The only person with my answers wants me dead.
That was the long and short of it, she supposed. Her chest heaved, glad that he hadn't brought a gun to a knife fight. She never would've won in a marksman contest. She'd always been short-range.
As she stared at chocolatey brown eyes, eyes that knew her, hadn't trained with her, she raised her fists one more time, the blades rounded over her knuckles. They'd been at this for a solid twenty minutes at least. They were both bruised, bleeding and tired. She'd lost her short swords and had been forced to hand combat, which wasn't the worst but even her athletic 6' frame took a beating when a heavier, slightly taller man got his hands on her.
She'd gotten out of his hands by stabbing a two inch blade into his thigh and still thankful that ballistics weren't involved.
"Why did you find me?" His voice was never quite what she expected. Sometimes it was warm, deep, friendly. Sometimes it had been boyish, uncomfortable. Other times, mostly when they were alone, it was somewhere between velvety and uncomfortable. At least the discomfiture was mutual.
It would be easy to tell him that she was bored, that she'd missed him, but in reality, they didn't know each other like that. Well, maybe they did, but flirtation had only been silently, obliquely suggested as an unprofessional courtesy that could be extended but would make everything more awkward.
She hadn't realized that he'd found her attractive until about a year before when they'd crossed paths. She'd been working an assignment, dirty men trafficking women kind of assignment, and of course, he came up on her as she was disposing of the body.
The memory ran fresh in her mind, but it was the look of appreciation she'd caught on his face that warmed her belly. He liked how she carried herself. Then it was gone and he had been pulling a gun that time.
A deep breath, mainly because she was recovered, it wasn't like she didn't do hours of aerobic exercise every day, and she opened her mouth. "Your department wants me dead. Why?" She'd always been a contract worker, loved the freedom, loved not truly playing The Man's Game. He'd always worked above the table, always played The Game.
The corner of his mouth quirked, "Your numerous crimes aren't enough?" Her hands had been falling ever lax, and at the mention of her "crimes" she almost sacrificed the defense fully to throw the short blade at his other leg, but she didn't really want to injure him ridiculously. There was a reason she hadn't twisted the knife in his leg.
"Depleted the list of opportunities for me already and afraid of blackmail?"
His eyes narrowed on her slightly, "You don't pay attention to the news, do you?"
It was true, she didn't. She paid enough attention to know how to avoid political turmoil and turbulent public events, but at the same time, her work wasn't in the news. Why would she?
He continued, obviously content with the blip of silence as an answer, "Top officials are calling for the case of Jordan Topply to be reopened-" She cut in, her gaze not on his face but on memories, "Topply went to Muriel."
A surprised blink was all he gave her before continuing as if she hadn't spoken, "The department determined the appropriate action to appease the public is termination of the contracts. To ensure no hard feelings, some of the larger contracts need personal termination." At this point he gestured at her.
She blushed, spread her hand on her chest, the handle of her blade pressed against the heavy linen fabric of her shirt, the wicked curved blade still protecting her knuckles. "I'm that special?"
"They wanted to give you a desk." The information came from him, seemingly a little bitter but not particularly angry.
"The public would have a bigger problem than Topply." She would never survive at a desk. Hell, if they wanted her to coast out on an island, she was already ready.
Except, maybe, if she could bring him and his brown eyes too. He probably couldn't hit it from the back how she liked.
She blinked hard though. Topply had been an angel investor, a silent bank for all sorts of charitable causes, his will gave everything publicly to a lot of charities. If she remembered the report correctly, Muriel killed him with a boating accident...but he'd been a bit sloppy about it, leaving drugs on Topply that weren't in his public blood report that had been released in line with the will.
The movement didn't catch her off-guard so much as she wouldn't admit that she almost eviscerated him when he rushed her, before she discerned the word coming from his mouth, "Bomb." She threw her arms out to wrap under his arms, allowing him to tuck her down and onto the ground. He didn't keep her under him, immediately moving off to protect his head and leave her to fend. One of her bladed knuckles skittered a tiny distance away, but the shockwave disoriented her enough that she didn't look for it as soon as she was up, then saw it in his hands.
She looked out behind her, saw a waft of smoke in the distance. "Guess you're expendable too." Without waiting for his decisions about any of it, she was off. Now bullets were being shot. It seemed that he had brought a gun after all.
She ran full force from the warehouse district, not once looking back. About eight miles later, she arrived at the transportation she'd left behind while she'd been hunting. A boring truck, no real distinguishing things about it. Time to trade it in for a boat, or something, to get her faraway from The Department. At least until they figured their shit out. Want her dead? Because Muriel was sloppy?
To her it sounded like they needed to expose Muriel. Except, well, Muriel had been a loose cannon lately, been sloppy, been willing to kill an extra person here and there in the other countries. To expose one of that ilk could irreversibly smudge the public lens.
It sounded like they had just unprofessionally asked her to corral Muriel for them.
They could've offered payment instead of her continued life.
