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“Don’t die on me, please.” Rey stroked her finger along the prickly spines of her newest cactus and turned its pot to align with three others. “That goes for all of you,” she said to the assembly of very forgiving succulents.
She’d killed a fern the week before, lost a ficus a month earlier, and couldn’t keep a philodendron going to save her life. But cacti were hardy, creatures of the desert like her, and she had just enough of a green thumb to keep them alive.
Turning around, she put her hands on her hips and smiled.
Her tiny apartment was finally coming together. Colorful new pillows from the funky shop on the corner brightened the whole open-plan living space, and the fluffy area rug she’d lugged halfway across Brooklyn felt delicious under her toes.
She could never look at the little punching bag she’d strung up from the ceiling without wanting to take a swing. Balling her fists, she landed a few jabs. A proper workout would come later, but she savored the heat seeping into her muscles as they loosened.
Worry had a way of putting fresh knots in her shoulders every day.
Scooping up her cup of tea, Rey headed to the sofa, plopped down onto a plump cushion, and closed her eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, she focused on the moment, noting how the lilies she’d bought at the downstairs flower shop sweetened the air.
A strange feeling wound through her, then a lump lodged in her throat. She fought the sting of tears.
For the first time in months. Years. For the first time in forever, she felt like maybe, possibly, she’d found a place to call home.
A sound echoed in the hallway outside her door, and she opened her eyes. The momentary sense of peace evaporated. As it always did.
Footsteps approached, a ponderous shuffle interspersed with heavy thuds. She recognized the distinctive gait and knew exactly which unwelcome visitor had come to ruin her Saturday afternoon. On her sprint to the door, she tripped over an ottoman and didn’t make it quick enough to prevent the old man’s knocks from rattling the new set of glasses she’d purchased but had yet to put away.
“Open up, girl.” Plutt’s bark was loud enough to draw the notice of all her neighbors. For a criminal who’d benefit from going unnoticed, there wasn’t an ounce of subtlety about the old man. Not much kindness either.
“You could have warned me.” Rey scowled at him as she yanked the door open.
He’d insisted on knowing her new address, of course. He kept tabs on all his employees. But she’d never meant offering the information to be an invitation.
“No time. And you know I hate phones.” He gave her his usual brow to toe once over, then looked past her shoulder to scan the apartment. “You alone? This ain’t for no one else’s ears.”
Before she could answer, he brushed past, nearly knocking her over with his girth.
The anxious look in Plutt’s squinty, avaricious eyes could only mean one thing.
“Got a job for you, girl.”
A fizz of energy spiked through her veins. She noticed a folder stuffed under his arm and had to ball her hands into fists to keep from grabbing for it.
“This one’s different.”
“Good.” She liked different. Life was boring without challenges. Most of all, she wanted to prove herself. To Plutt and the others who worked for him. The ones who called her “kid” or “rookie” because they were older and more experienced.
“I’m ready,” she told him, ignoring the way her heart knocked against her ribs. “I won’t fail.”
Plutt’s brow nudged up. “Always so eager, ain’t cha?” He scrubbed a beefy hand across his chin. “That’s good. ‘Specially on this one. But it’s delicate. Lots of coordination that you won’t be a part of. You ain’t working alone.”
“Why?” The bubbly fizz inside Rey went flat. “I always work alone.” Just like she’d lived her life. Other people only complicated things.
He let out a hacking cough, then shook his hairless head. “Sorry, kid. Can’t let you do this one solo.”
“You don’t trust me.” Rey didn’t really blame the old puppetmaster. She didn’t trust anyone either. Especially him. She owed him for the opportunities he’d given her, but she had no doubt he’d discard her when he no longer had a use for her.
“It’s a wet op,” he said in a quiet voice, casting her a long look. “You’ll handle the grab. One of Snoke’s boys will do the rest.”
Snoke. He was a shady unknown, an individual only spoken of in whispered tones. The stories Rey had heard were of his ruthlessness and cruelty. And his effectiveness. If Plutt was a ringleader, Snoke was a mastermind.
“Here. Study everything.” Plutt pulled the folder out from under his arm and handed it over. “They done all the scout work on this one. We’re teed up and ready to go. It’ll be a new kind of job for you, sweetheart. You’ll learn lots.”
