Trust Game

  Trust Game

  Digital Edition

  Copyright 2018 © Kitty Thomas

  All rights reserved.

  Digital Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or shared. If you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Respecting the hard work of this author makes new books possible.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Neither the publisher nor the author endorses any behavior carried out by any character in this work of fiction or any other.

  Trust Game

  Table of Contents:

  Front matter

  Trust Game

  Also by Kitty Thomas

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgements

  Angel sat cramped in a nondescript black SUV that he'd hot-wired off an impound lot. He was parked two houses down from his prey, far enough away that no casual passerby would notice or think anything of it, but close enough that his night vision binoculars could see all that he needed to see.

  Angel wasn't his real name. He'd long given up the quaint notion of a real name. What was a real name anyway? The name a loving mother gives her sweet infant hardly seemed appropriate for him anymore. He doubted his mother—God rest her soul—would have imagined or hoped for this future for him.

  He didn't normally take jobs this close to home. And he hated leaving a body behind. Being located near a private South Carolina beach gave him easy access to ocean disposal when the job was within driving distance. So that was nice.

  Tonight was his night. Finally. Joey Callazaro would be alone. The wife had driven off in a white sports car seventeen minutes ago to catch a red-eye flight. She was en route to a work-related convention. She'd be gone two weeks; when she returned, her husband would be gone forever.

  Unfortunate, but it was how these things went sometimes.

  The burner phone resting on the dash screeched out the least annoying ring tone he'd found in the available menu options.

  He answered on the second ring. “Angel.”

  “Is it done?”

  “Patience is a virtue, you know. It'll be done tonight. Don't worry.”

  “I'm not worried. I'll wire the rest of the money when I have proof of death.”

  The client disconnected the call.

  Goddamn right you will, or you're next on my list. Angel had no trouble doing pro bono work when it came to people who didn't pay their bills.

  Ideally he preferred a client who could back off and let him do his work. He couldn't wait to get this job done, get paid, and toss this fucking burner into the Atlantic. He'd disappear off this asshole's radar, get a new phone, and start the process again.

  This particular job had taken more prep work than he generally liked. It wasn't only the demands of the client, but the fact that he'd had to do some computer hacking to fill in the gaps of the dossier he'd been given on the target. Angel liked to know what he might be walking into. He had the requisite nerd skills to get what he needed, but he preferred wet work to geek work.

  Angel was motivated less by some primal drive to kill and more by mercenary opportunism. On the most basic level, he was simply unbothered by other people's deaths—especially when they deserved it. And the people who made it onto his list... you could bet they deserved it. He didn't take petty vendetta jobs. Crimes of passion were too messy, even when acting as an intermediary.

  As far as he was concerned, some piece of shit bites the dust, he gets paid. Everybody wins. He was practically a goddamn superhero.

  He wasn't sure how others worked. It wasn't as though there were some hit man handbook out there. He preferred clean kills with distance and a finely calibrated scope, but he took requests when the money was good enough.

  The hovering helicopter client in question didn't want a missing body. Or a job that looked like a professional hit. He wanted it up close and personal. Knife. Make it look like a home invasion gone wrong.

  Fine by Angel.

  The houses were spaced far enough apart in this neighborhood that nobody could be too far up in anybody else's business. Several houses additionally had privacy fences around them. The last set of lights on the street, with the exception of Joey Callazaro's, had just gone off for the night.

  Callazaro was involved in human trafficking. Prostitution mostly, but also organ harvesting. The same unfortunate victims played both roles usually. After all, when a whore was all used up, if you'd adhered to basic care and maintenance, you could still sell them for parts.

  The client didn't want Callazaro dead because of what he was doing but because he was moving in on someone else's territory and drawing too much attention from the authorities. This was their corner. So basically, it was a little bitch fight.

  Callazaro was an amateur and had gotten in way over his head. Half a million to snuff out this little fucker? It hadn't been a hard sell, even with such an antsy client who clearly hadn't ordered a lot of professional hits from outside talent.

  Ultimately Angel was chopping off the heads of a many-headed hydra. Two more would grow back as soon as he killed this one. But if a bunch of slimy dipshits wanted to pay him to off each other, who was he to complain? That was a pot of gold that never ran dry. He'd become quite well-off taking advantage of this state of affairs.

  He glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost midnight, and this fucker was clearly not going to sleep any time soon. Probably watching porn, and that was the best case scenario. With the wife gone, he might call in one of his girls for some entertainment, which was the last thing Angel needed.

  He slipped on a pair of snug black gloves and took a gleaming knife from his bag. He'd never handled it with bare hands. When it had been delivered, Angel had worn gloves to remove it from the box and put it in the bag he'd brought to the job. This was the first time he'd touched it since. This way he could ditch the knife without fear his prints would be on it.

