Death of an Assassin (Saint Roch City Book 1) Read Free

neighbor, and she spreads her robe out. Curious as to what a shiver might actually feel like when necessary, I stare at her legs and wonder if she has goose bumps spreading up her skin. Do the nerves beneath tingle at the night air? Abandoning my lotus seating, I stand, grabbing the railing to heave myself up. My robe ripples in protest, clinging to me as soon as I’m on my feet. As though thinking it finally has a chance, a stiff breeze blows down Jefferson and tries to illicit something from me. My hair tosses about, and I feel the wind slipping through the thin fabric to attack my thighs, my neck, my chest. But it’s nothing more than information.
    Yes, Layla. There is wind hitting you right now. It’s somewhere near thirty-five degrees, coming from the southwest. Would you also like to know the debris of pollen, smog, and dead insect parts it contains?
    But I can’t
feel
it. It doesn’t make me want to cover up as Cassie does. She looks to me and smiles a little as I probably look like I might pitch myself over the side, gripping the metal bars with the ferocity of a prisoner.
    From the Eastside of town we hear a shrill scream from one of the high-rise hotels, and both of us look over just in time to see it. A man tumbling from one of the topmost floors, plummeting to be caught by the curb below. He’ll make the Saint Roch Police Department work late tonight.
    Cassie chuckles and I glance over to see that she’s brought her camera out with her and has it trained on the high-rise. She stands up and walks to the very edge of her balcony, holding out the camera to me. “Here, have a look.”
    I pad over to her, slipping a little on the ice, to fetch the camera. I bring it to my eye and tap a few buttons to try to zoom in. After taking a picture of the mailbox down on the street with my thumb, I find the knob and look at the hotel. From the single lit room, I zoom in as far as I can until I spot it.
    A telescope.
    I look back to Cassie and she shrugs callously.
    “Guy was probably doing some star gazing and got distracted by a pair of headlights.” She nods toward my chest, and I hand the camera back to her.
    If it’s true, it’s not the first time I’ve accidentally killed someone. It likely won’t be the last.
    I drape my arms around myself, not cold or embarrassed. Just hopeful to keep the body count at a minimum for the rest of the night.
    “I think I’m going to head in,” I mumble. “Good night, Cass.”
    “Sweet dreams,” she says, stretching her legs out and exhaling a shrill breath, her thrill at being out in the frigid weather not yet satisfied. I step back into my apartment, feeling the plush floor on my feet, grip the slider, and then close it, hearing the reassuring clink that I’m in my own little world. A snow globe where there’s no one to kill and none that will die.
    I wait for a moment, wondering if the warmth of the room will let me feel grateful.
    Dear, Layla. You are now in a room of approximately sixty-five degrees. Your ass, which would likely be in the later stages of hypothermia right now were you human, is thawing nicely. Also, could you close the drapes so none of your neighbors swan dive out their windows to try to grab your rack from afar? Thanks.
    I do as my sociopathic thoughts suggest, realizing that apart from Cassie, they might really be my only friend. Even if they are me.
    Once my eyes readjust to the dark room, I think about switching on my bedside lamp when I see my cellular phone blinking. It’s a relic that I refuse to replace, but I barely use it. It’s for contacting my broker, Malcolm, and nothing else. So I know who it is that’s left me a text before I even pick it up.
    Tomorrow. Cargill’s Bagels. 8 a.m.
    Beside my lamp that remains dark, my analog clock ticks to a little past four. Looks like not much sleep tonight.
    Fuck.



alcolm never meets me. I haven’t met him in person for about three years now, and I can’t lie: I’m a little spooked. He