Target: Hard Target Part 8

We both fall silent, watching cars and trucks weave in and out of lanes. Everyone seems to be in as much of a hurry as we are, but they're headed to work, not to potentially die.

"Do you feel like talking?" I ask.

"Only if it will make you feel better."

If only this was a date and he were a potential boyfriend. "I'm not sure if it will. I have so many questions for you."

"Go on."

I nibble at my lip, debating if I really want the answers. "Your former life, with bad guys and jumping off roofs... and killing people. Did... you... why?"

"I grew up in that life. My grandfather and brother taught me everything they knew. I was groomed to be a killer for the Bratva."

My tongue gets stuck to the roof on my mouth for a second. "Are you still close to them?"

"Only my brother, but over the years I've drifted away from him as well. It's not easy to leave everything behind, the man I used to be, but for nearly a decade I did just that. Worked my a.r.s.e off to get a proper job." He runs a hand through his black hair. "But now I know it was a setup. For what purpose, I'm not sure, and that scares the f.u.c.k out of me."

"How do you know it was a setup?"

"I spied on Pinter and learned that someone was spying on me at the same time. It was rather disconcerting, especially since I considered myself untraceable. Pride and all that."

"Maybe they know you."

"I thought the same thing. But whom? Certainly not Grandfather and my brother has no idea how to arrange for such a thing-at least not without my help. I have two half-brothers, but they are firmly in the suns.h.i.+ne. Their careers so bright that even the Bratva leaves them alone. They'd make s.h.i.+te a.s.sa.s.sins anyway," he says and my mind whirls at the possibility of who his half-brothers are. "That's probably more than you wanted to know."

My heart pounds in my ears, but I continue, "Actually... how many people have you killed?"

"Including the man who attempted to kill you?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet.

"Y-yes."

"Too many to count." There is no pride in his voice, only resignation. "Although I guess the last time two times I got to play the hero."

My brow furrows. "Last two?"

"My sister-in-law had been kidnapped and I helped rescue her."

"That's totally a hero thing." I exhale slowly, my brain trying to come to grips with the fact that I'm not only willing to travel with a killer, but grateful. Who are you to judge, I remind myself. Who knows how I would have turned out had my parents lived? After all, it wasn't my Granny who taught me how to use a gun.

"I'm the daughter of a killer."

"Don't." He glances at me, making a face. "Just don't. You don't need to lie."

"Seriously, you think I'd lie to make you feel better?"

"I think you have a kind heart," he says. "Go on. I want to hear your story."

"Before the ma.s.sacre," I swallow, forcing away the memories of that horrible day, "My dad was rumored to have shot a man just for looking at my momma."

"Rumored is not the same thing as actually committed."

"That man turned up dead. No one stepped forward with information, but we all knew. My momma wouldn't speak to him for a long time after that happened, so he left us. I don't remember it though. Too young." But I do remember the fights. The screams. The sound of my dad hitting my mother, her wretched sobs as he begged for her forgiveness.

"And how do you know all this?" he asks.

"Granny told me."

"She sounds perfectly lovely."

"Her favorite nickname for me was Satan's sp.a.w.n and by Satan, she meant her son." I laugh a little and shake my head. "I actually miss her. She had a mouth on her, but she took me in when the state could have put me in foster care. I was never cold or hungry once I lived with her. Always had clothes and a warm bed."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Really? Why is that?" I can't help but ask.

"Because it would be extremely difficult to exhume a body only to murder it, but I would have if she hadn't taken care of you," his says in a voice that makes the hair stand up on my arms. "You were only a child, and you can't help who brought you into this world."

I stare at him, nonplussed. "You've never mentioned your parents, so I'm going to take a big leap and say that they were about as good as mine."

"You could say that. However, my mother is still alive."

"Do you want to see her?"

"No." His mouth thins into a straight line for a moment. "I never want to see her again."

"Does she need a killin'?" I ask, half-joking. "I've got cousins..."

"I'd rather not answer that."

"I was only kidding. Mostly."

The look on his face is chilling. "I know and that's why I can't answer you."

It's clear from the look on his face that he's done with the conversation, so I lean my head back and close my eyes. If my day is anything like yesterday and the day before, then I will have very little opportunity to get any sleep.

