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Jules looked at him for a long, contemplative moment, searching for weakness, regret, any emotion whatsoever. He didn’t find it. “All right,” he said finally. “You can go out the back way if you don’t want to see her. Just turn left.”
It was a challenge, one that Killian had every intention of ignoring. He didn’t need to see her again, didn’t need to know what she was going to go through before she died. He already had a fairly good idea. The smartest thing to do was head out the back way, straight to the small cargo plane waiting to take him out of here. These things happened, and the wise decision was move on with his life.
“I couldn’t care less,” he said, shouldering his duffel. He headed toward the sound of voices. Ahmad’s, low and menacing. And Mary’s voice, the one that had whispered in his ear when he was inside her, the voice that had cried his name when she came. The voice that had kept him company the last two weeks, keeping him entertained, charmed, distracted.
He turned right, pushing open the metal door to the huge expanse of empty warehouse. She
was standing there, silhouetted by the open door and the rainy night beyond, holding a gun in her hand.
He was momentarily astonished. Had he been that inept to not recognize an agent when he’d spent two weeks with her? But then he saw the way she was holding the gun, and it was clear she’d never touched one in her life.
There was no sign of Ahmad. Killian dropped his duffel. He had a handgun tucked in his belt—he didn’t need to draw it. She could see it clearly enough, and he could move faster than she could. She’d be dead before she managed to pull the trigger, if that was the way he wanted it.
“Where’s Ahmad?” he said.
She didn’t blink. He wondered if all the drugs had left her system. She was staring at him as if seeing him for the first time, which, in fact, she was. “He left. He asked me if I wanted to kill you, and I said yes. So he gave me the gun and he left.”
Killian couldn’t help it—he laughed. If this was Jules’s way of getting rid of him, it was a singularly ineffective way of doing so. If Mary Isobel had been a professional she’d still have been no match for him. As it was, she was doomed.
“You’re not going to kill me, princess,” he said. “You don’t even know how to hold a gun. Just set it down, and maybe you can leave here without any more fuss.”
The gun was shaking in her hands, and he couldn’t see whether the safety was off. Ahmad was a thorough man; he’d probably set it for her before he disappeared.
“Did you murder Etienne Matanga?”
“Yes.”
“Did you drug me?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you save me in Plymouth, take me with you?”
“Because you provided a good cover. They were already looking for me—someone tipped off the authorities that a single male was planning a hit, but they didn’t know who, and they didn’t know where. I didn’t want anyone looking too closely at me, and you were enough to distract them.”
“Marie-Claire?”
“I made her up.”
Mary Isobel didn’t ask what else he’d made up. She knew. He’d made up everything. If he’d been a different man he would have felt sorry for her.
But he was who he was, and he felt nothing at all. Apart from a mild concern about the gun she was holding.
“If you shoot me, Ahmad and Jules will finish you off. You’d be smart to just put the gun down and walk away.”
“And let a murderer go free?”
“It’s not your business.”
“You made it my business.”
He sighed. He was going to have to kill her, after all. She was too hysterical for him to let her go, and her gun was wavering dangerously. He was seriously annoyed with Jules and Ahmad—this was the last thing he’d wanted to do.
“I’m afraid…” he began, reaching for the gun.
He flew backward, spun around and landed on the floor, momentarily stunned. The bitch had shot him. She had actually pulled the trigger. If he weren’t so pissed off he would have laughed. She was more of a survivor than he would have guessed.
He was bleeding like a stuck pig, but he didn’t move. As he’d fallen, he’d managed to get his hand on his gun, and if she approached him to finish the job, he’d roll over and shoot her before she could blink.
