wondered about earlier. But Asher had never done things the easy way, and they did have hours to kill...
“What word is that?” Asher whispered. “Kite?”
Harry seethed. “Don’t.”
“What will you do to me if I say it again?”
“Asher,” he growled.