I wake up twice, both times because we have to show our pa.s.sports to border guards. I don't panic, at least outwardly, the first time because I'm sure that Benjamin thought of everything. His casual ease with the border guard relaxes me. While they speak in a mixture of French and English that is hard for me to follow, I smile and nod when it seems appropriate.

"You were brilliant," he says as we pick up speed once more.

"I didn't get a chance to see where my pa.s.sport said I'm from."

"Canada."

"But they speak French in some parts."

He grins. "Some parts. I made sure you were from the non-French speaking part."

Well, isn't he prepared? My eyes drift shut as I murmur, "Let me know if I can drive for you."

"Mmm-hmm," is all he says.

I crack open one eye. "I know you won't let me."

"They drive on the same side as Americans in France, love."

Opening both eyes, I perk up a little. "Really?"

"Still not driving this."

Frowning, I close my eyes once more. "Don't wake me up unless we're in Paris. Or about to die. Whichever comes first."

Laughing, he turns on the radio. Cla.s.sical music fills the air and I fall asleep in minutes.

"Morgan," Ben's voice drifts into my consciousness says as he gently shakes me. "We're here."

Yawning, I stretch and rub my eyes. "We're in Paris already?"

"No, we've stopped in Amiens for the night. I've a room at Hotel du Fleurs." Once more, he steps out before I can ask any questions, but I suppose he's answered as many as he can.

A valet dressed in a blue and white suit opens my car door.

I swing my legs out first, then allow him to help me to my feet. Since I don't have a purse, I wait for Ben to join me curbside.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle."

"Sorry, I don't speak-"

"Allow me, my love." Ben hands the valet some money, rattling off something in French as if he were a native speaker. They both laugh and then Ben gives the man even more money.

I guess money talks in any language.

Finally, Ben grabs my hand, lacing our fingers as he leans in to whisper, "I told him we were on our honeymoon and that you were a lovely American visiting for the first time."

"Is that why he's smiling so big?"

"No, it's because I told him that you were anxious to go to bed."

My face heats.

The valet's grin widens when he catches my eye.

"I can't believe you told him that. Not to mention that I don't have a ring." I feel something cool slip onto my ring finger. Glancing down I find a wedding band made of diamonds. "Never mind then." Who in the heck keeps spare rings? Oh, that's right, he does.

"So glad it fits."

"You think of everything, sugar," I coo.

He barely suppresses a smile, but I get a glimpse of his dimples. "There's a tracking device in the largest diamond. Should we ever be parted, I will be able to find you."

"As long as I don't p.a.w.n it," I warn him.

"There is that."

I drag my gaze from the sparkling diamonds on my finger to look up at him. "Mind telling me how this fit into your plan?"

He gives me a confident smile. "An a.s.sa.s.sin is always prepared."

We pa.s.s through an enormous arch made of stone into the fairy tale of hotel dreams. The place drips with elegance, from the understated marble floors to the discreet lighting that gives the cavernous room a warm glow.

"I've already checked us in."

A bellman appears with one bag and a Louis Vuitton suitcase on a cart. "Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Jones."

How original. "Is that my wedding present?" I ask, nodding at the blue and white piece of luggage.

"The ring's not enough?" He lets go of my hand and places his palm on the small of my back. "I'm hurt, darling."

I lift my shoulders, playing into casually playful conversation. "I really like that suitcase."

"Then it's yours."

I bat my eyes at him. "You're so good to me, sugar."

"That's a bit much."

"Not for our honeymoon." I take a deep breath and throw my shoulders back. "Just you wait until you see all the lingerie I packed in my suitcase."

"It's full of guns and ammo."

The bellhop looks our way and I panic a little. Had he heard that? Should I keep playing the wife bit? Shut the h.e.l.l up? Ah, who cares?

"I wasn't planning on wearing nothing but a smile to bed anyway."

"You spoil me, darling." He plants an affectionate kiss on my upturned face. "I'll reward you by letting you ride my c.o.c.k until you scream my name."

The valet coughs.

My mouth drops open.

Ben's hand slides down to my b.u.t.t. The squeeze he gives it is way past obvious.

Until this instant, I never knew how conflicting it is to be annoyed yet turned on at the same time.

As we walk across the room to the elevators, more than one envious look is thrown our way. A part of me wants to strut while the other, smarter part of me that was rolling her eyes the entire time I was flirting with Ben, reminds me that his affection isn't real.