Old Wounds

As promised, below is the blurb and first chapter of Chance Assassin 4: Old Wounds.  A little side note, the formatting may show a little strange on Goodreads.  If so, you can read the first chapter on my blog here.

Partners in life and partners in crime, Frank and Vincent always had each other.  They were ready to take on anything as long as they were together. But now the world Vincent knew, the world Frank taught him, has changed.  The war has come to their doorstep and no one is safe.

Things once taken for granted may no longer be dependable, alliances will be questioned, but their vows still ring true: In sickness and in health, until death do them part.

Spoilers below:

Chapter One

With any war there are casualties. But no amount of crying or throwing of breakables on my part, or simmering insanity on Frank's, could've prepared us for what was waiting on the other side of the Atlantic: a battle that was already over. One that hadn't even begun.

Roger Foster, former client of Adler and Associates, was arrested for the murders of Gideon Adler and Margaret Evans. The murder weapon, a semi-automatic 9mm, was found wrapped in a blood stained cloth under his porch. He'd been threatening the firm for weeks. It was such a strong case against him, not even Gideon could've gotten him off. Open and shut. Guilty. The end.

But not for us.

It should've really been a relief that it wasn't connected to Assassin War and therefore wasn't Frank's fault, but somehow being your average every day double murder actually made it worse. Not only had Maggie and Gideon not been assassinated, their deaths could've easily been prevented if they'd just let us do what we did best.

And now we were on our way to see the bereaved, to undoubtedly do what we did worst: act like human beings.

Joe solemnly drove us from the airport back to Casey's apartment after giving us the lowdown on the unfortunately mundane murder situation. Frank said nothing. He hadn't spoken a word in hours. I had a migraine that was quickly growing in severity so any silence was good silence as far as I was concerned, but one glance at him in the rearview mirror proved this silence was far from good.

Frank could handle guilt. He was used to guilt. After eighteen hours of traveling he'd prepared himself to admit guilt. He'd probably even come to terms with the fact that if Simon had killed them, we would sooner or later have to let Casey know the truth: that this never would've happened if he hadn't ignored Frank's request and drawn everyone's faces in the sketchbook he subsequently misplaced around Malkolm's handler. Frank wouldn't lie to Casey again, not after what happened last time, but saying “I told you so” over the barely cold bodies of your parents would've been far less severe if it could be said while holding the severed head of the man who killed them. Now all that planning and plotting was completely wasted. It wasn't Frank's fault, it wasn't Casey's fault, the man responsible was safely behind bars, and Frank looked bewildered in a way that would've been pitifully adorable if it wasn't so unsettling.

Tilting the rearview mirror back where it belonged and following my gaze, Joe cautiously asked, “Is he okay?”

“Can we swing by the jail to kill this guy and a minimum of twenty other people on top of it?”

“No.”

“Then no. And when he sees Casey upset he's gonna completely lose it.” He'd already lost it enough not to notice that we were talking about him.

Joe parked in Maggie's old spot in the underground garage, and because I'm a shitty person I automatically wondered whether I got to claim her 1968 sea green Cadillac convertible. She had been scared of me, but I didn't think I'd be written out of her will. She probably didn't have a will, and that thought more than anything else made me tear up all over again.

It wasn't fucking fair. They weren't the kind of people who got murdered. I should know, I was intimately acquainted with those people.

Quickly getting out of the car lest Joe see me cry, I announced that we were gonna take the stairs to the eighth floor since that was kinda Frank's thing. Frank followed me to the stairwell while Joe shuffled his crippled body to the elevator. Frank kept looking around with that same lost, confused expression, like we'd arrived at a hit site and our mark was nowhere to be found. “I know, babe.” I reassuringly squeezed his shoulder and he habitually put his arm around me, but he was so far gone he didn't even question my reference to our lack of murderistic opportunities being basically the same as “Lucy pulling away Charlie Brown's football.”

