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Cora felt a mix of relief and fear wash over her. This was not going to be easy, and there was no guarantee that they would succeed. But they had to try.
The one thing she promised herself, whatever it took, was that she would keep Gabe safe. She'd lost one partner. Never again would she lose another. She could never live with the guilt. And Gabe did not deserve this, not at all.
Whatever strategy they decided on would have to be foolproof. Could she ensure it was so? There would be a lot of scenarios to manage, and she didn’t know if it was going to be possible.
“He seems to prefer to strike late at night or early in the morning,” Gabe said. “That gives us some time to plan. I’m sure we can make things work and keep it reasonably safe.
But, as the gates of the foundation appeared in front of them, anxiety clenched her stomach again.
No plan was foolproof. She'd been an idiot to suggest this. It was a reckless, dangerous idea, and if she wasn't extremely lucky, it would end in disaster.
If it went wrong, she'd lose the most important person in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The masked man was waiting, as still as stone. He was one with the stone; he had melted into it, allowing it to absorb his energy and for him to absorb its cold solidity.
This was how you set a trap.
With patience.
Great patience. He'd had a vision of doing this ever since he started the mission he now knew he was born to do. He was thrilled, excited, feeling breathless that he would now actually have the chance for this particular mode of death.
Every one of his kills was significant, but if he got this right, it would be a new high point, something he would remember with intense satisfaction.
The light in another pair of green eyes would go out. And the world would be a better place.
The masked man himself did not have green eyes. His eyes were a flat, featureless brown. But the member of the foundation who'd been his supervisor and mentor, an older woman with a spry, likable manner and capable hands, had green eyes.
He remembered so well how those eyes had bored into his own as she had gently remonstrated with him for his failures. She'd encouraged him to do better, but 'better' didn't seem to be a word that his mind understood.
He'd tried, but he kept failing. She'd given him chance after chance, helping him, guiding him, but he'd fallen further and further behind, making bad decisions, aggressive actions, using physical force instead of gentleness. He’d felt success slipping from his grasp day by day until he'd known that the only answer was for him to leave.
Even before she'd called him into that meeting, addressed him by his name in affectionate tones, and then dropped the bombshell, he’d known the foundation wasn't for him, and he had to leave. He had not even achieved membership. He had not been eligible for the white shirt and sweater. He'd tried so hard, but there had been that flash of temper that had caused him to push another of the recruits. The woman had fallen to her knees, and that episode had been very damaging to him. It had ruined his prospects.
Maybe he should have known then and should have made different decisions. But he hadn't; he'd kept striving.
Error had followed error. He'd yelled rudely to a superior. He'd burned one of the community meals because he’d been arguing with a colleague. He'd forgotten to shut a pasture gate because he’d stormed off in anger after a bad day, and three cattle had wandered onto the road and almost caused an accident.
Every time his green-eyed mentor had kindly but firmly redirected him, explaining the error of his ways, but he seemed unable to learn. He'd grown to hate her. He'd wanted to slap her as she explained, yet again, how he needed to correct his behavior.
He closed his eyes and found himself slipping into a fantasy, vivid and disturbing, the scene playing out in bright, garish color.
This time, it was him in the spotlight. Him at an early stage of his foundation career. And this was definitely a memory, not a fantasy.
He was standing at the edge of a field, with the sun beating down on his face and the scent of freshly cut grass filling his nose. He could hear the lowing of cattle in the distance and the chirping of birds. It was peaceful, serene. Then he heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to see his mentor approaching.
He felt his fists clench at the sight of her, the green of her eyes glinting in the sun, and he knew what was coming.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you," she said quietly. "The cleaning job was not up to the leader's expectations. Do you want to come with me, and I'll show you what needs to improve?"
"Why do you keep telling me what to do?" he demanded, his voice dripping with venom. "I don't need your help. I can do this myself. Maybe I'd do it better if you weren't always hanging over me."
His mentor's expression changed from one of warmth to one of concern. "I'm just trying to help you, to guide you," she said softly. "We all want you to succeed here. Please, take my amulet. Keep it. Perhaps it will help you. We need you. You are valuable."
But he didn't want her guidance. He was sick of being told what to do and how to do it. He was sick of being treated like a failure, and he resented the amulet, with its red stone, being pressed into his hand.
"I don't need your guidance," he spat. "I don't need anyone's help. I made the mistake because I was tired."
