My
characters would be much happier if I did.
Maybe
it’s just a coincidence, but Sabrina definitely suffered the most in Faerietales
2, and I give Evans a pretty rotten backstory and equally harsh happenings
going forward into Dirty Politics 2.
I
think part of that might be because I’m clueless and don’t ever realize I’m
writing a series until I’m practically done with the first novel. And by the
time I’m practically done with the first novel, I’ve established so many off-putting
details that the next one up has little choice but to go badly for its hapless
hero.
3 – Time to Think
|
B
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anned from his house, Evans knew
his choices were limited, especially at such an early time of day.
Bars, the normal type
of establishment one went to when banished from home, wouldn’t be open for a
while; and even the kind of regular restaurants that stocked liquor had a few
more hours to go before they’d start letting people in. Besides, he didn’t feel
like getting a drink. Alcohol wasn’t going to help him get his wife back. He
needed to stay sober, knowing that she might call him at any moment, saying she
was ready to talk.
Then again, he was
well aware of the possibility that she might not call at all.
How much time was
enough time to give her, he had no idea. He wondered if he could ask Kayla.
The thought was
tempting. Ridiculous, but tempting. What was worse was how he thought of her to
solve his problem in the first place. And still more pathetic was the fact that
he couldn’t think of anyone else who might be able to offer guidance.
Military life with
its deployments made maintaining many friendships difficult to begin with.
Hardly the anti-social type back in the day, however, Evans had always had
friends to hang out with when quitting time came. Some of them were fellow
sailors and soldiers; some were civilians. Some of them he would even talk to about
more than the latest Ravens’ stats or the news stories on everyone’s minds.
Unfortunately, both the
good acquaintances and close friends were long gone. He’d shed most of them
within months of getting back from Afghanistan.
Part of that was
their fault. Most of it was his.
In any branch of the
military, teamwork was essential. Egos got in the way of getting the job done,
a lesson that most enlisted men and women were forced to face sooner than later
in their career.
With the SEALs in
particular, there was no way to get through training as a lone wolf. And if
students were too dense to comprehend that on their own, the instructors made
sure to get it through their thick skulls in dozens of brutally creative ways.
Yet, like so much of what Evans had picked up over the years, he ignored that
life lesson during Sarah’s pregnancy. He hadn’t felt like keeping company with
girl-crazy bachelors or married men who were so tantalizingly clueless about
the fragility of their wedded bliss.
The second type
bothered him the most. He’d been one of them once upon a time, and he didn’t
want to be reminded about what he had lost any more than he cared to endure
their awkward sympathy if he dared to talk about the truth.
They would just say
the kind of things well-meaning people always ended up saying to the
devastated, all while congratulating themselves on escaping such rotten luck.
Not to his face of course, and it wouldn’t have been mean-spirited either; it
was human nature to breathe that sigh of relief. And since he couldn’t, he
didn’t want to be around anyone who could.
Life went on with or
without friends anyway. He had figured that out while staying busy looking for
new jobs; minding Sarah’s random and extreme mood swings; and taking her to her
prenatal appointments.
It hadn’t all been
bad, as it gave him time to get acquainted with his firstborn. He had very well
known how much of Ava’s life he would miss the last time he shipped off, so
Evans was more than happy to make up for lost time once he was home. He knew he
went overboard in the process, using her as an excuse to avoid grownup
conversations.
By the time Lizzy
made her official debut, it had been a while since he got invitations to hang
out with friends. They’d given up on him just the way he wanted them to.
Besides, he told himself, he had a whole new slew of baby-related
responsibilities to assist with.
Evans was no longer
amazed at how well Lizzy fit into the family. She just did, and he couldn’t
imagine them without her. Yet as much as he inexplicably loved her, she was
still his responsibility, not a confidant. As comforting as it could be to hold
her when she was fussy, soothing or entertaining her until they were both
thoroughly distracted, he was beginning to recognize how hasty he had been to
get rid of his friends the way he had.
There was something
to be said about grownups every once in a while. Like when he needed someone to
talk to and the only person who came to mind was a woman who doubtlessly wished
she had never met him.
Ignoring both the chill
in the air and the rain clouds starting to slide into place above him, Evans
ran his hand along the front bumper of the pickup truck. His fingers slipped
into one sizable indent and then slid right back out again.