Frank paused at the front door of the apartment he'd been paying for since he met them, buying his way into Maggie's trust and the only chance he'd ever get at having a normal life. That unspoken promise he'd take care of Casey in her absence. He heaved a sigh and squeezed his eyes shut in the way that usually ended with his hands around my throat. Then he spat, “Fuck!” and went on in.

Bella and Sophie Durrant, the au pair, were in matching black dresses. Joe and Miranda sat together on the sofa. Casey and the kid were nowhere to be seen. Frank warily took everything in, on edge like this was a surprise party and he was waiting for someone to jump out at him and try to bring happiness and glee. There sure as hell wasn't any of that to be had around here.

“He's in the bedroom,” Bella said. She looked hangry, though I could've been projecting. And now there was no one left to bake me peach pie. My migraine got suddenly much worse.

Frank glanced in that direction with a look of thinly disguised dread like water was about to come flooding out the closed door à la The Shining. A torrent of blood was precisely what we needed right now. I would've settled for a little splash. Or just a sip to take with my pills. Instead I swallowed them dry. It wasn't as if this situation could get any more uncomfortable.

“Shall we?” I asked.

Setting his jaw in a way that he probably thought made him look mournful but really just made him look murderous, he lowered his head and led the way.

I'd only seen Casey cry once before, after Bella spontaneously aborted their kid all over me, and seeing someone fall that far from his normal state of happiness was just as traumatizing as the unborn child gore she'd left on my clothes. But I knew it was even more traumatizing for Frank. Casey was the golden standard of joy for him, a pillar of light untouchable by the demons that haunted Frank. Formerly untouchable.

He was lying in bed, curled up with his sleeping daughter, twirling his fingers in her hair. The glow from behind us in the hallway and a purple dinosaur nightlight plugged into the wall gave just enough illumination to show that it was even worse than I'd imagined. He looked like he'd been crying for weeks, not just hours. It looked like he hadn't smiled in even longer. And never would again.

“Hey,” Casey said quietly, his voice as hoarse as Frank's had been when he broke the news to me, and I realized we'd been standing there staring at each other for awhile. Or at least, he and Frank were staring at each other. Frank hadn't moved, not even a nod in Casey's direction. And just like that, Frank had turned a brand new shade of crazy.

There was the calculating murderer Frank that I knew and loved, and the out of his mind tearing his thumb off to protect me Frank that I liked even more, but this was animalistic and desperate, chew his foot off to get out of the trap unreasonable. And he genuinely looked trapped.

“So,” I started, glancing at Frank in a silent plea to stop me from saying something I shouldn't as the tension increased in the room. He didn't. “At least it's not your fault.”

Casey's eyes drifted towards me and they were all swollen and bloodshot and my idiot inner voice decided that the only logical course of action would be to give him advice on being an orphan since I had way more experience in that matter.

“This sucks. A lot. Trust me, everything in your life is going to change. Everything. I mean, your dad died already but that's not really the same. Plus he was kind of an asshole. Being an orphan is like, serious abandonment. But look on the bright side you've totally got the jump on me with the whole assassin ward thing, with Frank and with Bella, so it's not like you're going to have to go out and suck cock—” By the grace of god I stopped myself, but god's grace was momentary and not very thorough since I only gave pause long enough to confirm, “she is asleep, right?”

Leaning over her to check as if he wasn't fully aware of the possibility of having to explain to a little girl why anyone would suck on a rooster, he slumped back to the damp pillow. “Yeah. She's asleep. Maybe you should go to bed too. You look tired.” It was the nicest way I'd ever been told to shut the fuck up.

“I have a headache,” I said, an excuse for my failed attempt at a Hallmark Card sympathy speech while not actually apologizing directly. I didn't want to say I was sorry. I kept thinking about the dream I'd had about them, about Maggie calling me a killer. If we'd done what we were supposed to, what was in our nature, we would've killed Roger Foster and Maggie and Gideon would still be alive. Casey wouldn't be crying and Frank wouldn't be...going and lying down with Casey and staring helplessly into space the way Hugo did when I was sick and he couldn't comprehend with his doggy brain what to do to make me feel better, but every ounce of his oversized being needed to fix me.

