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Killer for Hire

Chapter 26: Fine Line

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Malcolm dressed in the most casual clothing he owned, which wasn't saying much: a rumpled hoodie he had shoved at the back of his closet and a pair of gray sweatpants he mostly wore to sleep. The hoodie didn't do much to shield him from the cold, though. He shivered against the chill and pulled the hood up higher to obscure his face.

He was sure he looked ridiculous, walking around in twenty degree weather in a hoodie with a pair of sunglasses on. Those he passed gave him bizarre looks, squinting as they peered at his face. They were probably trying to figure out if he was a celebrity trying to hide his identity or just plain weird. Not exactly as inconspicuous as he was trying to appear to be.

He stopped at a small coffee shop at the end of the block. It matched the address the woman had given him over the phone. He spotted a woman with her back to him sitting at a table on the little patio era. She fit the description she had told him: dyed blonde hair pulled back into an intricate french twist and a thick trench coat with fur lining the collar.

He walked over to her and pulled out the empty seat at the table across from her, the metal legs screeching against the ground. He sat down and folded his hands together. She didn't say anything for a moment, merely observing him with pursed lips.

Then, she reached up and took off her own pair of sunglasses. At least he wasn't alone there. "We talked over the phone. You know how it goes. Money up front," she said in a posh English accent. It was the same voice from over the phone, but it was even harsher in person.

This close, he could make out the hard lines of her face. She had wrinkles around her lips from smoking, and her blue eyes were filmy, almost glazed over. She looked bored. She arched a thinly plucked eyebrow at him. "Hello? Excuse me? Are you deaf?"

He fidgeted with his fingers. He had to be careful with this. There was a reason Gil hadn't contacted her yet. She was their last lead, and if he fucked this up, they would all be dead in the water. "I want to know some things first, about the assassin you'll have carrying out the hit."

Her filmy eyes hardened. "What part of money up front do you not understand?" She abruptly stood up, pushing her chair back. "You're wasting my time. I have more important paying clients to attend to."

She started to walk away when his hand shot out to stop her. He grabbed her wrist, and she stopped in her tracks, craning her neck to look back at him. Her eyes were wide.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He hung his head and removed the sunglasses first. Then, he slowly lowered his hood as he looked up at her.

Her face contorted into an expression of fear and recognization the second her eyes locked with his. His lips pulled back into a wide smile, and he gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit back down."

She flattened the skirt of the dress she was wearing before taking her seat. She scooted away from the table just slightly, maintaining a careful distance in case she had to make a run for it. The panic that had seized her moments before dissipated, and in its place was a carefully curated mask of stoicism.

She folded her hands on the table, showing off the rings that adorned her manicured fingers. She was definitely one for ostentatious displays of wealth. "Well, Malcolm Bright, or should I say Whitly, the famous profiler." Her voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip the pleasantries." His grin was unfazed. "You know why I'm here."

She cocked her head to the side. "To turn me in."

"Don't flatter yourself. You're not the one I'm after."

Her lips quirked into the ghost of a smile, and she scoffed. "Of course. You want to catch a killer." She leaned back in her chair, suddenly relaxed. "You're here because of Siren."

Just hearing her name again sparked something inside of him. He wasn't sure what it was: anger, or something else...

He sat up a little straighter. "The NYPD doesn't know I'm here yet." He stressed the last word. "I'm willing to look the other way in exchange for information."

She crossed one leg over the other. "You really want me to believe that you wouldn't say a word of this to anyone?"

He shrugged. "I'm a profiler, not a cop."

She folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, seemingly mulling it over. "I haven't been in contact with Siren in days, not since she pulled that little stunt at the charity banquet," she admitted, and he could tell she was telling the truth.

"But that doesn't mean you don't know where to find her." He wagged a finger at her. "And I think we both know she hasn't left New York yet. She hasn't gotten what she wanted, and she doesn't give up that easily."

Her eyes narrowed at him until they were slits. He could practically feel the rage simmering underneath her cool façade like waves of heat smacking him in the face. "I may know the address of the last place Siren was known to stay at, but there's no guarantee that she'll still be there."

"All I need is a chance." He grinned at her.

She harrumphed and pulled out a pen. She grabbed a napkin and scribbled down an address, half rising out of her seat as she held it out to him. "There. Are we done here?"

He took it from her and tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie. "Not quite." She fell back in her seat with a quiet huff. "I need you to tell me everything you know about her."

Her heel tapped against the ground impatiently. "What makes you think I know anything more than you do?"

"Because you're her handler. It's important you know everything about the assassins under your employ so you can control them."

The corners of her lips curled into a venomous smile. "You really are as smart as Siren said you are. Fitting, given the last name you picked for yourself."

He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "The sooner you tell me, the sooner we can part ways, and you can go back to your clients."

Her smile didn't waver. "This has never happened before with anyone else, you know. For the longest time, I thought it was just her. But now I see that you're in love with her too." She chuckled. "I suppose she would've gotten bored with you and killed you a long time ago if you didn't reciprocate her feelings."

He bristled. "I'm not in love with her."

She rolled her eyes. "Love, obsession. It's all the same. People like to pretend they're different, but they're really not."

He clenched his jaw. "I'm a profiler. It's my job."

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?" Her eyes were alit now with amusement. "Is it your dedication to your job that brought you here without anyone's knowledge?"

"You're changing the subject." He tilted his head. "Are you scared of her?"

Her laughter rang out in the open air. "Of course not. If you knew anything about assassin-handler dynamics like you pretend to, you would know that." But the twinkle in her eye betrayed her.

He smacked his hands on the table, causing her to jump in her seat, and he leaned forward. "Just tell me what you know," he hissed. "Every single detail."

She blinked at him with wide eyes. In his peripheral vision, he could see a few people glancing at him curiously. When nothing else out of the ordinary happened, they looked away, uninterested. But the tension between them hovered in the air, almost palpable.

"I'm just like her, if not worse." Her words came out in a hushed whisper. "I've killed people. I make sure that a lot of people get killed, more than Siren has ever done. And yet you're willing to let me go just to get to her."

The look in his eyes was determined. "Like I said, you're not the one I want."

The fear drained from her eyes, and she smirked again. "I suppose not." She shifted in her seat, making herself at home. It was clear she was going to be here for a while. She wasn't going anywhere. "Fine. I'll tell you. Every single detail, just like you've asked for so nicely."