I am afraid to look at her, afraid to see her goodbye. But before I can leave, she throws herself at my back and kisses my neck.
"I will be here, my love. You'd better return to me."
I'm undone. Completely. I drop my bag and turn to grasp her close to my heart. "I will return to you the same man, I promise."
She kisses me with a fervor that leaves both our mouths bruised. I welcome the pain, the ferocity of her passion. I want to carve out that desiccated thing in my chest called a heart and give it to her. Take me, love me.
"I do, Nikolai, I do," she responds. I do not even realize I have spoken out loud. My eyes are wet, but I force myself to pull away.
It takes me two days to drive, but I need my SAKO rifle for this, and so I cannot fly. Seattle is cold, rainy, and wet. I stay in a motel on the edge of town and pay cash. I force myself to sleep, and then in the morning, I prepare everything.
The gun is dismantled and cleaned. I dry fire twice. My bullets are checked. I load and unload the weapon and then carefully place it into my bag. I rub my chest. I'm bringing death and it is a mercy, I tell myself.
I slip on my long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Black socks into black boots. The plan runs through my head over and over. At 3:00 p.m., Mr. Blue will leave the hospital and head south toward Ranier Beach. Approximately twenty minutes later, he should reach the kill zone. From there, I will have thirty seconds, a lifetime, to pull the trigger.
The entire morning goes exactly as planned. The GPS marker I placed in his car two months ago, before Daisy was kidnapped, before my life changed irrevocably, lights up and moves. I track him on my phone as I reach the destination. I pull on a mask. It's a Hollywood set mask and it looks like I'm slightly balding. It's a precaution. No one is likely to see me—but just in case.
I position myself in the abandoned house and wait. The countdown begins in my head.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Finger on the trigger.
Four.
Breathe.
Two.
The head of the surgeon jerks back and blood and matter splatter the seat behind him. I slide my finger off the trigger and listen. Almost imperceptible noises, like tiny mouse feet, rustle above me. Daniel. I drop my rifle and run up the stairs but by the time I reach the upper level, it is empty. No, there is a small piece of white paper lying by the window.
I've found her.
P.S. Consider this an early wedding gift, you suspicious bastard.
I tuck the note into my pocket and return downstairs. I lift up the rifle and kiss it. Daisy.
My Daisy.
I want to be better than this. For her.
I turn out of the building and head out of Seattle—and back toward Daisy.
She asks me nothing when I slip into bed with her. She kisses me passionately and moans her sweet sounds as I lick between her legs until she shatters. Her fingers dig hard into my back as I thrust between her legs for hours. She pants her desire as I roll her over and take her from behind, my balls slapping against her, my hand pulling her head back so that I f**k her mouth with my tongue at the same time.
The next morning, when we have breakfast, she looks heavy-lidded with desire and walks gingerly.
"We need to install a bathtub," she says. I agree instantly. Daisy's body slick with water, slick with desire. I harden as I think of our time in Zurich and the hours we spent in the bathroom of the hotel.
I pull up bathtubs on the computer. "This is nice." I say, pointing at a model that has multiple jets.
"Those aren't bathtubs," Daisy ruffles my hair like I'm an innocent, mischievous child. "Those are hot tubs."
"We get both." I declare.
"Fine." She giggles and there's no argument about the price. I'm thrilled but suspicious.
"Why do you not ask me about Seattle, little kitten?"
"Because I love you, Nick," she answers serenely. She is like Madonna, sweet and mysterious. Her love for me is unconditional, and I cannot allow her to think the worst of me any longer. I must allow her to love me as she allows me to love her in return.
"I did not kill him," I confess. I pull out the note that Daniel left. "Daniel completed the job. He left this."
"Oh, Nick." She hugs the note to her chest. "She's safe then?"
"Yes," I tell her even though I'm not certain. She melts into me. Her hands flutter over my chest, stroking and petting in an attempt to comfort, to touch.
"I'm done with the killing, Daisy. I want to be whole for you."
Her eyes are shiny, but her whole face is lit up. "What will you do then?"
I shrug. "I do not know. Maybe we both attend college together? We learn new skills?"
I've said the right thing; I can tell from the excitement on her face. "I'd like that."
"But first, we get many tubs and then f**k in them."
She giggles again and says, "Hundreds of tubs." My groin tightens.
We make small improvements to the house, but I think we both know it is temporary. Daisy is anxious to return to the city and to go to college. Her father is holding her back, though. Not intentionally. She worries. Her father has not had the cathartic release that Daisy had with Sergei, and although I promise her no more killing, one last hit must be carried out in order for her family to be happy and free.
It takes no time to find the young man who killed Daisy's mother. I broach the subject with Daisy because I cannot lie to her ever again.
"Your father, Daisy," I take her hands in mine as we sit one winter night in front of the fireplace. The pleasant smell of burning wood fills the small family room and makes me long to have this conversation over so that I can peel away her clothes and make love to her in the firelight.