But Frank spooning him just made Casey break down and sob, and even if I could handle watching Casey do that while my head pounded there was no way I could handle seeing Frank's reaction to it as his eyes got more and more distant.

“Well goodnight,” I muttered, swallowing another handful of pills as I shut the door behind me.

Joe was leaning against the wall, not close enough to eavesdrop but close enough to be the first thing I saw when I left the room. “I've got this. You go to bed.”

He didn't have to tell me twice.

The Mercy of the Mako Shark

I'm still working on covers and blurbs, but in the meantime, I wanted to give you guys the first chapter of The Mercy of the Mako Shark, the final book in the Mako Shark series.  This takes place immediately after The Result of a Straight Razor, so beware of spoilers if you aren't caught up on the rest of the series.  Enjoy!  More later...

The Day After
Miko: Age 26

It was still mostly dark in the bedroom when Miko awoke for the third time, but it was the only time he'd woken by his own volition without the nightmares that had plagued him since childhood, and so he elected to stay that way.
He lay in bed, the heavy weight that had been on his chest replaced by a new, far more pleasurable one: Toby's sleeping body, his arms wrapped around Miko's ribs. Each time Miko's sleep had been interrupted by dreams of the crawlspace and all the horrors he'd relived by telling the truth, Toby was right there, ready to soothe him back to sleep. It had taken Toby lying completely on top of him for Miko to finally feel safe enough to make it the rest of the way through the night.
Gently stroking Toby's hair, Miko smiled at how peaceful he looked, sleeping soundly in the arms of a murderer. Almost soundly. Toby had cried over Miko's past more than Miko had, and now he was softly snoring, his nose clogged.
Miko felt raw himself, but with a relief he never thought possible. There had naturally been questions on Toby's part, but mostly he'd just listened. And when it was all over, everything out from Tola and his hand to Simon calling him poison, Toby said something that proved he could do this, proved he could understand better than Miko had given him credit for: “Someone benefited from her death. Maybe not directly, with money and fame like her parents, but someone did. You just need to figure out how. Then you'll know who.” And with everything Hector had told Miko, all the murders and motives, every assassin's name, their descriptions, their quirks and favorite kills, there was absolutely no one in a better position to find out the truth than him. He just needed time to clear his head and figure it out.
He stared up at the ceiling until it was light out, tired but wide awake. Then he noticed someone staring at him. Toby smiled as he sat up, and for a second it looked like he had a bruise on his neck from where Miko had grabbed him. Miko gently touched Toby's chin, tilting his head so he could see his throat. Toby didn't show any sign of hesitation, despite Miko confessing to strangling no less than five people.
“Did you finally get some sleep, little spoon?”
“You are good Kevlar.”
“Well you're not a very good pillow.” Toby rolled off of him, snuggling up to his side instead. He traced his finger over the tattoo on Miko's chest. Now Toby knew that Miko had bludgeoned someone to death before Nasir gave it to him, he knew Miko had bludgeoned others, and shot and stabbed and knocked them into industrial mixers on accident. He knew about the reputed Mako Shark and the real one. He was drawing a heart around Tola's flower. “I bet this one hurt the worst.”
“I did not feel the others.” Miko had been in enough pain when Nasir tattooed the flower petals on his wrists and the H on his back that the sting on his skin went completely unnoticed.
“That's what I figured.” Toby rested his head on Miko's shoulder. “Miko?”
“Hmm?”
“If Lewis sent that man to kill Silva, why wasn't he suspicious of you? Wouldn't he think you were there to kill him?”
“He must not have known it was done yet.”
“And when Bella went to his door weeks later? By then he would've had to know, right?”
Miko's head suddenly hurt again. He'd done nothing but think and all it had accomplished was pain. “He was very arrogant. Maybe he thought he got away with it. She told me it was Lewis who did it.”
