Young Love Murder (30 page)

He looks at me like I’m an imbecile, saying slowly, “Duh, because she’s an idiot who loves you.”

“So, you’re a liar just like her,” I grit out through my clenched jaw, looking away from him towards the doorway she disappeared through.

“Now who’s lying? You love her right back.” He seems far from ecstatic about that thought, adding, “
You
two idiots are made for each other.”

My gaze darts back to him and I give him a dirty look. “I’m going to kill her.”

“See, that’s exactly what you shouldn’t be saying in this situation,” he warns me, shaking the gun in the air. “Hence the gun in your face?” From the look in his eyes, I know he wouldn’t hesitate.

Changing the subject, I walk over to a nearby wall to lean casually against it. “So, what’s your name?”

He hesitates only a moment before answering, “You can just call me cool.”

“I’m not going to call you cool. Unlike you and Annabelle, I don’t like lying.”

He laughs despite himself. Annabelle walks back in looking from one of us to the other. Setting her suitcase down next to his duffel, I notice her change of apparel and I like. Black jeans, mid-calf black low-heeled boots and a tight, dark purple sweater. Her hair is in a sleek ponytail at the base of her skull. Glaring at their luggage, carnal relationship or not, I can’t help being jealous.

Her face is sad, her words decisive, “We’ll tie him up and leave him for the maids.”

Walking to me, she has a gold braided rope in her hand. I retreat from the wall and back away from her. “What do you do, carry that around with you in case you want to strangle someone?”

She shakes her head, speaking almost tonelessly, “Strangling takes too long. Plus, it’s from the canopy curtains. Now, either you cooperate or I’ll have to knock you out again.”

I definitely don’t want another headache like the one I had after she knocked me out twice in the same day back in Miami. Eyeing the gun the guy is holding, knowing that I don’t stand a chance of getting out of this situation, I arrogantly hold out my hands in front of me.

Instead, she moves behind me and yanks my hands behind my back. A minute later, I pull against the binding, disappointed that she can tie a knot so well. She then orders me to walk into the bedroom that was hers and lay on the bed. I glance at the dude holding a gun before complying. Lying down on my back with my hands underneath me, I watch Annabelle untie another gold rope from the canopy curtain and use it tie my ankles. This is kind of degrading, definitely frustrating.

She hovers over me and runs her fingers through my hair, murmuring, “You need a haircut.” Then she sighs deeply, regretfully. “I’m not going to gag you, Gabriel, because then you’d be here all night until the maids come in the morning. Instead, if you yell long enough someone should come and release you.”

Ignoring her look of resigned sadness, I glare at her, filling my words with venom, “Next time I find you, Annabelle, you’re dead.”

She smiles at me indulgently, softening her tone, “I love you and you love me. You just need time to remember that. How about I make you a deal?”

“I don’t make deals with the devil,” I spout stubbornly.

She ignores my rude remark. “I’ll be gone from Paris before you’ll be able to find me. You only have two months left of high school. If you go home and finish school, I promise to contact you by the end of May with my location at that time. Then you can come and pretend that you’re going to kill me.”

“What about you? Don’t you need to finish high school too?” I ask, curious to know more about her real life despite myself.

She smiles ruefully, answering, “I got my GED four years ago in the United States. I had a job to do and school would have gotten in the way.”

“Four years ago?” I ask in disbelief. “You started murdering people when you were fourteen?”

She gets an offended expression on her face, narrowing her brown eyes at me. “Killing people who deserve it, is
not
murder.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Fine, the murder spree ends in two months when we meet again.”

The smartass grin of hers tests a temper already pushed to the limit. “
You
keep telling
yourself
that.” Hesitantly, she kisses me gently on the lips, but I turn my face away. Undaunted, she whispers, “I love you, Gabriel.”

As much as a part of me would like to believe her . . . I don’t. In response I tell her, “I hate you, sociopath.” A hurt look crosses her face, making her big golden brown eyes shine, and I remind myself that she’s an Oscar-worthy actress. Then she’s gone and I immediately begin yelling for help.

Chapter 22

Annabelle

Lima, Peru - May 15
^th

“Dammit, Annie! Quit skipping! I don’t know how you can be so happy in this humidity,” Jackson grumbles from a few yards behind me. I glance over at him to see him pull the collar of his Alianza Lima t-shirt away from the damp skin at his neck. It’s not hot outside, this being the start of winter down here, but still very humid. The sea mist creeping in reminds me of the time I was in Southern Chile. Looking up at the cloudy sky, I’m thankful it isn’t raining like last night. But the dirt roads in this dodgy area of the city have been turned into mud.

“Quit being such a baby, Jacks. I don’t want you here anyways. You’ve been tagging along on my contracts for the past two months now. Haven’t you told Simon what a totally sane, awesome job I’ve been doing?” Waiting for him to catch up, I push at his shoulder playfully, but he isn’t in a playful mood and just scowls at me.
Big overgrown baby.
 

“You have been,” he concedes, “But, you forget that I was in Paris with you two months ago. I know that you’ve lost all sanity where it concerns your little boy toy.”

“Gabriel is not my boy toy! He’s my boyfriend, sort of.”