She believed that much. Rey had worked half a dozen jobs for Plutt in the past year and learned something from every single one. Her robberies were so cunning and carefully planned that she felt like an accomplished artist when they were finished and she could look back on her work.
How could she quibble about this assignment? Her bank account was fat, her belly was full, and she didn’t want to do anything to screw up her newfound financial independence.
But she’d never worked a hit. As far as she knew, none of Plutt’s employees took on wet work. This was new territory, dangerous and high risk, which explained why the lunch she’d eaten an hour ago was beginning to sour in her belly.
“Got anything to drink in that fridge of yours?” Plutt eyed her kitchenette area.
“No.” Rey didn’t want him to feel at home in her space, and nobody wanted to be around Plutt when he drank. “Tap water. Not much else.”
Rey handled the folder from the old man gingerly. The sides were slightly damp from close contact with his body. She worked to hide a grimace and flipped open the folder.
Her breath tangled in her throat.
Dark, penetrating eyes stared back at her from a photo pinned inside. Depthless eyes in a pale face surrounded by a wavy halo of overlong black hair. She memorized the man’s features as she did with every mark—prominent nose, sharp-edged jaw drawing toward a rounded chin, wide, sensual mouth. Her gaze kept snagging on his eyes. They were the saddest Rey had ever seen. Beauty marks dotted his cheeks and forehead and stubble hugged his chin and upper lip. He had an odd name. Kylo Ren. Almost as odd as the strange quiver that expanded in the pit of her stomach the more she stared at his photo.
She’d never met the man. That much she knew for sure. After twenty-two years eking out a living in the desert, she didn’t truly know anyone. Especially in New York City. But she’d remember a face like his, even if they’d passed on the street.
Still, she couldn’t shake an odd pang of recognition when she looked at him.
A few other surveillance photos were stuffed inside the folder, and she shuffled them against her finger, examining each one.
The good news was that the man would be impossible to miss in a crowd. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long legs and an epic profile that belonged on a coin or a bust in some museum.
“Who’s the buyer?”
Sometimes Plutt told her. Sometimes he didn’t. Client anonymity was sacrosanct. Most of the jobs Plutt handpicked her for involved someone seeking property—art, jewels, hard drives, documents. But this client wanted more. He wanted Mr Sad Eyes dead.
“His uncle, if you can believe it.”
A shiver chased up Rey’s spine. She didn’t have an uncle, or if she did she had no idea whether he was alive or dead. Same with her parents. They’d abandoned her when she was five.
“Maybe it ain’t so bad having no family, eh, kid?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “If they were only going to end putting a hit on me at”—Rey scanned the document on Kylo Ren—“twenty-nine years old.”
Seven years older than her, but still young to have one’s life snuffed out.
“Do you know why?”
Plutt scowled at her. “You never asked all these details about other marks. What’s up, kid?”
“Nothing.” But even as she kept her gaze fixed on Plutt’s wrinkled face, she felt the accusing eyes of Kylo Ren glaring up at her from his photograph.
“Listen now. This one involves contact, and you won’t have time for your usual study.”
“I need to at least scope the location. Plot out a strategy.”
“No time.”
A familiar tightness rode Rey’s shoulders. Anxiousness like she’d feel in the desert when night fell and she heard strange noises around her tent. The same gnawing fear that came when she’d gone days without a bite to eat and had no idea when she might get another meal.
“No can do, girl.” Plutt swiped a thick hand over his mouth and Rey noticed a muscle ticking at the edge of his jaw. “You need to get to know Mr. Ren. Get inside his apartment. There’s a layout in the folder. Two safes. You need to access each. You’re looking for deeds and a jewel. A diamond. Huge and uncut. The Saber, they call it. Been in the family for years. The list of deeds is in the folder. But swipe whatever you can, right?”
“Of course.” Rey swallowed hard and took a deep breath, fighting to steady her nerves.
Contact with the mark was often a part of her job. Either to distract or gain trust in order to access a room, a safe, wherever an objective might be located. But meeting a dead man walking held zero appeal. Especially when she hadn’t been able to look for security lapses, note the exits, and plan her escape.
“Why do I need him in order to get into the apartment? Seems easier if he’s not there to complicate things.”
Somehow, one look at Mr. Ren and Rey knew in her bones that he was gonna be a complication.