  His prints were in nobody's database, so no danger there. Still, he didn't like the idea of anyone having any of his prints or DNA in some evidence locker somewhere. Technology changed, and he didn't doubt there would come a day when everybody's DNA was in a database somewhere—guilty or innocent. Such a change to the social order would only make his work more difficult.

  With the exception of Callazaro, the neighborhood was asleep now. But if someone had been awake and looking out their window, they would have seen nothing but a shock of blond hair, and then only if the light of the full moon hit Angel just right. Beyond the privacy fences, the tree cover in the neighborhood was plenty to keep him well-hidden. He could have, and maybe should have, worn a mask. But he hated them. They were uncivilized and made his face feel like it was inside an oven.

  He picked the lock on the back door next to the kitchen and quietly let himself in. Joey owned two dobermans, but Angel had already dosed them with a sedative a couple of hours ago when they'd come out into the yard for their last bathroom break of the night. They were now in a heavy slumber on the kitchen floor. Even if they woke, they'd be too lethargic to be much threat.

  But the fact of the dobermans meant Joey would be less jumpy. He assumed they'd bark if there was trouble. So that floor creak just now? It was nothing. Just the house settling.

  Angel found his prey in the front room, predictably wanking off to some kinky porn on the computer. It was certainly Angel's flavor of choice, but he happened to know for a fact these were some of Joey's girls, and none of them had wanted to be there,
let alone be filmed. When the cops took apart the house, they'd uncover a lot more than a B&E gone wrong.

  Joey was lost in the pre-orgasmic haze when Angel crept up behind him. Callazaro's eyes widened as he caught a flash of an intruder in the reflection from the monitor the moment before his throat was slit. This was hardly going to look like a standard home invader caught in the act. Oh well. The worthless shit was dead.

  Angel smashed some things around the room and took Callazaro's wallet. Even with that, any entry-level forensics intern would be able to tell something was off about this scene.

  And if that weren't bad enough, before Angel could make another move, the front door opened. Mrs. Callazaro stood in the entryway, a look of horror on her face as she took in the scene in front of her.

  Wow, she was beautiful. It was the only thought that could work its way through Angel's brain.

  He'd seen her of course, but not this close. Her features were delicate and sweet. She was pale with a natural pink flush in her cheeks. Long red curls flowed around her like a goddess... and those brilliant green eyes looked like they were cut from emeralds.

  Surprisingly, she didn't scream. Instead, she dropped her bags, turned, and ran. Angel looked down to find he still held the bloody knife. He flung it to the corner of the room. He didn't need a knife for her.

  Fuck fuck fuck pounded through his head in rhythm to his footsteps as he ran after her. The only mercy was that in her panic, she'd dropped her keys. At least she couldn't get into her car and drive away. He had a chance to contain this.

  ***

  Astrid's lungs felt like they were on fire as she ran. She couldn't even scream. She should scream. There were neighbors. But most of them were old and feeble, and she doubted any of them would wake in time or have the presence of mind to call 911. And if they did... how many minutes would she already be dead by the time help arrived? Besides, screaming would only give away her location—if the sound of her footsteps crunching over crisp fall leaves wasn't enough.

  She could barely process what she'd just walked in on. Astrid cut through a neighbor's yard and slowed down. She didn't hear footsteps behind her anymore. She needed to put as much space between herself and the house as possible, but she had to catch her breath a minute. Hidden behind the Winslow's privacy fence seemed like a good place to do it.

  At least until a strong arm pressed against her throat and everything went dark around her.

  Astrid hadn't expected to wake up. She'd been sure as the world faded away that it was doing so for the last time. But here she was, a seemingly split second in time later, in the passenger side of a moving car, her wrists and ankles bound with rope, a blindfold covering her eyes.

  Why hadn't he killed her? It couldn't mean anything good. If he hadn't killed her it only meant he had worse plans in store. Considering what she'd walked in on, she couldn't let herself consider the brutal violence that might lie ahead.

  “I know you're awake,” he said. “I heard your breathing change.”

  His voice sounded more cultured than your average street thug—not that he'd looked like he fit that profile. The small bit she remembered. He hadn't seemed like some meth addict looking to steal jewelry for his next fix. Was it someone with a grudge against Joey? Was it a professional? Her mind raced to put the pieces together as if just having more facts could somehow give her an edge and help her escape.

  “Why didn't you kill me?” She didn't want to know, but somehow she couldn't manage to stop herself from asking.

  “I tried. I failed. I've never had problems performing before.”

  Was that some kind of hit man humor?

  “I'm sorry about the ropes. They were necessary,” he said.

  “What are you going to do with me?” Stop asking these questions!

  “I can't let you go. You saw me.”

  “It was dark. I don't remember what I saw.” It hadn't exactly been dark in the living room when she'd walked in on his crime, but she was hoping maybe he wouldn't remember those details. “I'm not a threat. I wouldn't say anything.”

  “Liar. I killed your husband. That's hardly the kind of thing that gets me brownie points.”