The truck’s bumps and
bruises were like his own: deep and defining in so many ways. Some were for
good; a lot were the polar opposite.
Feeling out the past
damage along the cold edges of his vehicle made him want to drive back down
Route 95, past D.C. into Virginia. Down there, there were plenty of sprawling
woodlands where he could accumulate a few more scratches. If he was lucky, he
might even get a flat tire along the way, something to reroute his attention. If
only for a short while.
There were also a few
dense enough forests in a much closer radius, but he thought a two-hour drive
might do him some good.
That was to say, it
probably couldn’t hurt any worse.
Without a clear plan
formulated in his head, Evans climbed into the cab and sat there. The keys
rested in his lap, and his hands were wrapped around the steering wheel for no
real reason when he didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
A wave of weariness
washed over him, and it struck him that he might be getting old.
That thought had
never crossed his mind before. Not when he was thirty-six and in top physical
condition. So it seemed like a ridiculous possibility to contemplate, much less
accept.
He could bench press over
three hundred pounds and hike for miles over rough terrain without breaking
much of a sweat. All in all, he still had the same physique he’d first acquired
while preparing for the Navy.
Or very nearly so.
Perhaps he wasn’t in quite the same shape as before, but close enough. Sarah
didn’t seem to object regardless, not to mention that Evans was still much more
fit than most men ten years his junior.
Give another year or
two and, if Sarah stuck it out with him, he could easily see them expanding
their family further. Maybe add a boy to the mix to somewhat even out the
lopsided score. Someone to throw a football around with and teach to dislike
the Pittsburgh Steelers as much as he did.
Though some weird
part of him thought Lizzy might do that someday anyway, regardless of whether
she got a brother. Ava not so much. Evans already knew that for sure. She was
all tiaras and tutus and sugar and spice. But his second daughter could very
well be a different story.
His mouth tugged upward
like he hadn’t seen either of them in months instead of a mere few minutes. It
felt like he was deployed overseas again rather than sitting in his own parking
lot with the ability to walk right into his home and scoop them up.
The ability, but not
the right.
Evans let himself
close his eyes, not quite slumping in his seat. Thirty-six wasn’t supposed to
be old, yet he felt it. It was, however, supposed to be mature. But he had
obviously gotten that part wrong as well.
His cell phone rang
on the seat beside him, and his eyelids flew open. It hadn’t taken Sarah nearly
as long as he thought it would, which could be a good sign or a bad one, like a
jury let out too soon. He didn’t know whether to feel ecstatic or petrified
when he heard his simplistic ringtone.
Both emotions
evaporated when he looked down and saw that the caller wasn’t his wife.
For a second, Evans
contemplated not picking up. He definitely didn’t want to, but there were few
easy reasons why the person in question should want to get in touch with him.
So he accepted it on the chance of there being something very wrong that he
would regret not knowing about later.
It was Rod. Who he
had spent far too much time with already in the past week. Especially
considering the stunt the kid attempted a few days ago. Yes, he had an
excellent presence with his firearm, which had come in handy off of N Street
last night. But like Kayla, Evans didn’t believe that entirely cancelled out
past crimes. Or attempted crimes.
The reason why Kayla
hadn’t accepted Rod’s heartfelt apology back in D.C. was because of exactly
what Rod was apologizing for. Which was assault with the intent to commit rape.
When Evans caught the younger man all but dragging Kayla out of the room by her
hair, he saw red. Lots and lots of red, and very little else.
Evans didn’t regret
his reaction. Not in the slightest. The blockhead deserved to have his skull
cracked open deep enough to require a row of stitches. Sometimes people needed
forceful wake-up calls to snap them out of ruining people’s lives, their own
included.
He was, however, glad
he hadn’t taken the next violent and entirely permanent step he’d been inclined
toward at the time. Though Rod would have deserved that too, a conclusion Evans
didn’t try to shake when he held the ringing phone up to his ear.
“What do you want?”
He didn’t bother putting any finesse into the question.
He was a superior
speaking to a subordinate. And a seriously messed-up one at that, even if the
kid had pulled through in the end.
Rod paused on the
other end, his silence riddled with caution. “Is now a bad time?”
“Yes.” Evans wasn’t
kidding. “Are you going to make it worse?”