“Yeah,” Toby said with a yawn. He was taking everything surprisingly well, and Miko thought back to when they'd joked about feeding Jonathan Peterson cyanide mashed potatoes. It had felt so normal. Being with Toby felt normal.
Miko nuzzled his face against Toby's hair. They had showered before bed, together with no blindfold, and both of them had gone to sleep with wet hair. Toby's was just a little messy whereas Miko didn't even want to consider the state of his own. “Do you have to work today?”
“No. Tomorrow though. It's a huge wedding, I'll be gone all day.” Toby kissed his chest. “You can come if you want.”
“You know I am bad at catering. I will stay here.”
Toby looked at him, his eyes sad. “You're not gonna take off, are you?”
“Only my clothes,” Miko said flirtatiously.
He smacked him. “Your clothes are already off.”
“And you are worrying again.”
“Well you did try dumping me.”
“It was not dumping it was...” Miko thought back to Nasir, trying to talk some sense into him before letting Toby do it instead. “Foolish.” He rubbed his face, then remembered something else. “Why did you aim a gun at me?”
Toby laughed. “Same reason you grabbed my throat. To make a point.”
Miko reached over and ran his prosthetic fingers across Toby's neck. “Your point would have been made better if you loaded your gun.”
“And by now you should know better than to aim a loaded gun at someone if you're not going to shoot them.”
“Yes, I should.” Miko smiled bashfully. “Let that be your first lesson with the gun.”
“What's the second lesson?”
“Buying bullets.”
Toby heaved a sigh like Miko had just stated the impossible. “God, where am I even going to keep it?”
He smirked. “Fruit bowl.”
With a glare Toby said, “I am not keeping it in the fruit bowl.”
Miko put his arms around him. “In nightstand.”
“Okay.”
“I will teach you to shoot.”
Toby nodded. “Just in case.”
“In case.” He kissed Toby's head. “We can use parsnips for target practice.”
Toby's eyes went wide and he beamed at him in a way that made Miko really question his disgust with violence. He eagerly asked, “Can we?”
“I will give you your vengeance.”
“My hero. I shall reward your bravery with a feast.”
“You will make me streusel?”
Toby's face fell. “Oh, Miko. What if I fuck it up? With everything you're going through, having me mess up Hector's streusel—”
“It is fine. I know recipe. No messing up.”
“I burnt your breakfast,” Toby said bitterly, as if the one slightly overcooked casserole somehow negated the thousands of other immaculate meals.
“That was once and it was still good.” It didn't seem to relieve Toby, so Miko tried something else. “You were distracted. This is easy fix. While food is in the oven I will not give you the D.”
Toby blushed and shook his head. “For as bastardized as your English is, you sure have a way with words, little spoon.”
“You will make?”
“I'll try.” Toby sighed and got out of bed, putting on some pajamas and tossing Miko a pair of pants. “Wouldn't want to be tempted,” he said sarcastically, and led the way to the kitchen. “You pull out what we need.”
Miko had gone through Toby's kitchen before to be sure he had all the ingredients, and he carefully set everything out in measuring cups and spoons just like Hector would do. But Hector had boxes from the store and Toby had everything in jars with labels, and Miko stood there twitching with a teaspoon in his hand, not knowing what was right and feeling like nothing ever would be and he needed to sit in the cabinet again. “Two of these...it is white stuff...” he trailed off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as Toby came to his side. Miko helplessly handed over the teaspoon but Toby just smiled and winked at him, going straight to the baking powder. Miko was hugging him before he realized that Toby had been right to worry about the effect it would have on him if he messed it up.
“It's okay,” Toby said, gently stroking his back. “You want me to make something else?”
“You are sure it is that stuff?” he asked, releasing him and looking at the counter where white powder was spread in an arc from Toby being so suddenly mauled with a hug while his hand was in the jar.
“Positive. Want to preheat the oven?”
Miko nodded embarrassedly, sidestepping the powder that had made it to the floor and setting the oven to the right temperature. His cell phone rang from the bathroom where they'd left their clothes last night, but it was probably Nasir to say I told you so. That could wait. Baking streusel with Toby could not.
