Taka didn’t bother with social niceties either—he recognized by Bishop’s voice that things were at a crisis level. “Not for five days. She said she was going to the mountains on Hokkaido, but there’s no way to prove it.”
“Shit.”
If Claudia had decided that Madsen’s edict against killing immediate family no longer pertained to Evangeline, then she was as good as dead. Claudia was one of the best assassins the Committee had ever had, and she had absolutely no compassion or morality. She was a true sociopath—the best kind, untroubled by emotions. She simply did the job.
Maybe she’d seen the writing on the wall, knew her days with the Committee were numbered, and she’d decided to act. She had a long memory, and she had never forgiven James for getting Evangeline out of her line of fire. Maybe Claudia had decided to make the break herself.
It wasn’t as if her skills weren’t highly marketable—she might already be working for the Corsinis. At least that settled things as far as Bishop was concerned. He was going to kill his occasional partner. He should have done it long ago.
Things were beginning to make sense now. His instincts had been right—Claudia would have known where Evangeline was, Claudia would have set the Corsinis after her. Claudia was capable of anything.
The rain was pounding down, and even in the darkness, he could see white balls of hail bouncing off the ground amid all the rain. Lightning hit close by, momentarily illuminating the yard, and it took only that brief moment to see the muddy path they’d taken. It took him another moment to grab his gun, and he was out the window, after them. If he muttered prayers under his breath as he ran, he wasn’t even aware of it.
The pain came first. Evangeline felt as if she were being pulled apart—her shoulders burned, her wrists stung, her head felt like a black hole of misery, and she was wet and aching and blind. No, not blind. It was pitch black, but as her eyes slowly grew accustomed to it, she could make out her surroundings. She was in some sort of shed, and she was hanging from her bound wrists, her toes barely touching the ground. She squirmed, trying to release her hands, but she’d been tied with something that felt like wire, and it was cutting into her wrists.
“Don’t bother.” The voice that came out of the darkness was almost ghost-like. It had no gender, no accent, no age to it; it was just a disembodied threat from the rain-swept darkness.
The cold had finally penetrated her thin dress, and she had started to shiver. The eerie voice didn’t help, but she bit her lip, trying to force some strength into her body, some justifiable rage as she hung suspended.
“Who the fuck are you?” The tone was good, she thought, snappish without sounding petty, and only slightly marred by her chattering teeth. “Let me down.”
“In the words of the immortal Dirty Harry, I’m your worst nightmare,” the voice said, and she began to make out a form in the murky darkness. He was of average height, thin—after that she was lost.
She struggled, trying to move away from the menacing figure, and her body swung slightly. “Why?” Fear was making the cold even worse, but she tried to keep her voice even. “What do you have against me? If you think James will come after me, you’re dead wrong. He’d probably be happy to get rid of me.”
The man laughed quietly, the sound both charming and impossibly creepy. “You’re not very bright, are you, no matter how many degrees you have. I have no interest in James—I sincerely hope he doesn’t find your body until I’m long gone, or I’ll have to kill him too, and he’s too good a tool to throw away. No, I’m afraid it’s you I want dead, and I’m hoping I can take my time with it, enjoy myself. Strung up like that, you’re a perfect canvas for my creativity—otherwise you’d already be dead.”
The soft words were madness, and yet he sounded so matter of fact. “But why?” she said again. “If I’m going to die, you could at least tell me why.”
He snorted, a genteel sound she barely heard over the pounding rain. “What do you think this is—some sci-fi epic where the villain tells all, wasting enough time for the knight-errant to rescue the fair damsel?”
“You’re mixing your genres,” she snapped. Her arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets, but she refused to show pain.
Again the eerie laugh. “And you have no sense. You don’t piss off the villain in the tale. If you think I have some desperate urge to confess my darkest sins, then you’ve definitely been watching too much television. I think the fact that you’ll die without ever knowing why is very satisfying. Telling you would be too easy.”
They must have realized she was gone by now. Merlin would have made a huge fuss once he heard someone in the house, and he’d alert James. The two of them would be searching for Evangeline and her assailant at this very minute, and this patch of land between the river and the creek was too small for them to hide very well. “They’ll find us,” she said, her voice shaking from the cold. “They’ll find us and they’ll kill you.”
“They? Oh, you mean the dog. I’m not worried about him. I gave him enough drugs that I doubt he’ll survive. I don’t have any sentimental qualms when it comes to children or animals—if they’re in my way, they’re fair game.”
“You drugged Merlin?” Her voice was no more than a dead whisper, and then she exploded, struggling, kicking, screaming at him. “If you’ve hurt my dog I’ll kill you! I’ll rip your fucking heart out, you bastard, I’ll . . .”
She felt his fist crack across her face, sending her swinging even more wildly, and then he put his foul hands on her, settling her, and for a moment there was nothing she could do, no way to fight back. And then she spat in his face.
The monster laughed. “He might survive, depending on how much he ate. I had to dump the stuff in his dog food, and that’s one big, scary dog. Maybe he’ll be fine. I’m afraid you’ll never know. And you can forget about Bishop coming after you.”
“Don’t tell me you killed him too! I won’t believe you!”
“Not yet. Bishop trusts me. If I tell him I wasn’t anywhere near here, he’ll believe me.” He caught her, stilling her as she swung gently in the breeze. His hands were strong, and they were gloved, to leave no trace. She was in some sort of shed—she felt the rough wood against her back—but whatever roof the structure had, it was more holes than a cover, and water was running down her back, adding to her chills. Or maybe it was simply that she was terrified.
“Let’s take a quick look at you,” he murmured affably, and for a moment she was blinded by the flashlight. It was sheer discipline that kept her from squirming away from the glare, and she could see more of the man behind the light. He had a shaved head and a beard, but his eyes were simply dark holes in the dimness, and while there was something oddly familiar about his face, she was sure she’d never seen him before.
“Having trouble looking at me, sweetie?” he said with a laugh. “Here you go.” He turned the flashlight on his own face, giving her plenty of time to take stock. His eyes were hazel, and incredibly beautiful, with the lush lashes only men seemed to have. His nose was narrow and straight, his cheekbones high above the scruff of beard, his lips thin and almost feminine. “Do I look familiar?”
She stared. “Yes,” she said, “but I don’t know you.”
“Of course you don’t. Too busy with your nose in a book to learn to observe real life.”
That wasn’t true, and it was enough of an insult that she looked closer, racking her brain for the source of familiarity. She didn’t know him, but she knew someone related to him—a brother or sis