What Have We Done (40)

Sabine lets out a sound of amusement from her throat.

“Why?” Jenna asks.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, love.” She’s giving Jenna a lazy glance—a look Jenna remembers too well from her teen years.

“You said I was out. Clean. But someone tried to—”

Sabine makes a tsk, tsk, tsk noise and shakes her head. “I’m disappointed in you.”

Jenna shakes her head, annoyed.

“Do you think you’d be standing here if I sent someone for you?”

It’s a fair point. One that’s been gnawing at Jenna since the hitter made the first mistake with the glare of the rifle scope. Then the woman with the weird weapon. The mode of execution is too flashy for Sabine’s taste. Too unreliable for The Corporation.

“Let me guess,” Sabine says. “You were part of that mess downtown yesterday with Artemis Templeton.”

If she’s lying, she’s damned good. But the problem is, she is.

“I’m no fan of that bald savant, but I had no reason to kill him,” Sabine says. “Put the gun down, darling.”

Jenna doesn’t acquiesce.

“And, honestly, I taught you better than this. The safety is on.”

Jenna doesn’t fall for it. Her eyes remain set on Sabine. One look away could be the last thing she ever does.

“Nice try.”

Sabine smiles.

“I’ve been doing this since you took me when I was fifteen,” Jenna says, showing she was offended at the cheap effort to distract her.

“I’m aware. And I also noticed you’re in that lovely gown instead of working at the Walmart in Chestertown.”

“If not you, then who?” This time Jenna does lower the gun. The truth is that if Sabine wanted her dead, she’d be dead. And, now, one yelp from Sabine will cause men with big guns to charge through those doors. “They knew about my background, about The Corporation, tricked me into thinking you all ordered me to take him down.”

“I have no idea. I’ve been out of the game myself. But there’s no way our friends would go after Templeton. I may be out, but I’d know about that.” Sabine walks toward a mirror on the wall. She wipes a finger at her eye makeup.

“It was a young woman,” Jenna says. “Pretty. She uses a strange weapon. She threatened my family. Then came after me. I need to find her.”

Sabine spins around. “No idea, dear. You know the contractors are always changing. I don’t keep up anymore.”

“She’s not a girl you stole from some godforsaken group home like Savior House?”

Sabine lets out an exasperated sigh. “She’s not one of ours. Really, darling, you’re not a teenager anymore, so stop acting like it.”

Jenna presses her lips together. Sabine still knows how to push her buttons.

“She’s not one of ours,” Sabine repeats. “And, for the record, you’re the only one we ever trained from Savior House. I only recruited the extraordinary, the special.”

Flattery, typical Sabine mind games. And probably a lie. Annie, Marta, and the others didn’t disappear into thin air. “I need you to find out who the hitter is,” Jenna says. “She threatened my family.”

“I told you, I’m out, and I don’t keep up with the competition.” She offers a rueful smile like she has a secret. “I don’t keep up, but my successor surely knows the current market.”

“And who’s that?”

The smile returns. “Oh, darling, you haven’t kept up at all, have you?”

Jenna shakes her head. Why would she? All she has wanted is to forget.

“You know him well.” Her eyes flash.

“No.…”

The smile widens on Sabine’s lips. “Tell you what. For old times’ sake, you can find him at Eighteen Highland Farm in Potomac. But don’t you dare tell him you heard it from me.”

Jenna believes her. Sabine’s taking too much pleasure in all this to not be telling the truth.

“Lovely seeing you.”

Jenna turns to leave.

“And, mon chéri,” Sabine says.

Jenna looks back.

“Do be careful. He still has the dogs.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

DONNIE

Donnie leans over his whiskey at the Four Seasons’ bar, his mind reeling from his visit with Mia.

Someone had been blackmailing Benny? And Benny hadn’t trusted Donnie enough to tell him about it?

Mia’s angry face comes to him: Something you all did.

He’s torn from his thoughts by someone calling his name.

He turns and sees Reeves. Donnie’s not in the mood for story time. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to think about Mia or Benny or any of it.

“How’d it go?” Reeves asks.

Reeves is a perceptive guy, an occupational hazard, Donnie supposes, and must’ve sensed the visit to Mia might not go well. Donnie shrugs, takes a drink from the highball glass.

“I’m sorry,” the writer says. “I know it must be hard.”

“It’s all right. Mia never liked me. And she’s pretty devastated.”

Reeves takes the stool next to him. The bartender hovers over and asks him if he wants a drink, but Reeves declines. “We can take the night off on the book if you’d like,” he says.