Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(79)

Mom and Nell whisper to each other, leaving me irritated. Saskia isn't their idea of likeable. I get that, but I'm pissed anyway.

I walk out through the house and out the back door. The dogs follow, but I'm not interested in playing with them. I feel protective of Saskia, even if she doesn't need protecting. I've always been different, not like her, but enough to understand how being normal is overrated.

Minka walks outside and throws a ball to the dogs. "Do you have a thing for redheads or is it tiny chicks?"

"I have a thing for strong women."

"You don't seem hot for me, and I'm hella strong," she says, grinning. "Don't worry about hurting my feelings."

"I wasn't."

When Minka grins wider, I can imagine this woman killing me without losing a moment's rest.

"Here's a tip about Saskia. If you think seducing her is a good way for you to protect yourself from your cult stalkers, you need to be thinking long term. After she kills them, she won't like finding out you used her. Her special skills don't involve killing people quickly, Mister Sloane."

Rather than defend my intentions, I want to know about Saskia. "How long have you known her?"

"Not long," Minka says, throwing the ball again. "Rafael recruited her. Me too. He's the friendly sort. Of course, I'd heard of Little Maven before taking the job." When I only stare at her, Minka explains, "Little Maven was her nickname. Her mama was Maven. You don't want to know the details."

"I might."

"Then ask Saskia. I don't tell a girl's secrets, especially if that girl handles her problems like our redheaded pal does."

I know Minka is trying to scare me. Mom might have even given her the idea to talk me out of my infatuation. If so, they've underestimated my capacity to latch onto something and refuse to let go.





8


Saskia

Ice Queen Needs to Thaw

Minka dubbed my small apartment "the box." I find comfort in having few belongings. My willingness to walk away from this apartment and everything I own has kept me strong. My mother taught me to require very little to survive. Maven was a feared woman, known for torturing many powerful men until they were no more than children weeping for death.

Standing in my tiny apartment, I miss the size and warmth of Brad's house. My place smells of clean floors and counters. None of the sweet potpourri scents pumped through the Sloane home. For the first time, I crave more than the bare basics.

I considered adopting a cat when I first moved to Houston. After deciding I have no idea how to name a cat, I ditched the idea. What do cats even eat? The entire idea felt like too much work, but now I feel a hint of regret.

I blame Brad for my sudden unhappiness. He's infected me with his life. I see him everywhere in my dull apartment. He's at the small window, staring out at the gray next-door building. I imagine him looming large in the small kitchen, cooking alongside his mother and Nell. This fantasy seems all wrong in the place I call home.

My mail is mostly junk. I pay my bills automatically online. I have no friends to mail me anything. The only things worthwhile are my catalogues. If I were ever to indulge, I might need a bedroom-sized closet to fit all my clothes.

I shove a few new catalogues into my bag and leave the unwelcoming apartment. Returning to the Sloane house isn't an option if I want to keep my self-respect. Besides, I have genuine safety concerns to discuss with Rafael.

Learning he's working from his apartment today, I assume this is code for spending quality time inside his new bride. Calling ahead to ensure I don't interrupt their newlywed bliss, Rafael assures me that his dick needs a break anyway.

His wife Harlow answers the door of their swanky apartment. Once again, I think the blonde looks too young and soft for a powerhouse like Rafael. If I knew more about romance, their chemistry might make sense to me. I only know how to pretend to be interested in a target long enough to complete my mission.

"Can I get you anything?" Harlow asks.

"No, thank you."

A brief staring contest ensues, and I suspect she normally wins. When I refuse to look away, her ensuing expression is rather amusing.

"Ladies, let's keep this civil," a smiling Rafael says, entering the room. "Why not save our death stares for the enemy?"

Relenting, Harlow leaves Rafael and me to talk.

"How's Sloane?"

"Fine except the target got away," I say, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. "I had a shot too."

"Unfortunately, the law says we can't shoot people in the back when they're running away."

I roll my eyes. "I miss the old days."

"Life was definitely easier when we made the rules."

As we wistfully recall our lives as assassins, I again imagine the target running away. This time, I dream of pulling the trigger and sending his fleeing body sprawling.

"I would have slept through the entire thing if you hadn't called. Thanks for monitoring the motion sensor cameras."

"It's my job," he says, frowning. "So this guy left behind a sacrifice? Not much time passed between when I spotted movement, and you got out to him. Did the rabbit come pre-gutted? "

"I don't know. I only saw the remains hours later. The target was alone, so it wasn't much of a cult get-together."