hadn’t been doing that enough lately. Well, not for herself, anyway.
Time to do that.
It wasn’t as though Penny was just walking to walk—she did have a purpose for being on the streets of Brooklyn in the middle of a cold rain while the sun crept lower and lower with every passing minute. That purpose became clear when she slipped into an alley two blocks away from the last place she stopped.
A car waited there.
The two-door Lexus coup flicked on its lights—once, and then twice, as was agreed upon—illuminating her wet figure in the mouth of the alley. Penny wasted no time slipping further down the alley to the passenger side of the car. Had it been less wet outside, she wouldn’t even have bothered with getting inside the vehicle.
Instead, she slipped into the passenger seat and shoved her hood back to expose the fishtail braid flipped over her shoulder that kept most of her hair out of her face. The guy sitting in the driver’s seat didn’t even turn to give her a hello, let alone a look.
“It’s in the back,” Carson told her.
“Everything?”
“Anything you asked for. I made a list.”
Penny rolled her eyes, but smiled, too. “You made a list?”
“You made it clear when you called that this was important. I didn’t want to miss anything. Not really good for business, you know?”
She did.
All too well.
Penny found the black duffle bag in the backseat like Carson promised. The independent contractor didn’t really have a specific job—he was known to do many things as long as the pay was good and came through. He’d do it without much talk, and he didn’t sell information when the chance was on the market, so to speak. She only knew of the guy through other assassins at The League who used him on occasion when in the New York area.
Or Jersey.
Vermont, too.
Carson was flexible.
He also wasn’t owned. By anyone. Penny liked that a lot more.
Dropping the duffle bag on her lap, Penny yanked open the zipper and spread the top apart to see what was inside. Carson hadn’t lied. A pile of burner phones, a small laptop, phone cards and more stared back at her. Sticking her hand into the bag, she moved things aside to find the wigs she asked for. There was also a case of FX makeup, a forty-five millimeter and nine with ammo and a silencer ... and finally, antibiotics, a few knives, and a particular obsidian blade with a soft touch handle setting on top of new cargo pants and other black clothing.
Penny closed the bag. “It’s all there, thanks.”
Carson shot her a look, his tattooed hands never leaving the steering wheel when he asked, “Did you expect anything different?”
“Some of it was unusual.”
Like the makeup. And the specific knife she had wanted.
The man only chuckled, asking, “Yeah, I thought so, too. What, are you going to war or on a stage?”
“Maybe both.”
Anything was possible now.
In the inner pocket of her windbreaker, Penny pulled out an envelope that was only a little damp from the rain. She passed it over to the man in the driver’s seat. His payment that he took without as much as a thank you, not that she expected acknowledgment for their business together.
This was how it worked. They saw nothing. Knew nothing. Said nothing.
But just in case ...
“If anyone asks,” Penny said when she reached for the door handle to exit the vehicle, “you didn’t see the white ghost in New York. It won’t end well for you if you bring up my name to anyone. Understood?”
Carson lifted one shoulder, unbothered but still recognizing that she warned him. “You know, I don’t usually work with people who make it a habit to threaten me, Penny.”
So be it.
Except ...
Penny laughed as she stepped out of the vehicle, calling back into the man, “I’m not the one you’ll have to worry about seeing the threat through, though. Keep it in mind.”
There were always worst monsters waiting in the wings. Penny was only one of them.
She closed the door. The last thing she saw from the man was red taillights as he pulled out of the alleyway. That was fine with her.
One thing done.
She was one second closer to ending it all ...
THE MOTEL ROOM PENNY rented in the Bronx wasn’t much to look at. Peeling wallpaper with a faded flower design gave the single room—and attached bathroom—some color, at least. The brown, shag carpet had been laid at least three decades before she even existed.