I hadn't seen Hans in seven days. As an 'auditor', I often had trips back to my home in Paris. If there was one thing the media got wrong about my lifestyle, it was how to get a job. There's no interview, or fake backgrounds, or connections. Instead, you email some people with a fake account, you make a license and a degree, then you walk in with your head held high and avoid the only people that would truly know if you actually worked there. It was a brilliant strategy, one that had been most closely portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can, but even that had its fatal flaws.
"It was okay," he drawled unenthusiastically. "I've had a lot of time to think, though."
I pulled my eyebrows together, mocking concern as I asked, "What's wrong?" My gaze might have been on the twenty-six-year-old in front of me, but my attention was anywhere but Hans. I could feel someone's eyes on me. They didn't watch like a normal person; their gaze seared into the back of my head with a creeping undertone. It was the type of pressure that one had to perfect, purposefully making their victim feel the weight of their attention.
I slowed my breathing slightly, automatically mapping the park in the back of my head while looking at Han's troubled face. Most likely the person was giving me a warning because if they wanted to kill me, I wouldn't feel their presence so strongly. Running away or jumping into the ocean would draw attention. It might sound stupid to you, but if you were a strong swimmer you could disappear in a place like this.
"Your audit is almost done," Han's pointed out. "And it's been hard enough when you disappear for days, sometimes weeks. We've only been dating for three months, but I don't know if I can do this indefinitely."
Bingo.
"So you want to break up?" I asked in a hurt tone, an inflexion of pain in my voice. "Do you not think we can make it work? We knew it would be long distance from the beginning. Why are you getting cold feet?"
Hans' lips settled in a small frown, trying to deal with my hurt face and slightly glassy eyes. "I know I just...I don't think I can do this. It's hard, Madeline. I can't do this." Madeline. I still thought it was fucking hilarious he thought that was my real name. The little thrills never fade, even after years of creating fake identities and personas. "You're an amazing woman but I personally can't handle the space. It's just not going to work."
Bullshit. This week I had been stuck to him like a moth to a flashlight: texting constantly, bothering him, and just acting clingy in general. I might have even mentioned that I loved him which he tried to play off as smoothly as he could. It was entertaining, let's just say that. "I'm sorry," he told me, frowning at my warm brown eyes. The five foot eleven genius moved to touch my hand but I pulled it away, wiping under my eye lightly and standing up. "Maddy, don't act like this."
"Like what?" I asked harshly, looking down at him as I stood on the sidewalk. "Like you just broke up with me? Don't tell me how to carry myself, Hans. Leave me alone," I fumed, pulling my wrist away from him as he tried to reach for me again. My heels clicked against the grey paving stones as I shouldered my purse with my laptop in it up to my elbow, whipping under my eyes again with the back on my knuckle.
I flicked my glasses back down, brushing my hair behind my ear as Hans' voice calling my name twice rolled off my back and faded in the summer air. The best part about a fake identity? Getting to quit work without anyone even knowing. Now that I had Hans taken care off and the codes on his computer system, I had access to everything I needed. I could have killed him but that would be too suspicious and his accounts would be deleted by his employer. Now, even if the system changed I had a back route into it via his ID. I wouldn't be surprised if the Russians killed him by the time I'm done with them.
Oh well.
I told you I wasn't a nice person.
Speaking of nice people, the person following me must have never been told that staring was rude because even as I walked down the street their attention stayed fixed on my figure. I could shake them off or I could let them follow me to work.
Maybe I did have to go after all.
As I crossed the street I knew the person following me wouldn't be stupid enough to follow me on the same side of the road. That was a rookie mistake that even the wimps at Quantico learned to avoid in the first week. I wish I was at Quantico, I snorted to myself. That place was a paradise compared to what I've been through. The FBI. They should be called a joke, really. Their problem is they follow the law. I learned a long time ago that's not how you get things done. My former employers knew that too; I had to learn my ways from someone, after all.
But I didn't have time to ponder what my life would have been. I only had what my life was currently, and right now that's my possible impending death. Fear of dying wasn't something I had, though I would prefer to put it off for now. I was far from done with my business on this Earth. Death wasn't scary: it was peace and salvation from a shitty and tortured world.
My eyes glued themselves to the reflection of the storefronts as I walked by. Across the street, just visible out of the corner of my eye over the reflections of cars on the side of the road, was a tall man with his own sunglasses over his face. Whether he knew I was watching him or not, the air seemed to get thicker almost instantaneously, like the pressure of his eyes were sucking the air out from around me. There were few people in this world that could send a chill down my spine like this.
I'd seen and done too many horrible things for the threat of death or a hint of suspicion to scare me. But there was something different about the tall man in a blue suit with jet black hair that made me cautious. Even as I turned onto another street, he stayed following me a few steps back on the other side of the road, never looking to the left but always watching.
I knew from the moment I scanned my badge at the front office building just two blocks from the shore, that he wanted me to see him. As I held the plastic card up to the small black scanner, across the street he stopped and turned to the building, taking off his glasses and staring right at me. This was a message and his high cheekbones, sharp jaw, and dead glare sent it well.
This won't be the last time we meet. And when we meet again, I'll kill you.
That's a promise.
