Page 15 of The Hitman's Omega Priest
“No ties, Drew is a completely unique creation with a back story that includes growing up in Vermont, moving to River City for college, and then staying to work in information technology. He’s got a driver’s license, birth certificate, and he even files his taxes every year.”
“Wow. How do you create a person like that?”
Bishop slowed for a red light, careful to clock every other car at the intersection. No sign of police lights anywhere, and they were going in the opposite direction of the cathedral. “Your brother has a guy who can do it. Real computer genius with a knack for creative accounting. It’s not my area, so I don’t question it.”
“That makes sense.” A plastic bottle crinkled and a cap twisted. Bishop eased the car forward when his light changed, so he didn’t make Kensley choke on his water. “So, um, where have you been these last two years?”
“Around.” Bishop had promised Kensley the truth, but the middle of their escape wasn’t the right time. “I will tell you, Kens, just not right now.”
Kensley grunted. “How’s King? I mean, I see things in the newspaper, but that’s legal stuff. How is he? Is he happy?”
“As happy as he can be. He just…doesn’t trust, so he’s lonely.”
“Still not married?”
“No.” King had been severely burned—financially and emotionally—ten years ago by his only long-term lover, and he’d yet to trust anyone else to get close to his heart. Sometimes, Bishop didn’t think his best friend even knew what he was looking for, but he’d never find it if he stayed inside the four walls of his high-security penthouse. King protected his territoryfiercely, but at what cost? What was the point of stockpiling power and wealth when you had nothing to truly live for?
Other than a few close associates like Bishop.
“He sent me to the Order to save my life, but I don’t have a life,” Kensley said with a new hint of bitterness in his voice. “And King isn’t even out there living? Bastard.”
Bishop’s eyebrows rose. “He never wanted you used as leverage against him.”
“Great plan, as we’re speeding out of the city to some distant safe house, because one of his enemies came after me in my church!”
He angled the rearview for a better look at Kensley’s face. Kensley was glaring at the opposite car door, cheeks red, but he seemed more determined than scared. He hadn’t looked genuinely scared since Bishop told him to take his clothes off, as if instinctively believing he’d be safe, as long as he followed Bishop’s orders. Bishop was used to that with his employees, but not with civilians.
Then again, Kensley remembered the much younger man Bishop had once been—before violence and vengeance and anger took over his life. Before Bishop became a stone-cold killer.
“The churches have historically been neutral territory,” Bishop said. “We’ve never crossed that line, never brought our grudges there, never hurt anyone inside of a church. They crossed a line sending those men after you. I’m just glad we were proactive and I was there.”
“So am I.” Kensley angled his head so their eyes met in the rearview. “Thank you for saving my life. Goodness knows what they would have done to me to retaliate against King.”
“We’re not going to find out, Kens. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I believe you.”
“Good. Settle in, we’ll talk later.”
Bishop turned on the radio. The first station had a brief bulletin about the armed robbery at Holy Order Ninth Cathedral during a fundraising dinner. The newscaster said all but two attendees were accounted for, but that officers were still searching the entire abbey grounds and news was developing. That made Bishop grin. They could search until the sun came up, and the only things they’d find were two open vents, and no sign of Elder Thorne or the volunteer named Drew. It would take them a while to find Drew’s apartment, and even then, he’d left no evidence that anyone lived there except a workaholic bachelor.
Not that Drew was a real person anyway. The authorities would end up chasing ghosts for most of the weekend, giving King time to figure out a more permanent place to stash Kensley.
He switched over to a classic rock station and drove. He’d memorized the locations of all King’s safe houses a decade ago, and so far, only two had been used and discarded. Once they were less than forty minutes away and getting into more remote, wilderness locations, he turned his cell phone on and added the address to its GPS.
Despite his protests, Kensley was asleep, stretched out on the backseat. While adrenaline could hit fast and make you feel like you’d be awake for a week, once it wore off, fatigue set in swiftly. Good. Kensley deserved the rest. Bishop was used to toeing the line between life and death. Hell, he’d dangled by a thread for a while after the explosion. But this? All this terror and hiding and running away? It was all new to Kens.
The safe house designated Backhoe was a single-story hunting cabin, in a remote area about five miles from the nearest small town. It had a generator and well system, and Bishop had been here once, maybe eight years ago, to recover from a gunshot wound. Since it had never been tied to any active case against the organization, King hadn’t cut the cabin loose.
Once Bishop hit the outskirts of town, he double-checked his directions, and then turned off his GPS. Since he knew King would call him next from a burner phone, he didn’t turn his own cell phone off. His cell was a burner, so without a psychic on payroll, cops would have a hard time finding any cell tower records connecting King to Drew Burton. Or have any idea Drew was now in a remote pocket of the state, far from the dangers of River City and its four rival mob factions.
Less than ten minutes of slow driving up single-car mountain roads ended at the cabin. Part of him wanted to let Kensley rest, but he didn’t need any surprises. He shifted into park, left the engine idling, and reached back to shake Kensley awake. Kensley sat up with a start and reached for blankets that weren’t there.
“We’re at the safe house,” Bishop said. “It should be empty and ready, but I want you to wait here while I check it out.”
“Yeah, of course.” Kensley peered out one of the windows, but their view was of nothing more exciting than trees and wilderness and a whole lot of darkness. “How far off the grid are we?”
“Far enough to be safe. Sit tight. I’ll come get you.”