Toby had already started mixing things, doing it in the right order without having to be told. Then he froze, the bowl of batter in his hand. “Simon.”
“What about him?”
“He would've benefited from Ophelia's death if you got the book for him.”
Miko shook his head. “It was not motive, it was opportunity. He liked Fee. He was angry at me for cutting her face.”
“Right.” Toby disappointedly continued stirring. “Well he's still an asshole.”
Miko smiled. He'd never seen Toby so passionately dislike anyone as much as Simon. Toby had been utterly offended on Miko's behalf when Miko told him what Simon had said, and now he was gripping the spoon far tighter than necessary. “He is.”
“God, I can't believe he said that to you,” Toby said in a huff.
“Settle down.” Miko took the bowl from him. “You are all riled up.”
“You know what you should do?”
“What should I do?”
“The next time you see him you should punch him right in his smug face for calling you an idiot. For Hector, of course.”
“For Hector.”
Toby took the bowl back. “I'll teach you how to throw a punch.”
“I know how to throw punch.”
Scraping the batter into a dish, Toby gave him a doubtful glance. Then he gave Miko the spoon. “Make sure this is right. I imagine that you're very familiar with how the batter tastes on the spoon.”
Hector had always let Miko lick the spoon. He leaned against the counter, not at all afraid that it could be wrong, or that it would taste like blood. But Toby was clearly nervous, and Miko might've been able to prolong his suffering if he hadn't giddily laughed as he tasted its perfection.
“Good?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Toby kissed him on the cheek and put it in the oven. “Good. Do not make me burn it.”
“No D.”
There was a knock at the door and Toby gave Miko a look like the potential distraction was his fault. Then he set a timer and went to answer it since Miko was only half-dressed and completely preoccupied with licking the spoon clean. Toby looked out the peephole, announcing, “It's Nasir,” as he opened the door.
“Is he up?” Nasir asked hurriedly, coming into the apartment and sighing as his eyes fell on Miko.
“I thought you left,” Miko said accusingly. He should've known Nasir wasn't actually leaving town. He did need to rest, after all.
“I'm not here to gloat, even though I did tell you so.” He glanced at Toby, then back to Miko. “Can we...”
“Yes,” Miko said, coming out of the kitchen and taking Toby's hand. “We can talk.”
Nasir smiled. “Good, now...” He pursed his lips with a pained wince on his face. “You're on television.”
“What?” Miko ran to the TV, dropping the remote in his rush to get it turned on and scrambling to pick it back up. “What channel?”
“How should I know?”
Toby came over and took the remote, flipping through until he found Ophelia's mother at a press conference. “This?”
“Yes, that.”
The three of them stood there, watching in silence as Mrs. Marlowe spoke. She was heavily made up, not a bruise showing on her. She wore black. “As I'm sure you all know, my darling daughter Ophelia died last Christmas Eve. The straight razor that was found in the bathtub with her was the same type of weapon used against her and Jonathan Peterson in Morocco, and it was naturally assumed that she took her own life.” She dotted her dry eyes with a handkerchief. “Several days ago a masked man came to my home, and he told me the truth: Ophelia was murdered!” Miko twitched as Mrs. Marlowe paused for dramatic effect. His eyes were wide, his mouth wider. “This man, Ophelia's secret paramour, has set out to avenge her. And he needs our help. If anyone has information on the events of that night, or of the night of her attack in Morocco, please contact me. I believe the one responsible for her murder is the very same person who attacked her and Jonathan, and together we can bring my daughter the justice she deserves, and bring peace to her grieving innamorato.” She clutched at the diamond necklace dangling over her heart and lowered her head in a staged lament.
“What's innamorato mean?” Toby asked.
Miko didn't know either but he hadn't breathed enough in the last several minutes to manage to ask a question.
“Lover,” Nasir said. “It's Italian.”