“Snoke’s man needs to know where to find him. The hit happens at the apartment. You get him inside, slip him a sleeper, and do your job.”
Rey nodded, but she didn’t like the sound of it. Rohyphenol wasn’t her style. In and out quickly without leaving a trace—that was her trademark.
“At least you won’t need a disguise for this one,” Plutt said with a chuckle.
Her costumes and wigs and makeup amused the old man. But coming up with disguises, becoming someone else even for little awhile, was one of Rey’s favorite parts of the job.
“Why?” But she knew immediately. The mark wouldn’t survive to identify her. It should have brought a sense of relief. Instead, it only stoked her queasiness. She pushed it aside. She had a job to do. “When do I start?”
“Tonight.” Plutt straightened his tie and jerked his double chin toward the folder in her hands.
“That’s too soon.” Rey heard her tone rising and pulled herself back from the brink of full-blown panic. “I haven’t had any time to plan.”
“This is our shot, kid. This won’t be like other jobs where you work out your strategies. Go on instinct this time. Snoke’s boy will handle the rest.”
“I don’t like it.” Rey fought the rising panic sending her pulse into gallop. She had been impulsive all her life. Only in the last year had she taught herself to slow down her thinking, to consider her choices, to plan and act logically rather than letting her emotions take over.
Plutt screwed up his mouth as he assessed her. “I could give this job to someone else.”
“No.” The only thing worse than going in unprepared was not having the opportunity at all.
He tapped the edge of the folder in her hands. “Details inside. Ren’s got reservations for dinner in Lenox Hill. So do you. Oh, and I’m sending Dameron with you on this one.”
“Unkar, no.” Rey clenched the folder so hard she bent the sides.
Poe Dameron was the hotshot of the crew. Ex-military, distractingly handsome, and a total pain in the ass. If Rey wanted to do something one way, Poe wanted to do it the other. After a dishonorable discharge he’d found his way into Plutt’s employ, but he still treated his job as a swindler with as much rah-rah enthusiasm as she suspected he’d treated his special forces work with the Night Stalkers army unit.
Plutt crossed his pudgy arms and waited. He knew she’d relent. For six figures, she could endure almost anything for a few hours. Even Poe Dameron’s relentless charm.
“Fine. Tonight. I’ll be there.”
“Reservation is under Dameron. You’ll take a table together.”
“Wait. Why?” When she’d worked with Poe before, he’d been her backup. Watching from a distance. A lookout to keep security out of the way. This sounded more like a date.
“You’ll eat together. Make it look friendly. You going in alone would be too obvious.”
“So how do I approach Kylo Ren if I’m there with another guy?”
Plutt did his shuffle and thud tread toward the door, then looked back at her over his shoulder once he gripped the handle. “That’s up to you, sweetheart. Just get the mark to trust you and get him back to his place by ten.” He frowned and reached into his rumpled suit’s inner jacket pocket. “Almost forgot. Take this.”
The pistol he extended was almost dainty, tiny and pearl handled.
“I have my own weapons.” A cudgel she’d built herself from burled wood and a set of knives sharp enough to cut glass. “I can handle myself. Besides, I haven’t fired a gun in a long time.” She’d carried one for years. For protection. For reassurance. But it had mostly collected dust.
“But you’ve fired one? Nothing’s changed, kid. Just point and shoot.”
“But I won’t have to, right?” Rey stared at him, a sense of horror rushing over her. Sometimes hit jobs required a second. Someone to complicate a crime scene or do the deed if the first hire was incapacitated.
“Nah, don’t worry. Snoke’s operator is good. He’s got cleaners who’ll come in after.”
“Then why do I need this?”
“The mark.” He stared down at the folder in her hand, then at her face, his gaze shifting uneasily. “He’s a killer, Rey. Word is, the man’s a bit of a monster.”
When Plutt had gone, Rey laid the gun on her counter and walked to her window to watch Plutt duck into the black SUV that had delivered him.
Hugging her arms around her body, she stared at her plants. Especially the cacti and succulents. They were survivors, just like her. She could do this.
She pushed away the queasiness in her belly and tried to forget the dark, sad eyes of Kylo Ren. Her job was the diamond. Snoke and his crew could do whatever they wanted with the target—the monster—once she had the saber in her hands.