“I can call back
later.”
“Or you can tell me
why you called now.” It was an order, and he spoke it with a tone that brooked
no arguments.
Even so many years
out of the U.S. Army, Rod took it as intended, hardwired to adhere to military
command as much as he would have been fresh out of boot camp. “I just wanted to
know if there was any update on Kayla.”
Evans didn’t
particularly like his screw-up subordinate saying her name. It rankled him, a
fact he didn’t bother to hide.
“She’s still a mess.”
He didn’t add the
words “because of you.”
He didn’t need to.
“Yeah, I figured
that.” As carefully as he stated that comment, Rod still hesitated again before
continuing, perhaps taking a second or two to wallow further in his guilt. “I
meant did she make a decision? On whether or not she was going to go after
Greyble.”
His carefully
respectful tone didn’t escape Evans. It also didn’t bother him. The kid damn
well should be showing deference.
Somewhere behind his
eyes, he could feel the start of a nasty headache coming on. Perhaps in part
because, deep down inside, he knew he was projecting his personal shame onto
Rod, who made such an amazingly easy scapegoat. Through full fault of his own.
“She’s not sure yet.
Says she needs to think about it.” He switched the phone call over to his
Bluetooth set, closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest.
“Did she say when she
would know?” Rod asked.
“No. Why? You on a
deadline of some sorts?”
“No.” For a split
second, it almost sounded like he was about to say “no, sir,” the first hiss of
the S carrying over the airwaves. “But Greyble says he has another job.”
That statement got
Evans’ undivided attention. The senator always passed information down the
chain of command; he didn’t bother with the underlings, mainly because he was
too full of himself to have anything to do with the lower ranks of his hired
help, no matter how much longer they’d been with him. So it didn’t bode well
that he had switched up his normal routine.
“He told you this?”
“Yeah. Called me up
and told me not to tell you about it.”
“This job would be?”
Evans prompted.
“Bugging your phone.”
“Damn it.” The curse,
not aimed at anyone or anything in particular, came out instinctively. “Did he
say why?”
The pain in his head
ratcheted up another notch. But he pushed the irritation down on the
lengthening list of problems he needed to concentrate on. That included surveying
his surroundings to make sure nobody was staking him out.
He turned his head to
look out both windows while Rod went on.
“Not directly, but I
got the distinct impression he’s still not happy about your smackdown before.”
That was fine by
Evans, but he didn’t have the time to smirk about that any more than groan
about his aching temples. “Did he change his mind about Kayla?”
First things had to
come first.
“I think he’s more
worried about you than her at the moment.” Rod sounded confident about that
conclusion. “He kept calling her your ‘little girlfriend’ and asking me what
really happened last night. He also wanted to know if you were having second
thoughts.”
Evans couldn’t blame
Greyble for his paranoia, since he really was out to get him. He knew he hadn’t
been subtle about his distaste for much of the kidnapping ordeal.
In retrospect, that
might have been a foolish tactical move. But it had felt so good at the time.
“What did you tell
him?” He asked.
It wasn’t a matter of
trying to assess whether Rod was playing some kind of double-game. He only
needed to know whether the kid had managed to spin a decent lie or not.
Hotheaded fools weren’t known for their ability to handle the kind of subtle
details necessary to spin a convincing story.
“I told him I’d try
to tap your phone but that it might be difficult, and I didn’t think it was
necessary anyway: You know what’s at stake. As for last night, I told him
exactly what you said.” Rod proceeded to rattle off the highlights. “We slipped
out of sight as soon as we were out of the car, but a taxi pulled through before
anything could happen. Kayla flagged it down and got away.”
Good. Nice and
simple: It was more often than not the best kind of lie to tell. Evans’
shoulders relaxed a little, though the headache stayed just as strong.
“Anything else I need
to know? Did he mention any other surveillance he was going to put on me?”
“No, but that doesn’t
mean he won’t. He seemed pretty spooked, I think because of the other thing he
brought up.”
“Which was?” Evans
tapped his right foot against the floorboard.
“Lawrence Baeshee.”
Rod pronounced the first name with the faintest hint of a North Jersey accent,
which showed through every now and again. “Apparently the guy found out about
the whole Lucy thing, and he’s trying to use it to blackmail Greyble. Sent his
demands last night.”
