Trained by Sansa Rayne

Chapter 13

This must be what it’s like for Anton to look in the mirror and see another man’s face. Dark lines cross my forehead and liver spots mar my cheeks. Bags bulge beneath my eyes. It’s still me, though — just old. Elderly. I haven’t transformed like Anton, but it’s a very good disguise.

The cane is really what sells it. I’m not even faking — my leg still kills me with every step. The inflammation from the infection has subsided, but it’ll still be another few weeks before I’m back to normal — and the bullet will hurt until I have it removed.

I could get used to walking around Manhattan on my own, though. Nobody pays any attention to me. At first I didn’t think a man with my physique could go unnoticed, though I’ve lost a little muscle mass since I’ve been out of commission. I’ve only just restarted my training routine. I’ll get back to form soon. In the meantime, I can amble along at a slow pace. New Yorkers weave around me, minding their own business, as they always do. One nice thing about New Yorkers: they’ve seen everything, and they don’t care about anything as long as it doesn’t block the sidewalk.

More importantly, almost everyone who knows who I am thinks I’m dead. No one’s looking for me. I don’t know the last time I walked the streets of a city without a security detail in tow or a concealed weapon. It’s liberating. Normal people must take it for granted. Then again, they haven’t antagonized crime syndicates or third-world dictators. How nice it must be to fear getting hit by a bicyclist rather than a sniper’s bullet.

It doesn’t even feel like I’m in the middle of a mission, considering I’m not here to interrogate or kill anyone. Walking into the lobby of Ellman Media, no one directs me to a metal detector. No one reaches for a gun or runs the other way. A cute receptionist in a BTS t-shirt hangs up the phone and smiles at me.

Whereas LPN owns an entire city block and their office building stands high enough to join the Manhattan skyline, Ellman occupies one floor of a loft in the Village. Instead of a staff of high-paid, career-focused reporters decked out in designer suits and perpetually drinking lattes, the staff here dresses casually and operates out of an open floor plan. I came expecting to find the office mostly emptied out for the evening; it’s half past six but everyone’s working like it’s ten in the morning.

“Hi!” says the receptionist. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I was hoping to speak to Brendan Zimmerman. Is he available?”

She looks at me like she might be reaching for the switch to a silent alarm.

“I believe he’s left,” she says. “Can I ask what this is about?”

There’s a chance Anton has bugged the office. I’d rather not mention Kate by name, just in case. I may have a good disguise, but my voice hasn’t changed.

“It’s a personal matter involving a mutual friend. I promise I won’t take much of his time, if I could just see him?”

She holds up a cell phone and takes a photo of me.

“Take a seat.”

I nod, suppressing a grin as she sends the photo. That’s the nice thing about young employees — they’re creative with tech.

Brendan doesn’t show up right away, and I have to wonder if I’ve made a big mistake coming here. He’s not going to be happy to see me. He likely blames me for what’s happening to Kate. In fairness, he’s not exactly wrong.

After a few minutes, though, he comes to the desk.

“Is this about who I think it is?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“What’s with the cane?”

“I had a setback,” I reply. “It’s why I’ve been gone a while.”

He nods.

“Come on.”

Brendan leads me to a small conference room and shuts the blinds. I take a radio frequency scanner from my jacket, causing him to flinch a moment. Holding a finger to my lips, I scan the room for bugs.

“You don’t think we do that ourselves?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t have thought so. Do you?”

“You’re not the only one with enemies.”

My search turns up nothing. Brendan gestures for me to take a seat across from him.

“Should I pat you down for a gun?” he asks.

“If you like. I’m not armed.”

He glares at me.

“Okay, Ingram. What the fuck happened to Kate? She’s cut off everyone from her life, acting like a crazy person. She had a lawyer threaten me with a restraining order if I didn’t stay away from her. What the fuck did you do to her?”

“I failed to protect her.”

He scoffs.

“You’re the one she needed protection from.”

“In a way, yes. I should have dealt with Anton Ford when I had the chance. Now he’s hurting Kate to hurt me.”

“Anton Ford?” Brendan asks. “Of Innovative AF? What does he have to do with this?”

“I wronged him many years ago. Two months ago he shot me and he thinks I’m dead. Listen: Kate isn’t crazy. Anton’s punishing her for my crimes, but I can help her. I have a plan, but it’s going to take time. Anton has power you couldn’t even dream of.”

Brendan leans forward in his seat.

“Kate’s still my friend. I want to help her,” he says. “Tell me what I can do.”

My phone chimes, waking me.

I groan. The bedsheet tents at my waist. Kate and I were together in my dreams. I haven’t relieved myself since my last time with her. I could really use a little release… but not yet. I’ll have her back soon, and I’ll be glad I waited.

Assuming she still wants me.

