What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(17)

There was a buzzing silence in his ear before Butcher spoke the words that had presumably been hovering on the tip of his tongue.

“Executioner says we shouldn’t have to wait.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. The older disciple had never been as easy to control as the others. They’d known each other from the beginning. From the days before he’d established the Kill Club, and he often resented taking orders. Thankfully, the man wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

“Remind him what happens when people piss me off,” Hunter warned, casually strolling toward the nearest door as the woman headed for an exit on the other side of the rental desk.

Butcher sucked in a sharp breath, perhaps remembering the sight of Hunter casually putting a bullet through the head of the thug who’d tried to carjack him in Memphis. It’d all been over in less than a split second, with the young man crumpling onto the road with half his skull missing. Hunter had even run over the limp body as he drove away. More as a lesson for the men in his car.

Don’t screw with him.

“It’s hard to wait,” Butcher at last whined.

Hunter stepped into the frigid morning air, quickly crossing to the short-term parking lot. The cost was nothing less than criminal, but the placement allowed him quick access to his car.

“You could spend the next fifty years waiting in a jail cell if we’re not careful,” he reminded the younger man, shivering as he reached his boring tan sedan and slipped inside.

He switched on the engine, his gaze focused on the woman who was climbing into a shuttle bus that would take her to the car she’d just rented.

There was a crackling on the cell phone, as if Butcher was pacing from room to room.

“When are you coming to Baltimore?” the younger man asked.

Hunter smiled. He’d actually been on his way to join his disciples when the hacker he’d blackmailed into keeping electronic track of his private muse had contacted him with the information that she had just purchased airline tickets to Kansas City. He’d been instantly intrigued.

Was it possible she’d discovered that one of the kills had taken place in this area?

It seemed unlikely, but then again, what other reason could there be for her to fly to Kansas City?

The desire to toy with his prey in person was too tempting to pass up, so he’d made a swift U-turn and headed straight for this airport north of town.

“Soon,” he said in soothing tones, putting his car in gear and driving to the exit of the parking lot. Once in position he watched the shuttle as it came to a halt and the woman stepped out. “First I have to make sure our last party is cleaned up and the garbage buried deep enough it will never be found.”

There was another pause. “Is Assassin with you?”

A smile twisted Hunter’s lips. It had been a sweet relief to press his gun to the side of Assassin’s head and pull the trigger. The disciple had been weak. A fool who craved the thrill of the hunt without the spine to accomplish the final deed.

But like all his followers, he’d served his purpose.

If the authorities managed to locate the abandoned farmhouse in the middle of Kansas, they would discover the bodies of the five prostitutes tossed into the basement and Assassin in an upstairs bedroom with a bullet in his head. Any cop would assume that he was responsible for the deaths and had taken his own life out of guilt.

Murder/suicide.

A convenient way to close the case.

“No.” He laced his voice with surprise. “He isn’t in Baltimore?”

“No one has seen him since we left Kansas City,” Butcher said.

“Odd. I’m sure he’ll show up,” Hunter said, anticipation curling through the pit of his stomach as he watched the woman climb into a white SUV. “He might have decided to spend Christmas with his family.”

“I suppose,” Butcher said slowly, as if not entirely convinced.

“I have to go.” Hunter ended the call and tossed his phone on the seat beside him.

His prey was backing out of the parking place and heading toward the exit.

The hunt was on.

*

The December day was what weathermen called “blustery” and what people who actually had to be out in it called “shitty.”

The late morning sky was hidden by a thick layer of clouds that hung low and ominous, drizzling ice and spitting out the occasional flake. At the same time, the wind was zipping over the flat plains at a speed that picked up the recently fallen snow that coated the ground, swirling it around the parking lot like frozen tornadoes.

Welcome to winter in the Midwest.

Carmen grimaced, pulling her rented SUV into the parking lot of the Fairview Hotel.

The one-story L-shaped building had seen better days.

Her gaze skimmed over the structure that was miles from the nearest town. The white paint was peeling, like a snake sloughing off its skin. The doors that had once been a bright yellow had faded to a dull mustard color. At the far end, a small brick diner had been added with a large window that blinked with a neon sign that said OPEN.

Parking in front of the office next to the diner, Carmen climbed out of the SUV and shivered. The cold was more cutting here than in the mountains. Or maybe her brief trip to California had reminded her that there were places where you didn’t have to worry about your face freezing when you stepped outside.