She grimaces at the mention of her father. She had hoped that his recovery would be swifter.
"What about Father?"
"His mind is tormented by the loss of your mother, his inability to protect her, and his fear of her killer. I know this."
She looks down at our joined hands. "I think I know what you are going to say, Nick, and I guess you're probably right, but I can't do it again. I can't…" Her voice trails off. I press a kiss to her forehead.
"I know. Leave it to me, da?" I kiss along the side of her face and down her neck.
"Da," she sighs. I love it when she speaks Russian to me, even if it is only one word at a time.
"Let us not talk of this anymore," I say. "I want your mouth forming only one word."
"What's that? Food?" She teases me.
"No, Nick. Or more."
"How about now?"
"I like that word."
I proceed to love her right there.
The next morning, I leave before she awakens. I still can only sleep a few hours a night. My body needs no more than that. Her father will not come willingly, and I have prepared a syringe of curare so that I can place him in the vehicle and take him with me. I am glad Daisy is asleep so she cannot see that I have drugged and disabled her father like this. It is for his own good, but it is hard to watch.
"Father Miller," I explain as I carry him to the sedan that I've rented for this purpose. "I am taking you to him, the man who killed your woman. I know that you are afraid, but once you have seen his death, peace will come to you. It is a mercy. I promise."
His eyes lose some of their wild fear, but he is still not convinced. I do not know if he is as strong as Daisy.
The drive into Minneapolis is short, and we wait in the car until the curare wears off.
"He is in there?" Father Miller gestures toward the run-down, three-story house.
"Yes, he lives in the basement. He steals money for his drug habit. Sometimes he deals, but more often he is using it. When we go in, you must not touch anything inside. Many diseased people have been here."
The sound of Father's heavy breathing fills the car, and for a minute, I fear he might have a heart attack or a stroke. Then this would all be for naught. I wonder if I could even return home to Daisy. But, no, I have watched Father for a month now and spoken with him. He burns with a fever to avenge his woman. He just has never had the means before now.
His hands tremble as they reach for the door, and I see where Daisy gets her strength. I witness superhuman effort as he steps outside of the car, the first step he has taken outdoors in years. Later, I will probably wish I had brought Daisy, just so she could see this.
Exiting the car, I lead the way inside, slowly but confidently. Down the dirty exterior stairs and up to a green door with peeling paint. The lock is easily disengaged. "For safety," I say to Father as I pull my handgun out of my shoulder holster. I motion him backward and then open the door. There is no danger. Our man is not yet awake.
I check the living room, kitchen, closet, and bathroom before facing the closed door at the end of the hallway. I presume it is the bedroom. Pressing a finger to my lips, I motion for Father to step out of the line of fire. He does. He is still trembling, but his courage is admirable.
When I open the bedroom door, I call out a warning, "Mr. Black, a delivery is here for you."
"No goddamn Black here," a voice inside mumbles.
"We will not leave until you come out." I call.
"I told you I wouldn't have the money until Saturday."
Mr. Black must believe we are the dealers. I am ready to wait patiently for Mr. Black to exit, but Father is not. He grabs the gun from my hand and charges into the room.
I hear a yelp and see Mr. Black huddled against the wall with his sheets up around his neck. "Who the f**k are you?" But then recognition sets in, and Mr. Black stupidly begins to laugh. "Holy fuck. You're the old man whose wife I offed when I was fourteen. Stupid bitch wouldn't give me her f**king purse."
Those were the last words he says.
Father raises his arm and empties the magazine into Mr. Black's body. His finger keeps pulling the trigger, almost reflexively. All you can hear in the room is his harsh breathing and the empty click of the chamber cocking and releasing.
Reaching over, I pull the gun from his hands. "It's over, Father. Let us go."
Father turns to me and his eyes are red and full of tears. "I wish I could kill him a million times." His voice breaks and his body collapses into mine. The sorrow and pain in his voice rends at me. I refuse to imagine what madness I would be driven to if I lost Daisy.
I pat him on the shoulder, though I am bad at comforting. "Now you can be free."
"Thank you, Nick," he tells me, and he breaks down into more sobs.
With a little effort, I return Father to the car and drive us home. He wants to be alone for a while.
Daisy asks me only one question upon my return home. "Is it done?"
I nod, and we never speak of it again.
That spring we find an apartment in the city. Daisy's father is making slow progress. He will sit on his porch and sometimes he will even walk the perimeter of the house. I've installed a security system for him and Daisy, and I hope one day he will be able to leave the property all together. But Daisy feels comfortable starting a new life here.
I discover the entire building is for sale and arrange for the purchase of it. I will tell Daisy this later. We can move in later that week. Daisy is anxious to move, so I take her to furniture stores to pick out items for our home. I like to say that frequently—before Daisy, I never had a home.