“Interesting.” Very interesting. “What did our beloved
senator want you to do about it?”
“No clue. Believe it
or not, he really did seem more focused on you, even with that. He never gave
me orders on Baeshee.”
That could be a bad
thing. However, it also could mean that Greyble was still planning on bringing
the matter to Evans’ attention, which meant he was still an asset his boss
trusted to some degree.
Across the airwaves,
a car drove slowly by wherever Rod was. Evans knew it drove by slowly because
its radio was blasted so high he could catch some of the words the female
singer was shrieking. That meant the younger man was outside, probably in a
parking lot or on a side street somewhere.
A strong suspicion
made its way through his already mistrustful mind. “Where are you right now?”
The answer came a
complete five seconds later than it should have.
“I’m at Kayla’s
place.” Rod almost stuttered on the words.
Of
course you are.
Despite the wearily
sarcastic thought, Evans didn’t say anything until he had processed the new
information, its implications and potential costs.
His immediate
irritation with Rod had cooled down during their conversation. But even if it
hadn’t, he would have understood the reason why the younger man was where he
said he was. It was to make sure that Greyble didn’t send some assassin to
finish Kayla off after all.
Evans had been
planning on checking in on her from time to time, himself. That was going to be
true regardless of what decision she came to concerning the offer he had made.
After everything he’d done to screw up her life, he felt perhaps an unhealthy
level of protectiveness toward her. So what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her,
though it could very well save her life.
If he was thinking
like that, then the reformation-driven Rod doubtlessly had it even more heavy
on his brain.
Then again, right
reasons or not, Kayla was going to freak if she found out who was outside her
place.
Technically, she had
never seen Rod without a ski mask. A fact that didn’t matter one bit. There was
a chance he might not look too suspicious to the general community while he
lounged in his car next to her apartment, or strolled along the network of
sidewalks that ran around it. But without a doubt, Kayla herself was going to
be paranoid enough to read into everything she might encounter. So there was no
way she wouldn’t hone in on someone matching her second-least favorite
kidnapper’s basic description.
When it came down to
it, Rod looked like he worked security of some kind, and not just because of
his physique and buzzed haircut. He also had that matching air about him,
military stance and all. And while his more obvious markings – like the barbed-wire
and dog-tags tattoo Evans knew he had around his bicep – would be covered up
thanks to the cold weather, there was also the matter of his stitched-up
forehead. Not that many ex-military types with gauze taped below their
hairlines made it a point to patrol nice little Baltimore County neighborhoods.
Kayla would be a fool
if she came across him and didn’t recognize that he stood out like a sore
thumb.
Yet Evans gave him
permission to stay regardless, despite numerous reasons to do otherwise. In the
end, Rod was a known element, while Greyble remained a loose cannon that could
smash into anything at any time.
“Fine.” He rubbed his
temple. “Call me when you leave. And Rod?”
“Yes?” Tensely.
“Whatever you do, don’t
let her see you.”
“Will do.” The way he
said it, he might as well have been saying “Yes, sir” to a five-star general.
Evans hung up, ending
the conversation without any professional niceties. By that point, he didn’t
even mean to be rude. He was just tired.
Incredibly,
overwhelmingly tired. And he knew full well that wasn’t going to change anytime
soon.
It made him wonder
all over again why he had agreed to let Rod help out in the first place. He
must have suffered a serious lapse in judgment to do so, yet another indication
he was getting old.
At the same time, it
wasn’t like the kid – not actually much of a kid at twenty-seven – had given
him a choice. Like a faithful pet, Rod had followed him out of the taxi when
Evans directed the driver to stop at the senate office building.
Rod didn’t have any
immediate orders to report back to Greyble that night. In fact, the senator
probably hadn’t cared if he came back at all, considering his original plan to
leave his employee out on the streets by himself to oversee Kayla’s demise. Yet
Rod hadn’t hesitated in tagging along with Evans. If anything, he acted like it
was his unswerving duty.
For his part, Evans
had been too focused on talking himself out of physically decimating a
congressman. So he hadn’t said a word to dissuade his subordinate.
It was all he could
do to keep his temper in check and his Glock holstered.