“I've set up a website and a hotline, both of which you can see there at the bottom of your screen. The police do not condone vigilantism but I'm afraid that law enforcement will be limited in their means and without this noble man, the people who loved her may never have closure. Therefore I'm accepting donations on his behalf, to assist him with his quest. Thank you.”
“I guess that's what the phone call was about,” Toby said. “Wow. Just...wow.”
“Phone call?” Nasir asked.
“Yeah, a little while ago. It wasn't you?”
“No.”
Toby gripped Miko's shoulder reassuringly and went to go retrieve his cellphone from the bathroom. Miko looked up his missed calls. “It was Russell.”
“With this kind of attention he won't be able to ask around,” Nasir said knowingly.
Turning back to the TV, Miko closed his eyes and rubbed his head. He hadn't expected Russell to find anything to begin with, but he had hoped. Now the only thing he could expect was a furious phone call from Simon.
Then Toby thought of something Miko hadn't. “Didn't you say she knew your name?”
“She knows your name?” Nasir said incredulously. “You said she did not remember you.”
“She did not. But she guessed why Ophelia named her cat Miko and she said it to me at the cemetery.”
Nasir groaned, not liking where this conversation was headed. “Cemetery?”
“I went to pay respect. She was there and talked to me about Fee. She asked if I would find who was responsible.”
“She called you clever,” Toby interjected.
“She did call me clever,” Miko said brightly. That did not happen often.
“Did she see your face?”
“I was wearing glasses.” Miko knew that wouldn't help, but somehow he also knew that it wouldn't be a problem. Ophelia's mother had said the police were limited, and that Miko was masked. She'd said Miko was noble. She set up a hotline.
“Why did you not tell me about this?”
“You would be and are mad?”
“Because you were too busy pouting, that's why.” He looked to Toby. “I suppose you talked some sense into him at least.” Toby blushed and gave an insecure shrug. “Can we have a moment, Miko?”
“I'll make coffee,” Toby said, excusing himself.
“I told him everything he can hear—”
“That job Russell gave Simon went bad.”
“Bad?”
Nasir nodded. “One of ours is dead. A Hungarian, István. I'm sure you know of him.”
“He drowned someone in a toilet.”
“Yes, well, he's dead and Simon blames Russell.”
“You think it was setup?”
“Joe said it wasn't.”
“Do you believe him?”
Nasir seemed to consider for a moment, although Miko knew he would've already made his decision before he'd told Miko the news. “Yes I do. But this complicates things. Call Russell back to thank him for trying, then don't speak with him again. Or Simon, until I say so.”
“Simon will call me when he hears the news.”
Nasir rolled his eyes. “It is not like this will be the first time you ignore his calls. I will speak with him.”
“Okay.”
“Will Toby's friends be a problem?”
“No,” Miko said firmly. With their relationship finally at the point of truth, the last thing Miko needed was for his friend to kill Toby's. “They will be fine. Toby will talk to them.”
“You really told him everything?”
Miko fidgeted with his bad hand. “You were right.”
A smile spread across Nasir's face, shifting the bandage up his cheek. “I am always right.”
“And you believe Russell. I do too.”
“It will be best if you stayed here for awhile. Simon will not be pleased about the situat—” He stopped, catching sight of Toby setting out three plates on the kitchen table, the smell of heaven emanating from the kitchen. “Is he cooking Hector's streusel?”
Miko smiled proudly. “He is.”
“Then it will be best if I stayed here for awhile too.”

Coming soon to an e-reader near you

So here's the thing...it's been a looooong time since I've had a blog post, and I could give a whole shitload of excuses as to why, both valid and invalid, but I'm going to save my energy and just get to the point.  I'm putting together the final touches to complete my two assassin series and hope to have blurbs and covers and all that fun stuff very soon.  In the meantime, I'm running a promotion.  You can pick up all five of my books for free at Amazon from August 4th through the 7th.  The final books in both series take place immediately after the books preceding them so I highly recommend reading and/or rereading The Result of a Straight Razor and The Inauspicious List.

More soon.  As always, a huge thanks to everyone for continuing to light a fire under my ass so I can get this done.