Jackson gives me a pointed look. “I think he would consider the two of you broken up. Breaking up usually accompanies murdering the other person’s father.”

Letting out an aggravated groan, I snap, “How many times do I have to tell you, Jackson? Gabriel doesn’t
really
want to kill me. He’s just hurting and wants to hurt me in return.”

“I still don’t trust him . . . or you, in regards to him. I know you have this idiotic plan that you two will reunite after he graduates high school.”

“Two weeks.” To annoy Jackson I sigh dreamily, adding a bounce to my step.

Jackson gives me an odd look. “You’re turning into such a girl, Annie.”

Rolling my eyes, I give him the finger. “I
am
a girl, dumbass.”

“No, like a
real
girl,” he says as if that makes total sense.
Dumbass
.

“Whatever, try not to interfere with my job.” Pointing with a thumb at my chest, I tell him, “Serious assassin here trying to work.”

“Serious assassins don’t fall in love,” he mutters. 

I ignore him.

Before we turn the corner and reach our destination, I hold out my arm to halt Jackson. “Hold up. This is a rare shot of this man outside of the jungles. If I miss this opportunity, then I’m going to have to venture down the Amazon to get at him.”

“I know the job, Annie, and how to do it. Try to remember who taught you everything you know.” He grins smugly in superiority.

“Yeah, I do remember that Simon,
not you
, taught me everything I know,” I reply. “Jeez, pretty soon you’ll be claiming to have given birth to me.”

“Ouch,” he teases, “With your big head, I can only imagine how painful that was for our mother.”

I stomp my foot indignantly. “My head is perfectly proportioned to the size of my body!”

He pats me on the shoulder. “Of course it is. And your ears don’t stick out either.”

Doing the only thing a sister can do in this situation, I kick him in the shin. At his yelp of pain, I consider my first mission of the day accomplished. 

He rubs his shin, glaring at me. “Let’s just get this job done so that I can have a break from babysitting you.” Then under his breath, he adds, “I need to get laid.”

I’m s
o
ignoring that last remark.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do, get the job done. And it’s not babysitting. It’s tagging along like the damn nuisance you are. Watch me work and maybe you’ll learn something.”

Turning my attention back to our surroundings, I peer around the corner of the building to see the rundown bar that my target, Arturo Martinez, is supposed to be at this afternoon. It’s definitely not in the best area of this city with not a tourist in sight. I look ruefully down at the touristy ensemble that I’ve donned. Well, at least not any
real
tourists. I look so freaking gay in this outfit. I’m wearing a flowered ruffle skirt, tank top with a giant tropical flower on it and white espadrille sandals. All I’m missing is a neon fanny pack. 

The predators in this place won’t be able to resist my helpless female image. But there's one predator in particular that I’m hoping will take notice. Arturo Martinez, leader of the Bright Path terrorist group. 

The bastard, along with all of his homies, like to terrorize those who cross their sleazy paths along the Amazon River near the Colombian border. The terrorist group recently kidnapped and murdered twelve foreign aid workers who were attempting to bring medicines to a remote tribe in the jungle. 

Along with kidnapping for ransom and murder, the group’s terrorist talents include violence against peasants, drug smuggling, sabotage against American interests in Peru, car bombings and the killing of government officials and police officers. Although the Bright Path is a decades old group, Arturo Martinez has been leader for only the past five years.
It’s time for Arturo to retire. 

He rarely leaves the jungles along the Amazon, so I'd initially planned on pursuing him there. That would have been a huge pain in the ass. However, this morning Simon received information that he would be in Lima visiting family. While scoping out his aunt’s house a couple blocks away this morning, I offered a neighborhood boy a buck to give me any info he had on the comings and goings in that house. 

Little punk held out for more. 

As I held out the dollar, I had asked him in Spanish, “Do you know the people who live at that house?” I pointed to the house with the faded pink paint and white front door. Well, at least it was better than the orange house down the street. 

Clever little brat replied, “Not for a dollar, I don’t.”

I pulled another dollar out of my jeans pocket. “How about for two?”

He just shook his head, pissing me off. I added a quarter to the growing pile of money that I held in the palm of one hand. “How about I throw in a nice shiny quarter?”

He scoffed and looked offended at my suggestion. Jackson, who was standing behind me at the time, immaturely laughed at the kid who was besting me. 

Narrowing my eyes, I looked at him more closely. “How old are you, kid?”

The kid crossed his arms and puffed up his puny chest. “Seven and a half.”

“Ten American dollars, that’s my final offer.” I stared down at him in what was supposed to be an intimidating way. 

It didn’t faze the brat. “Twenty American dollars and that necklace you are wearing for my mama.”

So, um yeah, a seven and a half year old Peruvian boy made me lose my cool. “Cabrón!” I yelled and picked him up by his shirt. “Your parents should send you to work in a soccer ball factory!”

That’s when Jackson butted in and disengaged my fingers from the kid’s faded Ninja Turtles t-shirt, setting the kid back down on his dirty bare feet. Jackson was only laughing harder by this point. I felt an unusual occurrence of guilt because the boy finally looked intimidated and scared.