The events off of N
Street hadn’t been pleasant, to say the least. He didn’t enjoy killing people:
not the process of it, the actual act of violence or the aftereffects. Yet that
didn’t mean he balked when push came to shove. Despite the lower number he had
quoted to Kayla last night, he had killed a few dozen times, all with consent
of Uncle Sam.
After his last tour
of duty, he had assumed that would be his final tally.
But then Greyble
forced his hand again, putting him in a dog-eat-dog situation where nobody came
out a real winner but someone had to lose. So without any other reasonable
choice in front of him, Evans had sent three separate slugs into three separate
men, racking up his kill count three bodies higher.
The gangsters
involved were evil. No question about it. It wasn’t like they didn’t deserve
what they got; and if Evans could go back and relive the whole unpleasant
experience over, he wouldn’t have changed a thing about how he handled it. There
wasn’t a detail he would alter, not unless he wanted an innocent person to
suffer. It’s just that righteous justification only went so far in making him
feel better.
Ultimately, Evans
could live with his assessment and resulting actions. Because all those times
he had pulled the trigger with the express purpose of ending someone’s life, he
had done so to protect someone else. Himself included.
There had been the
definite risk of both he and Rod dying in that D.C. ghetto right alongside
Kayla. The major difference was that she would have survived a little while
longer in that blue dress Greyble picked out for her.
Evans had dealt with
the issue of his own mortality before, just like he’d processed his role as a
killer multiple times already. He knew from repeated personal experience that
he could eventually let the near-death experience fall into the background of
his life. It would become a detail instead of a feature.
Even so, it did
something to a man to come that close to eternity, even if he had been walking
the straight and narrow. Which, of course, Evans hadn’t been. It had been a
combination of skill and – in his and Rod’s case – unwarranted divine
intervention that there were five corpses lying back there instead of three.
That kind of
realization was jarring. And it did nothing for his mood.
Striding into the
Dirksen Senate Office Building with his subordinate on his heels, Evans didn’t
feel any awe about the stark white marble or forbiddingly elongated sets of windows.
After the evening he’d experienced, it was impossible to feel intimidated by
the block-long, six-story structure. Especially when it was designed to shelter
some of the most worthless cowards America had to offer.
Thanks to Greyble, he
already had clearance to carry his Glock past security, an allowance that
didn’t bode well for the man. Walking down the pristine white halls with their
pristine name plaques delineating one self-important person’s room from the
next, Evans wondered more than once how much worse he would feel if he added
one more kill to the night’s tally.
“That was fast,” was
what Greyble said when Evans barged into the office, looking up startled for
one brief second before returning to the task in his hands.
Whatever it was,
Evans couldn’t have cared less.
Sitting behind his
desk, the senator shuffled papers with the same nervous energy he’d displayed
earlier that evening, his snide features contorted into a grimace that made him
even less attractive than he was to begin with.
The truth was that,
in a strict physical sense, Greyble wasn’t ugly despite his somewhat snubbed
nose, small eyes and too-round face. Yet he radiated an arrogant kind of
assurance that detracted from his appearance. At least it did for anyone with
half a brain. Sadly, there were a lot of voters with something less than that,
and the weak-minded were prone to respect Greyble’s unchecked ego instead of
fearing or resenting it the way they should.
There was also the
fact that his build was that of a man’s man. While he was shorter than Evans,
he still had the stocky stature of someone most people wouldn’t want to mess
with, even if they didn’t care for him.
Between his military
training and very frayed temper that night, however, Evans wasn’t most people.
The congressman had
no idea how much he was flirting with pain right then. That much was clear by
the half-regal, half-distracted gesture he made for someone to shut the door.
Evans didn’t.
Rod did.
The kid tended to
only act out when there wasn’t a clear authority around, he had noticed. Once
anyone pulled rank on him, directly or indirectly, he had a habit of turning
into a model soldier.
“Those black boys
finish with her already?” Greyble asked, flicking his gaze upward again and
then back down to his papers.
The callous question
was almost as appalling as the man who asked it, undoing a lot of the work
Evans had done to get ahold of his anger.
“Those ‘black boys,’”
he repeated caustically, “didn’t get the chance. Kayla got away.”
Of course, he failed
to mention anything about how she had gotten away. Those were details that
didn’t need to be shared right then, if ever.
