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Asher laughed because, if only that was true. “We need to see this through to the end, Harry. We need to put a stop to your handler—”
Harry barked out a laugh, incredulous. “Stop? Do you know how high up the chain that is?”
“That’s why we need proof.”
“Christ, Asher. What’s the end game here? You’re going to blow a hole in the Australian government? Blackmail them? Or just kill them?”
Asher made a face, implying he’d settle for any or either.
“And then what?” Harry pressed. “We just walk away?”
Asher met his eyes, serious, honest. “Yes.”
“Walk into what? A normal life? Be a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen?”
The way Harry said that, dripping with sarcasm and contempt, stung. Asher sat back in his seat, looking out to the desert town before them. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Yes.”
Harry was stunned, clearly. And at a loss for words. He opened his mouth—
“Just shut the fuck up,” Asher said. “I was in a really good mood this morning, and you’re ruining it, Harry.”
Harry rubbed his thumb and fingers in his eyes, then scrubbed his hand over his face. He mumbled something under his breath, then shot a fierce gaze at Asher. “When we’re done here with the professor’s wife, you’re going to tell me everything.”
Asher said nothing.
“You’re going to tell me everything,” Harry bit out through clenched teeth. “I’m not asking.”
Asher held his gaze. “Hmm. Sounds like foreplay conversation to me.”
Harry seethed, nostrils flared. He raised a finger, opened his mouth, and failed to speak. In the end, he growled, swore, started the car, and drove.
* * *
Professor Taleb’shouse was exactly as Harry remembered. The front, anyway. That was all he’d seen. The street, too. Though the blood stain, from where Harry had shot the man, had been removed.
It was hard to get blood out of dirt, Harry knew from experience. He wondered what they’d used as Asher knocked on the door. “I will do the talking,” Asher said as the door opened. He spoke briefly with an older woman dressed in black who, after looking at Harry like he was shit on her shoe, opened the door and let them in.
The house was nice: terracotta floor, washed walls with white and blue tiles. The curtains were drawn, the living room was dark. A woman, mid-thirties, sat on a sofa. She was younger than Harry imagined she’d be, wore all black, sat straight-backed, her eyes were sharp and profoundly sad.
Asher talked, softly, like a melody. Charming and warm. Sympathetic and strong. Harry didn’t even know what Asher had told her, why they were there, or who they represented. The plan was to say they worked for the gas export company, but if Asher had actually told her that, Harry had no clue.
Harry was probably better off not knowing, considering he was the one who had killed her husband.
It was wrong for him to be here.
A small boy, maybe eight years old, came out from a room. It was the same boy who had chased the ball in the street the day Harry had shot Taleb. Harry had waited for the boy to go inside. Though he had no doubt the young boy had seen the end result.
The boy went to his mother and she drew him into her arms, holding him. She murmured something and gently touched his face, and the boy went to the older woman.
Harry wasn’t expecting to see Taleb’s children.
He should have stayed in the car.
It was then Harry realised all eyes were on him. Asher gave him a discreet nudge but his eyes weren’t so guarded. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I apologise. Please continue.”
As soon as Harry spoke, Mrs Taleb stared at him. “You are Australian,” she murmured before her gaze cut to Asher’s. Harry didn’t need to understand the words she said to him next. He understood the tone well enough.
