Page 75 of Reaper's Desire

I take the pass and move toward security. Isabelle is already through. She looks small and vulnerable standing there in her socks, waiting for her belongings to clear the scanner. I go through security after her, but not so close that she'll notice. I keep my head down and my movements casual. Just another late-night traveler heading to Rome. She collects her bag and shoes and disappears toward the gates.

I follow. The terminal is nearly empty. A few shops are still open, but Isabelle walks past all of them without looking, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She finds the gate and sits down in one of the plastic chairs, her bag on her lap and her boarding pass clutched in her hand.

And then she just... sits, staring at nothing, her face blank and her body rigid.

I position myself three gates down where I can see her, but she won't see me. I buy a coffee I don't want from a vending machine and sit with it cooling in my hands, watching her.

The gate agent announces boarding, and Isabelle stands. I wait until she's through the gate and down the jetway before I move. I board last, slipping onto the plane just before they close the doors. I've positioned myself carefully several rows behind her, on the opposite side of the aisle. Close enough to keep her in sight, but far enough that she won't notice me, a baseball cap and glasses on, the cap pulled down low.

The plane is half empty. Most of the passengers are business travelers or tourists heading to Rome for a long weekend. Isabelle sits by the window in row 7, her forehead pressed against the glass, her eyes closed. The flight attendants move through the cabin offering drinks and snacks, but Isabelle waves them away without opening her eyes.

I watch her, and I realize with a horrible, terrifying clarity that my feelings for her are worse than I could ever have imagined. I want her, I lust after her with a ferocity that is frankly unlike anything I've ever felt in my life, and… I love her.

Despite her brattiness and her clearly sheltered upbringing, the fact that she's clearly not at all cut out to be a part of the world I inhabit, despite the fact that she's spoiled and stubborn and is quite literally going to be the death of me… I love her.

I can't imagine how I ever thought I could kill her. How I could ever for a single second have imagined that I could take the light out of those gorgeous eyes. That I could extinguish the life in her.

I want her to be mine more than I want to fucking breathe. And in all likelihood, I'm never going to get to touch her again.

The pain that hits at that thought feels like my chest caving in, like all the air being sucked out of me. It's fucking awful.

And I deserve it.

The plane begins its descent into Rome, and Isabelle finally opens her eyes. She stares out the window at the lights of the city below, her expression unreadable. I wonder what she's thinking, if she has a plan. Probably not.

We land, and I let her deplane first. I wait until she's off before I stand, grab my bag from the overhead compartment, and follow at a distance.

The Rome airport is busier than Prague despite the late hour. Tourists and locals are mixing together, the sound of Italian filling the air as the chatter of reuniting friends and visitors and people trying to find a ride or food or directions to their hotel makes up the usual airport din. Isabelle moves through the crowd like a ghost, her eyes down. She's trying to blend in and disappear, but she doesn't know how. Anyone looking for her could find her.Ifound her easily enough, and anyone with a fraction of my skill set will be able to, also.

She heads straight for the exit, pushing through the doors and out into the warm Roman night. I follow. She flags down a taxi, and I watch as she climbs in, giving the driver an address I can't hear. The cab pulls away, and I'm already flagging down my own taxi, telling the driver to follow the car ahead. He gives me a look but doesn't question it, just pulls into traffic and keeps the other cab in sight.

We drive through Rome's winding streets until the cab ahead finally stops in front of a mid-range hotel in the city center. Isabelle gets out, pays the driver, and disappears inside. I have my driver stop a block away. I pay him and walk back toward the hotel, keeping to the shadows.

The hotel is nothing special. She's trying to mimic the way we traveled, but to Isabelle, thisisa shithole, just a plain, no-frillshotel one step up from a hostel. She has no idea how to get the kind of place I've been seeking out for us.

I watch as Isabelle approaches the check-in desk. She's using her credit card again—making herself vulnerable. She has no idea how to disappear. No idea how to stay off the grid.

She's going to get herself killed.

I cross the street to a small café that's still open despite the late hour. I order an espresso and take a seat at an outdoor table with a clear view of the hotel entrance. Then I pull out a burner phone and start making calls.

My network is extensive—contacts in every major city, people who owe me favors, people who trade information for cash. I call three of them in quick succession, asking the same question: which assassins are closest to Rome? The first two don't have useful information. The third makes my blood run cold.

"Stanislav landed in Rome two hours ago," he says. "Checked into a hotel. Word is he's got a lead on the Montague girl."

My jaw clenches. He's already here. "Anyone with him?"

"His second. The big Russian guy—Dmitri."

Fuck.

Unlike a lot of assassins, Stanislav doesn't work alone when he's closing in on a target. He brings backup—someone to watch his back, someone to handle complications. Someone to make sure the job gets done.

"Where is he now?"

"Last I heard, he was gearing up. Probably moving within the hour."

I end the call and check the time. Isabelle checked into the hotel fifteen minutes ago. She's probably in her room by now, maybe trying to sleep, maybe just lying in the dark processing everything that happened. She has no idea that Stanislav is less than an hour away. No idea that he's coming for her.