Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(22)

“You turned criminal, running around cheating and stealing from honest people. Your commodity now is selling people. You are better than that, me nua.”

“How do you call me your brother,” Paul says, the cords of his neck bulging, “when your sons are dead and your girl sits in my truck, with a fate worse than theirs?”

Paul bends until he is eye level with Papa. He tilts his head, shaking his index finger as if he’s now understood the joke. “I know you too well. You use this word to try to break me, and you cannot. You lost sway with me when you left me behind, here, to rot.”

Papa’s body bows from fatigue, from his losing hope. “I never left you behind.”

Paul regains his full height. He looks regal against the backdrop of homes consumed by red-and-orange flames with oppressive plumes of black smoke and heat billowing from them.

“And now one good turn deserves another, right?” Paul says. He cracks a gregarious smile, that preternatural look about him again, then spits out, “Nua.”

I thought I knew fear. I thought I had already experienced the worst acts imaginable.

But when Paul says brother, dread rolls over me, emanating in waves that roil up into the ink-black sky.

I know Paul’s worst is yet to come.





17


AFTER


Nena surveilled the grounds of the federal courthouse. There was law enforcement everywhere. Expected. The setup wasn’t ideal, but there wasn’t a better option, so she would make it work. She’d gone over the intel repeatedly, driven the streets in different autos to learn the routes in and out. Her eye in the sky, Network, did its thing monitoring cameras and police chatter, but today’s mission would happen without Network in her ear and in her head. She needed to be alone with the feelings still warring with her duty. Witt had opposed her cutting comms, but he’d allowed it.

What if this time I didn’t pull the trigger? Her thought was treasonous.

She’d situated herself in the back of a run-of-the-mill family SUV, a Toyota 4Runner, on the eighth level of the University of Miami medical school’s parking garage. It was a bit farther than she would have liked from where her mark would arrive on Twelfth Avenue, but with her high-powered rifle and scope, she’d be able to do what she needed. The advocacy center across the street from the courthouse would have been perfect, but it was much too close and visible. It would be the first place locked down when the bullets flew.

She’d parked the burgundy mom mobile backward in its space, then set up her tripod and rifle. She found the car acceptable, the way its roof jutted out like a visor over the back window, providing more cover. That, along with the tinted windows and the blinds she’d added over the partially open one, ensured she’d go unnoticed. She checked her nav system. The tracker on Cortland Baxter’s car indicated he was close. She ignored the flutter of her heart and the way her stomach soured at what she was about to do.

Through her scope, she scanned the front of the courthouse. Smith was scheduled to attend a pretrial hearing, though word was he and the prosecutor’s office were going to meet in a last-ditch effort to make a deal that would keep Smith out of prison.

They said he was a bad man, financial crimes and the like. Didn’t mean anything to Nena. She’d known bad men half her life. This one was no different, and since the Council decreed him an asset, he was of no consequence to her mission.

She checked the tracker, ignoring the twist in her gut when she saw that Cortland had arrived. She knew he’d park his vintage Chevelle SS in the employee lot and then cross the street, entering the federal building from the front entrance. He’d linger to catch a glimpse of the defense team’s arrival. From intel she knew getting a first look at the opposing team was part of his ritual on “game day.” How Network secured information like that, she couldn’t fathom.

A succession of sleek town cars pulled to a stop in front of the federal building. Figured Smith would come with an entourage. She let out an annoyed breath as she rechecked her rifle’s calibrations. The crosshairs needed to be just right. The suppressor was on, so she wasn’t worried about sound. She used the scope to search for Cortland, finding him as he made his way toward the building. He was joined by another suited man—could be a coworker—and they shook hands, chatting casually as they waited for the others to exit their cars. Cortland grinned at something the other man said, and Nena, watching through the scope, recalled how that grin made her feel when it was directed at her.

She had to let this go. She’d be taking away Georgia’s last parent, but Georgia would survive the loss. She was a survivor, like Nena.

Nena glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock. Her heart thumped. It was time. Now she’d pull the fucking trigger.

But.

She faltered, her finger hovering. Swallowed the forming lump in her throat. Beat back the pounding in her heart. Could she? She couldn’t. There had to be another way that the Tribe could pacify the new member. Maybe they could buy Cortland off. Persuade him to drop the case against Smith. Anything but kill him like this. That was not the Tribe’s way.

She tried pushing those treasonous thoughts from her mind. Focus. Her job was not to understand the Tribe’s decrees or to find solutions to their problems. Hers was only to execute them.

A grim expression replaced the smile Cortland had worn seconds earlier, tightening as he watched the defendant get out of his car. She saw Smith from the back. Who was this man? She hadn’t asked for intel on him. She should have. But when she received an assignment, she had tunnel vision, her sole purpose being to learn the ins and outs of her mark. Smith was insignificant since he was supposed to live, for better or for worse—worse, she decided.