  “You obviously don't know my husband. Fuck him. I'm glad he's gone.”

  The stranger laughed. “I'll give you one thing. You're a hell of an actress. I almost buy it. But I haven't done what I do for as long as I've done it by being stupid and believing every story told by a pretty girl.”

  “You're a professional.” That knowledge deflated her. It seemed less likely a professional killer would just let her go or be swayed by empathy or negotiation attempts.

  “Card carrying,” he confirmed.

  She jumped when his hand brushed her cheek and wiped tears away. She hadn't realized she'd been crying.

  “Easy. I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?”

  “A-Astrid.”

  “Pretty name. I'm Angel.”

  “Not a very fitting name for a killer.” This was really the kind of thought that should just remain in one's head.

  “It is when the last part is of death,” he replied without missing a beat.

  Suddenly the blindfold was gone.

  For someone just caught at a crime scene, he appeared cool and collected driving down the road in the middle of the night like everything was fine. To add another level of emotional complication, he was distressingly good-looking—something she hadn't been able to fully process when she'd walked in on him at the house.

  She didn't want the guy who held her life in his hands and might be planning something really terrible to be this beautiful. She'd fallen into that stupid trap already with Joey. But Joey was nothing next to this guy. This guy could have gotten rich just on those looks. So if he was out killing people, it wasn't because it was his only option in life. It was because he liked it.

  A cellphone rang with a dated ring tone that she hadn't heard in at least five years.

  “Astrid, I'm going to answer this. The person calling me is not someone who will help you. In fact, he's likely to panic and offer to pay me more to kill you. I find it difficult to turn down good money so if you're smart, you'll stay quiet. Are you smart?”

  She nodded quickly.

  “Good girl.” He answered the phone, “Angel.”

  A pause.

  “It's done. I ran into a complication. The plan changed.”

  Astrid couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but she could hear the rage behind the voice.

  “Simmer down. Look, I told you, preferences for exact details would be taken into account, but you'll recall I also told you realities on the ground don't always allow for them. Best laid plans and all. The kill looked too weird. Believe me, it would cause too many questions and too much investigation. This wasn't going to be the open and shut case you wanted it to be. It's better if there is no body at all.”

  There was a long bit of silence from Angel's side as he listened patiently to the person on the other end.

  “I've got it with me. I'm dumping it.” Angel sighed. “Just because things didn't happen as I planned, doesn't mean my backups aren't solid. It will never surface.” He laughed. “You don't want to negotiate with me. I'm doing extra work without extra pay so if I don't see the exact amount of money we agreed to, it's coming out of your hide. I'll send you a photo before I dump it. Don't call me again. Ever.”

  Angel disconnected the call.

  Minutes later they pulled up at an abandoned marina.

  “Don't bother screaming. Nobody ever comes out here,” he said as if she planned suddenly start screaming now.

  Astrid watched him warily as he got out of the car and came around to her side. He carried her to the only boat at the dock and sat her on a blue vinyl bench. Or at least it seemed blue. The only visible light was the headlights from the SUV so it was hard to tell. It could have just as easily been green or purple. She tried to focus on these stupid mundane details so she wouldn't have a complete breakdown.
She was fairly sure he'd kill her if she became too annoying, and hysterical freakouts would be annoying to someone like him.

  “Don't go anywhere,” he said.

  Hilarious.

  Angel went back to the SUV. When he returned, he carried a body wrapped in heavy plastic. She still could feel nothing but relief at the sight of that son of a bitch's lifeless corpse. Angel started the boat without a word and took them out to sea.

  Astrid shivered in the wind as she looked out at the dark water. What if he got over whatever had held him back from killing her and just threw her over? Why did she have to have that thought? Now that it was in her head it didn't seem to want to let go. Surely he'd had time to realize it made more sense to just get rid of her. Now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get the image of him throwing her overboard out of her head.

  “Hey? If you change your mind about killing me, don't drown me, okay? J-just s-snap my neck first. B-before you throw me over.”

  Angel was shrouded in shadow. “I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. I admit I'm not exactly following the standard moral code, but I kill for money, not pleasure. I kill people the world won't miss. I can't justify killing you. Even if I could, I don't want to. So stop thinking about it. It's not happening. I've already made up my mind.”

  “Okay, well, then you have to let me go.”

  “Like hell I do.”

  “Well you can't just keep me a prisoner forever!”

  “For someone bound on a boat with a killer, you sure seem certain of what I can and can't do.”

  Astrid knew she was pushing too far, not a smart move with someone who was clearly comfortable with murder.

  She wondered if it was really because she was an innocent that he'd spared her. It seemed more likely that it was because he found her attractive. She knew he did because she knew that look in a man's eyes. Since he'd taken the blindfold off she'd been trying to decide if she could somehow bring herself to seduce him. It wasn't as though sleeping with him would be repulsive. If she could forget what he was capable of...what she'd seen him do.