Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(80)

Leander huffs, clearly pleased with my answer. “And you finished it.” He pats Cranwell’s pockets down until he finds his mobile phone. “I’ll make sure this is all taken care of.”

“I appreciate your help,” I say, and he gives me a single nod in reply. “How much do I owe you?”

Leander pins me with an unblinking, unnerving stare that latches on and doesn’t let go. His expression is blank, emotionless. And then, a burst of laughter. It’s a sudden transformation that brightens his cheeks and crinkles the corners of his eyes. It would look normal if it wasn’t for the predatory way he watches me.

“I don’t want your money,” he says. My heart falls to the floor, ready to be removed with the rest of the blood and gore spilled across the planks beneath my feet. And Leander Mayes sees it. He loves it. “I just want a little bit of your time. Your … expertise.”

I glance over at one of the men as he fills a spray bottle with a solution in a silver container. He meets my eyes only briefly before his attention flicks to Leander and then shifts to the floor. “What do you mean?” I ask when I refocus on Leander, whose smile remains undimmed.

“What I mean is, I need your skills.” Leander pulls a plastic bag from the interior pocket of his jacket and slips the phone into it. He walks toward where the two men have started working and picks up a spray bottle. He mists the liquid over the floor, and patches start to glow with an eerie blue luminescence. There are smears and streaks. Boot prints in blood. One set of prints is mine. One must be Cranwell’s. But there’s a much smaller set that glows with the damning light of luminol.




Rose.

Leander chuckles. “Looks like you had a little partner in crime.” My hands fold into fists, a motion that catches Leander’s attention immediately. He grins. Even despite the body hanging from the wall, and the knowledge that I’ve just brutally killed a man, Leander Mayes is not afraid of me. He turns his back to me and sets the spray bottle down next to the supplies. “Did you ever tell your brothers what you did?”

I don’t want to answer, but when Leander faces me, it’s impossible not to say something. “Do you mean tipping off your cousins about the money my father owed them?”

His smile stretches. “That too. But I was more referring to how you stabbed your father in the back and severed his spinal cord. Lachlan might have taken credit for that kill by strangling Callum Kane, but even he didn’t know that you’re the one who brought the bastard down, does he?” He studies me with that predatory glee still lingering in his eyes. “Quite a nifty little trick, isn’t it? If you aim just right,” Leander says with a sudden jabbing motion toward Cranwell’s body, his fist closed around a phantom weapon, “there’s hardly any blood at all. He must have felt nothing from the waist down. Just a quick snap and down he went so your brother could finish the job. Even I didn’t realize at first. Not until I cleaned up that mess and stripped Callum of his clothes.”

For as many times as Lachlan has called Leander the devil, I’ve not really understood why. But now I do. In just a few short minutes, he’s got me trapped in a corner by my secrets and deeds and desires, unable to escape.

“What is it that you want, Leander?”

“I’m so happy you asked.” He wanders back to the cooling body and leans toward it, inspecting Cranwell’s slack expression. “I have a contract coming up. It’s kind of a big deal, if I do say so myself. I’ve hired the best of the best. Cream of the crop, if you will. But even then,” he says, his gaze drifting back to me over his shoulder, “I expect some casualties. Bodies that need repair on the battlefield, you know? And I need my people to be in tip-top shape for the duration of the contract.”

I say nothing.

Leander turns back to Cranwell, but not before I catch a glimpse of his grin. “Some of my team might need a bit of … rejuvenation … when the work is done. Anonymity is paramount in certain circles, if you catch my drift.”

I hold my palms up in a placating gesture, even though we both know they’re smeared with crimson stains. “I’m not a cosmetic surgeon.”

“You’re a smart, motivated man,” Leander says. “I’m confident you’ll learn.”

My gaze slices toward the two men cleaning up after my mess. They don’t look up. They don’t cast judgment my way. They just do their jobs, spraying and wiping and spraying again as though this is all perfectly normal. And as much as I’m still reluctant to admit it, I can’t deny there’s something comforting about this clandestine world where any transgression can be cleaned away. For a price.

“So you want me to play doctor. For how long?”

Leander shrugs. “Ideally? Forever.”

“No.”




Leander turns, his grin menacing. “The way I see it, ‘no’ is not really an option, Dr. Kane.”

He’s right, of course. I know it. And there’s no sense in arguing with a man like Leander Mayes. I can only hope to negotiate. “How long is this contract?” I ask.

“Seven months. Approximately …”

“I’ll do this contract for you,” I say, every word clear and careful and confident despite the intimidating darkness that settles across Leander’s face. “And after that, we’ll discuss something that works for us both.”