“She what!”
There was no question
about whether Evans had his boss’ attention now.
“I said she got
away.” He took an immense amount of satisfaction in plunging the verbal dagger
in a second time.
“I told you not to
screw this up. I told you!” Greyble’s face, which had gone white first, was rapidly
regaining its color and then some.
“And I told you this
was a stupid idea,” Evans snapped back.
It was the least
offensive response running through his head when “stupid” didn’t come close to
describing the original plan. Not by a long shot.
Rod coughed once from
where he stood over by the closed door. Then he went back to blending into the
background. That took a serious amount of skill on his part considering how he
was wearing black pants, a black full-sleeved shirt and solid black shoes,
while the room was painted a friendly cream color with burgundy accents.
He needn’t have made
the effort though when the room’s other two occupants couldn’t have cared less
that he existed. Their attention was focused only on each other like a bull and
a matador.
“Where is she now?”
The senator demanded, his hands planted on his desk like he wasn’t sure whether
to get up or not.
“On her way back to
Baltimore, as far as I know,” Evans responded with malicious nonchalance. “She
managed to wave down a taxi.”
He would have
shrugged, a casual act made for the sole reason of rubbing it in further, but
he felt far too tense to indulge in any such thing. It was difficult to shrug
when he was still in a near-murderous rage.
“Why didn’t you stop
her?” It was a question phrased a lot like a demand, complete with several
exclamation points.
“You were the one who
told me not to take care of her myself.” Evans continued glaring, his fists
tight at his side. “Remember? Anything fired from my weapon can be linked back
to me. And thanks to these little meetings and the high-tech surveillance
security system this entire building features, not to mention my paychecks, I
am very connected to you.”
The referenced
firearm felt heavy and powerful at his side, a weight he normally could almost
take for granted. Now it was begging to be used.
Greyble doubtlessly
caught the implied threat, not of getting shot but of public exposure. But if
it scared him, it didn’t show. He pounded one frustration-filled hand against
the desk, the taxpayer-provided laptop rattling beside him.
He didn’t give the
object so much as a glance. “You need to find her and you need to finish this.
Now!”
“That’s. Not. Necessary.”
Evans anger was in no
way dying out. That in and of itself wasn’t all that surprising. The exact
intensity this time around, however, was very nearly overwhelming. It was almost as bad as it had been right
after seeing Kayla off.
After the drama of
the last hour or so, he had expected to experience multiple onslaughts of
emotion. Except that, off of N Street, he was working on sheer adrenaline and
training, every part of him concentrating on the mission instead of
then-insignificant details like feelings.
He wasn’t immune to
them by any means. Crack commando or not, he was still human, despite how it
might be easier sometimes to be something else. So he did have his weaknesses.
The difference between him and other people – innocent, inexperienced or simply
softer individuals – was that they weren’t trained to set all that aside in
deadly situations.
In the military, or
as a mercenary-turned-protagonist-wannabe, that skill could literally mean the
difference between life and the afterlife. But at some point, if everything
went right, there wasn’t any real need to stay locked and loaded and focused
anymore. That lull allowed emotions into the picture, sometimes slowly and
sometimes with lightning speed.
And sometimes, under
certain conditions, they were a lot more volatile than expected.
Standing there in
Greyble’s office, Evans was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that he
was in the middle of such a perfect storm. And that it wasn’t the time or the
place to indulge in those feelings.
None of that,
however, made the emotions any easier to deal with. It galled him something
awful having to show the senator even a modicum of courtesy. It would be much
more satisfying to pummel the man into the ground.
“She doesn’t have to
be a threat to you,” he reasoned through almost gritted teeth. “She never had
to be.”
It was the moron’s
own fault that Kayla knew his face. Nobody had made him go down and talk to her
without his mask on. Nobody had made him bring his three fellow politicians
down to scope her out like she was an exhibit at the zoo. That had been all his
idea, like he watched too many James Bond movies without the good sense to
discern fact from fiction.
If Greyble had just
left everything as-is, he wouldn’t have a thing to worry about. Kayla could
have gone to the presses all she wanted to; nobody would have believed a word
she said when she didn’t have a name or a face to add to her farfetched tale.
