Page 14 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
“I know. Drive out to Location Backhoe. It’ll be safe for a couple of days, until I decide our next move. Any idea who those men were working for?”
“Some idea.” Bishop described the tattoo he’d spotted on the knuckles of the one gunman, as well as the man’s general description. He’d had to take the mask off to pose as a security guard, which was good for them. “He wasn’t someone I recognized, but I’ll know him if I see him again.”
“All right, I’ll have Ziggy send you pictures of all of Castle’s known associates. Intel is that he’s hiring private contractors now, instead of relying on his own people.”
“Is Castle getting paranoid about loyalty?”
“If we all weren’t paranoid about loyalty, we’d have been dead years ago.”
Too true. King kept his trusted inner circle incredibly small, and it took many years of work to rise in the ranks. Bishop had seen a lot of men die over the years, sometimes in the line of work, and sometimes because they’d lost King’s trust. Theirs was not a business most men could quit and walk away from.
Bishop had been given that chance after the explosion. A chance to take his new face and walk away, because no one would recognize him or be able to use him against King. Not his business enemies, and not the cops or FBI. And as appealing as the idea had briefly been, King was his brother by choice—and Bishop hadn’t been able to turn down the assignment to watch Kensley full-time.
To watch him up close.
Up close and naked and wet, and holy fuck, but that entire experience had been the biggest test of Bishop’s restraint and professionalism in his entire life. Hopefully, King didn’t ask for details of their escape, or Bishop was going to get some choice words about Bishop’s cover story choice.
“So, I’ll go to Backhoe,” Bishop said, “and await further instructions.”
“Yeah.” King cleared his throat. “How is he?”
“Scared and trying to be brave. But he hasn’t cracked, and he’s following my instructions. He trusts me.”
“You told him your identity?”
“He figured it out on his own. He might have been out of the world these last fourteen years, brother, but he’s smart.”
“He always was. I know you need to hit the road. Text me when you arrive. I’ll call when I can.”
“All right. Be safe.”
“You too.”
Bishop ended the call, turned off his phone, and then fetched his bug-out bag from the bedroom closet. It had everything he needed for an emergency trip, including clothes, toiletries, a first aid kit, protein bars and MREs. He dug into his dresser for the smallest sweats he owned, as well as extra undershirts. The bug-out bag was stuffed full, so he grabbed another gym bag from under his bed, and then raided his kitchen cupboards for extra non-perishable foods, unsure what would be at the safe house. Backhoe wasn’t used often.
He found six bottles of water and stashed those in the gym bag, along with a spare phone charger. The last thing was his gun and spare clips from behind the vent grate in the bathroom. Most people wouldn’t think to stash (or look for) a gun in a bathroom, because of the moisture, but Bishop took brief showers and cleaned the gun regularly.
He wouldn’t miss the efficiency apartment. It hadn’t been his home; it was a place to sleep and to plan, and to make private phone calls. He’d also been very careful about limiting his use of the place and keeping it tidy, so he took an extra three minutes to quickly wipe down all the surfaces he could, tossed the rag into his small bag of garbage, and took that with him.
One more chapter of his life closing. He had no idea what the next chapter would bring, but at least Kensley would be part of it—for a little while.
Bishop locked up and left, careful to maintain a casual pace the entire way down to the parking garage. He put his bug-out bag and garbage in the trunk, then climbed back inside the car. Kensley’s head immediately popped up, gray eyes wide and curious.
“Here.” Bishop handed him the bag with sweats and snacks. “There’s clothes and food. We’ve got about thirty minutes before we’re safely outside the city and you can sit on the seat, okay?”
“Okay. I guess you can’t tell me where we’re going?”
“No, but it’s secure. King will have it set up for us. He’s glad you’re safe.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Three of us.” Bishop smiled, trying to put as much warmth into it as he could. King liked to tease him that his smiles always looked sinister. “The car’s fully gassed, so we won’t have to stop. If I remember right, it’ll take about three hours, give or take, to get there. If you want to sleep, you can.”
“Forget it. I’m too wired to sleep right now.”
“Don’t blame you there.” Bishop carefully maneuvered his way out of the garage and back onto the lively city streets. “For what it’s worth, I’m so sorry this is happening. That fundraiser was for a good cause.”
“Yeah. I mean, the orphanage will still get the donations, but I have a feeling the church won’t be doing new fundraisersanytime soon. Not with a priest and a guest going missing. You’re a civ—I mean, Drew Burton is a civilian, right? No ties to my brother?”
