Lib Novel Page 20
“To play.”
Either this man got a kick out of playing games with terrified civilians, or he was certifiable. “I’m not sure I understand.”
The smile went from wide to taking up nearly all the space in the small, supposed-to-be-safe house. “Who’s the man with the dark hair?”
“My boss.”
“And what else?”
“Should I know what to say here?”
“Not if you don’t.”
Based on how this man made her feel, he gave her assassin vibes, but not precisely one with ties to a group or unit. If this man had a team somewhere, he regularly went rogue.
“What is your name, my sweet?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
At first, she’d assumed he was some kind of nut passing through Morocco, either out of boredom or a need to lay low from a slew of international law enforcement agencies. The more questions he asked, the more she felt like she was being subjected to one of her mother’s interrogations.
“Red is here,” he said, standing. “If you tell her I was here, you’ll ruin the surprise, and I’ll be very sad. Do you want me to be sad?”
She shook her head.
Sad was probably a code word or mental state that meant the same thing—the end of her life in a very violent manner.
“We should play sometime, my sweet. Goodbye.”
With a bow, he left.
She exhaled.
Bringing her onto this project was supposed to protect her. She was only twenty-two years old, and her mother hadn’t helped things by making her aunt raise her in a proverbial glass box:
No afterschool activities.
No sports or extracurriculars.
Friends couldn’t be trusted.
Pets carried diseases.