Page 25 of Stolen Hearts

She nods. “Okay,” she says softly and meekly, in a voice so un-Callie-like it almost breaks my heart a little.

Back in her suite, I shut the door behind me and grimace as I survey the damage.

Luca’s the problem. The two goons I could easily figure out a way to deal with. Because those kills were bloodless.

Luca’s blood, however, is sprayed across the entire fucking bedroom and is currently soaking into the carpet under his body.

That’s going to be an issue, and frankly, I don’t have the resources to deal with that at all. Luckily, I might know someone who does. Even luckier, he actually picks up when I call.

“Shit, man. I was wondering if I’d hear from you today. Did you wish Bryce a happy birth—”

“Jeremy, I need a favor. Fast.”

Instantly, his easygoing tone changes. “I’m listening, brother.”

“How secure is this line?”

“Secure enough, unless you’re working for Kim Jong Un. In which case, I’m about to get one hell of a promotion.”

I smile darkly.

Jeremy and I are the last two left. Where once there were five of us—Jer, Bryce, Matty, Jason, and me—now it’s just him and me. By pure shit fucking luck. Me because I was the last to walk into that house on the outskirts of Kabul. Jeremy because he ate bad food on base the night before our mission and was laid up puking his guts out.

Me, I tapped out, came home to bury my mother, and then met Cillian. Jeremy got recruited by the CIA.

“I need a cleaner in Paris.”

“Hang on.” I can hear him typing rapidly on a keyboard. “Where at?”

“The Plaza Royale Hotel. Nineteenth floor. Suite nineteen-oh-eight. And I need it fast, Jeremy.”

“Nice to hear from you too, buddy,” he mutters as he clicks away at his keyboard. “How you been, Jer? How’s life, Jer?”

“How you been, Jer. How’s life, Jer,” I parrot blankly before I sigh. “I wish I had time to catch up. I really do.”

“Just fucking with you, Castle, you know that. Okay, yeah, I’ve got a guy I’ve used before.”

“Agency connected?”

“No. Independent contractor. He’s good.” He pauses. “It’s gonna cost you, you know.”

“Figured as much. Whatever it is, just let me know.”

He clears his throat. “I gotta ask, Cas. Who’s the package?”

He means the dead guy.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Shit. Elected?”

“No, made.”

“Howmade.”

“Let’s just say, your cleaner better not be Italian.”

He chuckles grimly. “Got it.”

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