She never saw the man with the gun in the darkness of the not-so-empty hall.
She never felt the bullet which shattered her skull, thoughts terminated abruptly along with the matter which made them possible. She certainly didn’t feel the impact as she landed awkwardly on the floor in front of the door, only to be stepped over by a mature woman with an expression of perpetual disapproval on her face.
“It’s done.”
“Thank you, Ellen.”
“Of course, Mr. Indigo.”
“You’re incredible, Ellen. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Thank you, Mr. Indigo,” she said. She never smiled when she was in the room with him, but she stored up a smile for later.
The call disconnected. Ellen drove five miles through winding city streets, her expression unchanging. She blinked occasionally, but other than that there was no emotion whatsoever.
“Four hundred and nineteen,” she murmured to herself. “One more to the big four twenty.”
It might have been a joke. It might have been a serious statement. As streetlights flashed through the windshield, briefly illuminating her face, there was no indication either way.
She stopped at her preferred location, stepped out of the car and took care of business. First, the SIM card came out of the burner phone. She discarded it in a dumpster. The phone itself, she put on the ground and stepped on it hard enough to crack the screen and the flimsy case. She crushed the remnants with her cane before nudging the debris into a nearby drain.
A broad-brimmed hat shielded her face from local security cameras. They were everywhere these days. When she had started out, you only had to worry about physical observers. Now every window, car, or pole was a potential witness.
She was sixty-three years old. There was a lot you could see in sixty-three years, and even more you could do. Ellen’s life spanned a dozen countries, but only one real career. She enjoyed the way the game was evolving. It kept things interesting to have to continuously adapt.
Once upon a time, she’d been forced to adopt disguises between jobs, but there was no disguise as effective as simply being a woman who had continued to live past the age of smooth skin and perky breasts.
Of course, much of her work had dried up after the Cold War. Then the American private market had really opened up. There was always freelancing. She’d almost retired at fifty-eight. Then she’d gotten a call. From somebody unexpected. Someone she’d never have worked for in the past.
Indigo was one of the very few men still capable of seeing her value, and for that, she was grateful.
Chapter 17
Sophie ached all over. She was sticky and sore, even after a shower the night before. His seed must have spent the night dripping out of her ravaged hole and coating the curling hair of her lower lips with its viscosity.
The bed next to her was empty, but all rucked up from where he had slept. All night long, they had lain next to one another, slept like a couple of tired puppies after a day of play.
She sat up, felt the ache between her thighs, and wondered what was going to become of her.
Breakfast, probably. She was starving.
She put on a shirt which belonged to Alex, enjoying the way she was engulfed in his scent. She felt protected, cared for, small, and safe. Those were four things she had rarely felt in her life, and feeling them all at once was quite exquisite.
When she emerged into the house proper, she found Alex in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He was wearing a tan sweater and khakis. She did a double take. It just looked wrong to see him with clothes on, especially such pedestrian ones. It seemed almost like he was a monster wearing an Alex skin.
He looked at her with that composed expression, and she wondered if it was even the same man, the one in front of her in cashmere. Surely he couldn’t have fucked her pussy last night until she screamed and trembled her way through a rough orgasm?
“Morning,” he drawled.
“Hi,” she said, feeling shy.
“Want some waffles?”
“Uh. Sure. Thanks.”
She sat down gingerly.
“Did you sleep well?”
So they were going to make small talk, suddenly? They’d never made small talk in the entire time they’d known each other.
“Uhm, about last night.”
“We don’t ever have to do that again,” he said. “I was rougher than I wanted to be…”
“I want to.”
“You do?” He seemed surprised.
“Yeah. It was hot.”
“It was hot,” he agreed with a smile of what looked like relief to her. “I was worried you’d want the number for the police this morning.”
“So they can fly out to your secret island, and send me to jail for whatever Christo is framing me for now? No thanks.”
“True.”
Alex took a sip of coffee and made a declaration. “I am going to fuck your ass after breakfast.”