The Killer

SIXTY-FOUR

01:10 CET

Rebecca yawned. Her eyes were sore. He’d been gone about an hour, and she had no idea when he was coming back. He had been evasive when she had pressed him for a time. As long as it takes, was the best answer he gave her. She wanted to be awake when he came back, so she picked up the phone and called room service for a triple espresso. If that didn’t keep her awake, nothing would.

She had settled on watching a news channel. It helped her eyelids stay up, even if the stories held no interest for her. Hurry up and get back, she thought. She didn’t like being on her own, even in the relative safety of the hotel room. Don’t open the door to anyone, he’d told her. She was starting to find his paranoia unbearable.

But then she had seen his scars. It had been a revelation. Rebecca couldn’t imagine the kind of existence that would cause someone to carry so many injuries. And if he carried that may physical wounds, how many psychological scars were there inside his head? She realized, almost to her amazement, that she actually felt sorry for him.

She thought back to what happened in the bar, the way he’d intervened on her behalf. Was that because he actually wanted to help, or was it just to maintain their low profile? At the time she’d been insulted that he hadn’t let her fight her own battle, thinking maybe even hitmen could have chivalry, misplaced as it was, but then she had realized he was more than likely just protecting himself by keeping her out of trouble. Now, she was sure he had simply been looking out for her and that thought touched her.

Twice now he had, in a way, rescued her. She smiled. Like a guardian angel. Though a guardian angel of death would be a better description.

Would he kill her when this was all over? It was a question she’d asked herself a dozen times or more over the last few days. Initially, even after he’d said she would never see him again, Rebecca had expected he would put a bullet in her skull the second he didn’t need her anymore. The idea of seducing him in an effort to keep her off his list of targets had once been in the cards-she’d seen the way he looked at her-but she hadn’t had the courage.

Now, after the way he’d avoided telling her his name, she was certain he didn’t intend to kill her. If he’d told her, she would become even more of a risk to him, and his professional mentality would force him to eliminate that risk. He didn’t want to do that. Maybe he had once planned to kill her but not anymore. She smiled at that, knowing he liked her, even if he would never admit it.

She was under no illusion about who he was or what he did for a living, but maybe there was something approaching a human being behind all that, after all. Maybe, when this was all over, she might find out what that human being looked like.

When her coffee arrived she was already half asleep. Rebecca opened the door and took the cup and saucer from the guy, her eyes squinting from the hallway lights behind him. She went back into the room to get some money for a tip.

Turning around she saw that he was now inside the door. Though her vision was blurry she realized he looked too old to be a hotel waiter. His hair was black but his skin tone was light, not Greek. Suddenly afraid, she stepped back away from him, further into the room.

His expression showed nothing as he closed the door behind him. He moved forward smoothly, unrushed. She saw his eyes: icy blue. They were the eyes of a man without a soul.

Rebecca prayed that the man whose name she didn’t know would come back at that moment, but there was no sign of him.

This time he wasn’t going to save her.