Kissing her back in that van brought joy to my heart — the first I’d felt since she came to my residence wearing Edward Lonergan’s blood. She was happy to see me — that was clear. But she’s also been a prisoner for months, with no one to confide in, no one to comfort her or offer a way out of her torment. Once Anton’s dead and she’s free, she may never want to see me again — and I’ll accept it. This is all my fault. She’s under no obligation to thank me for dousing the fire I set.

If she still loves me, though… if it’s real and she can let go of the past, then… that’s all I’ll ever need.

Sighing, I check my phone — it’s a message from Eyal.

There’s news, come see me.

I throw on some clothes and head into the command center, where Eyal has on LPN. A scarlet Breaking News chyron reads: Karthik Pai found dead

Fuck.

“An apparent suicide,” says Eyal. “They found him in his family home outside Dallas.”

“Have someone investigate. Find out if that’s what really happened.”

“Understood.”

Considering how badly we fucked him over, it wouldn’t be shocking if Karthik took the easy way out. For his sake, I hope he made it easy on himself and ended it quickly. However, I don’t think that’s very likely. Anton probably killed him. I’m sure of it. He would have wanted Karthik to suffer.

Needing to control everything is Anton’s strength, but also his weakness. It gives him an incredible will to plan and plot. He can design contingencies and anticipate moves that will fail or succeed, but his process takes him toward one destination — his ultimate goal. It roots him in place. He can bend in the breeze, but he can also be broken. His branches can be snapped one-by-one, and without them, even the deepest roots won’t save him.

However Karthick died, the difference is somewhat academic at this point. Still, knowing Anton’s mental state could prove useful. I won’t make the mistake of underestimating him or assuming we’ve thrown him off his game, but if we’re disrupting his power, that could be used against him.

I get out my phone, secure a line and call Brendan.

“I take it you’ve heard,” he says. “It feels like my fault. Like I did this to him.”

All he did was help us prepare the evidence of Karthik’s crimes in a media press kit and give us the names of the journalists who could easily confirm its contents. In other words, he did his job.

“Well, it’s not your fault. He did it to himself.”

“You believe that?” Brendan grunts.

“It’s a fifty-fifty. Either way, you didn’t pull any trigger.”

“I became your partner to help you-know-who. Not to help you wage a war. How much more of this will it take?”

When I came to Ellman Media that day, did he think that his actions would lead to the assassination of a Saudi Arabian arms dealer? Did he think his decisions would eventually connect him to the slaughter of a dozen mercenaries in Kentucky and nearly thirty more in Brooklyn? It’s one thing to see it on the TV or report on it for the news. To have a hand in the outcome… that’s different. Just because the men I’ve killed don’t deserve much in the way of sympathy, that doesn’t mean someone wants blood on their own hands.

I would know. If it wasn’t for those squeamish about doing the dirty work, I’d have needed to find another way to make a living.

“We need you for the next step, but you can bow out after. I’d understand completely.”

“Good,” says Brendan.

“To keep her safe, you know we have to deal with him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“He’ll have to choose between keeping her or his power. It’s a good plan. It’ll work. We’ll have her back soon, I promise.”

Brendan sighs.

“You mean, you’ll have her back. She didn’t choose me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah yeah. Let me be a little jealous, okay? She’s an amazing woman. You’re lucky she likes things that are bad for her.”

I chuckle. No argument there.

In truth, I don’t have a lot of experience being in his position. The ones I’ve wanted have been mine until I no longer wanted them.

Like Madeleine.

And the others.

Kate brought out a part of me that I wouldn’t have thought existed. If I were in Brendan’s position, I wouldn’t even know what to do. Being able to laugh about it — to accept the decision Kate made without bitterness — that’s a strength of its own. He may not see it that way, but it’s true.

And if Kate decides she can’t be with me, either because I remind her of how she’s suffered or because she can’t forgive me for the things I’ve done… If she fell into the arms of a man like Brendan, who never faltered in his unconditional support and did everything in his power to help her… I would try to show the same strength and accept it.

She deserves to be happy. That’s what matters most. I can’t ever lose sight of that.

“She cares about you,” I say. “Maybe not in the way you’d hoped, but she does. I’m sure it kills her not to be able to tell you that. Trust me, she doesn’t think you’ve given up on her. She knows you wouldn’t.”

“I appreciate that,” he replies.

“Be in touch soon,” I say as I hang up.

Ever since I learned Anton is Simon Wilson, I’ve thought about how my actions created the monster we face today. Kate’s told me I’m not to blame — Simon’s father is. There’s some truth to that: Joseph Wilson couldn’t control himself. My stupidity that night in the factory came when I was drunk. Both of us are responsible for creating Anton — and Anton has done everything in his power to tear Kate apart.

I won’t let Kate suffer because of me. If removing myself from her life will help her heal, that’s what I’ll do.

But I won’t be happy about it — and I will make Anton feel my pain. I’ll make him regret the day he chose to hurt her instead of me.