Refusing to see the logic
staring him straight in the face, the congressman squinted at him. “Do you have
a thing for her? Is that what this is about?” He paused long enough to let the
intended mockery seep in. “Because I can’t think of any other reason why you
would say something that outrageously incompetent.” He was all but hissing by
the end of his sentence.
“I do not have a
‘thing’ for her.” The comment was one more display of how lacking in humanity
Greyble was. “But I also don’t believe in taking life unless it’s necessary.
And it’s not necessary with her.”
“She’s probably
already on her way to the police!”
“She’s not that
stupid,” Evans insisted. “You’re a U.S. senator; she’s a nobody. She’ll know
there isn’t a reasonable authority out there that’s going to believe her. Going
to the cops is a great way to make her life much more complicated.”
That last part, at
least, wasn’t untrue even now that Kayla was armed with a name and face. In the
absolute best-case scenario where the local authorities believed Kayla and were
able to convince powerful people up the chain of command to look into her
story, she would be in for an entire world of uncomfortable scrutiny if she
went forward with the truth.
Greyble grimaced,
showing how very unconvinced he remained. After everything else he had done
over the course of his political career, he seemed to honestly believe that the
ends justified the means, whatever they might be.
Since Evans had done
an in-depth investigation of the senator before he signed onto the payroll all
those many months ago, he had a well-rounded idea of what some of those choices
had been. Needless to say, they weren’t good.
“What if you’re
wrong? What then?” Greyble looked like he wanted to pound the table again.
“Just man up and admit that Kayla Jeateski is a liability and needs to be taken
care of!”
Evans knew his boss
was rattled by the way he was throwing around specifics so freely. A wiser
individual would have displayed a lot more caution. With recent wiretapping
scandals and bugged offices, you never knew who was actually listening.
Yet Greyble kept
running his mouth. “This shouldn’t be rocket science. She’s one random,
expendable whore. And I’m really sorry if you fell for her big brown eyes and
good-girl act, but nobody is that squeaky clean. Not her. Not anyone. She needs
to go!”
The mix of
accusations and opinions weren’t making much sense, so Evans chose to ignore
them altogether, focusing instead on his employer’s previous question. “If I’m
wrong, then we’ll handle it from there.”
“Or we can do it my way.
The way of the guy paying your salary,” the senator added pointedly. “And get
rid of the problem now.”
That was how the
conversation went, back and forth and back and forth until, out of sheer stubborn
refusal to shift his position, he wore the congressman down. Sick of arguing
and consumed with whatever other trouble he’d gotten himself into, Greyble
finally agreed to let Evans go intimidate Kayla into silence instead of offing
her with his ridiculous tendency toward dramatic flairs.
Rod hadn’t helped a
bit in convincing the senator of any of it, though that might not have been his
fault. His two superiors hadn’t given him many openings to speak up, so he had
remained quiet the entire, long and drawn-out argument.
Talking a sociopath
off his game was hard work.
So was refraining
from killing him.
By the time he and
Rod left the room, Evans was ready to punch his fist into one of the walls
around him. Any of them would do just fine. Or none of them. He’d accept
something else to smash too. All he needed was an outlet of some kind.
“Hey, Evans?”
If he wasn’t careful,
Rod could very easily make himself that target despite his exemplary conduct
before.
Evans whirled on him.
“What?”
The kid only flinched
a little. “I’m in if you are.”
It took him a second
to understand. He didn’t bother to ask how Rod knew what he was planning.
Between his intense anger and the lies he’d thrown at Greyble, maybe it was
just that obvious.
Evans started walking
again. “That’s a dangerous offer you’re making,” he warned.
“Wouldn’t be the
dumbest decision I made this week,” Rod pointed out with only the slightest of
bitter edges showing in his voice.
That didn’t mean his
motivation in helping out wasn’t over-the-top noticeable right from that first
moment. He was on a mission of self-redemption, regardless of whether Kayla
granted him an easy pardon or not. Which she wasn’t likely to anytime soon.
Evans didn’t see any
point in playing that down. “True.”
People who didn’t do
well with feeling guilty should avoid doing things to feel guilty about. At the
same time, he had to admit that he could use help if Kayla did agree to go
after Greyble. For all his short-comings, Rod would be a useful person to have
around.
So he ultimately said yes to the kid's offer, even knowing full well he might come to regret it.
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