Angel and the Assassin

himself. Dropping the box, he leaped up and ran through the
    living room, into the bedroom, and threw himself under the bed.
    I found his stash. He’s going to kill me. The scalpel or the gun, but either way,
    this time, I’m dead.

    * * *
    It was four o‟clock in the afternoon when Kael put his key in the front door.

    Angel would be hungry and dying for the toilet.
    Opening the door, Kael stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the
    cupboard door standing ajar. He closed the front door behind him, scanning the hall.
    The box containing his passports and weapons sat on the floor, open. A chair from
    the kitchen stood beside it.
    He drew his gun and leveled it.
    Angel! Someone had come after him.

    Angel and the Assassin
    151

    On silent feet he began to search the flat, keeping his back to the walls,
    listening intently. All his senses came into play when there was danger. He sniffed
    the air, but the only scent was Angel‟s. Was he there? Was he hurt? He couldn‟t
    smell an intruder.
    Eyes everywhere, he took in the living room. Nothing was out of place. Moving
    on to the kitchen, the only thing wrong was the chair that had been placed in the
    hall. Kael walked silently along the hall. With one finger he pushed open the
    dungeon door and stepped inside, his back to the wall.
    The dog cage was empty, and Angel‟s blanket lay on the floor outside. Someone
    was in the flat and had taken Angel out of the cage. He knew the boy was there
    somewhere and someone was with him. Could it be Conran? He had not got out of
    the cage by himself. He scanned the room and moved on to the bedroom. Just as he
    pushed open the door, the bathroom door across the room closed.
    He stood for a second with his hand on the handle, then in one swift
    movement, turned it and stepped inside. Keeping his gun level with his gaze, he
    scanned the bathroom and sniffed the air. Again, the only scent he picked up was
    Angel—his sweet perspiration, a delicate undertone of something boyish yet
    masculine. There was nowhere in the bathroom to hide. The glass shower stall was
    empty. The airing cupboard was the only place with a solid door, but only a very
    slender person could fit between the shelves and the door, which was closed.
    Crossing the room, Kael stood at the door, paused, took a breath, and opened
    it. He pressed the muzzle of the gun to Angel‟s chest and in the same instant
    grabbed him by the neck. He looked quickly around him, thinking he had made a
    mistake.
    “You stupid boy, I could have killed you! Who else is here? Why the hell are
    you hiding from me?”
    Angel stood with his hands up. “Next time try the decaf, for God‟s sake.”
    Angry at the sarcasm, Kael released him so roughly he fell to the ground. He
    was confused, and that always enraged him. “Who was here? Who got you out of the
    dog crate?”
    “I got myself out.”
    “No, you didn‟t.” He took Angel‟s arm, pulled him to his feet, and forced him
    down the hall to the cupboard while the boy protested all the way. “Who did that?”
    He pointed at the box on the floor, realizing it had to have been Angel. That was
    why he had needed the chair; he wasn‟t tall enough to reach the box. “Who‟s been
    here?”
    “No one.” Angel began to struggle to free his arm. “Get off me.”
    Kael released him and began to put away his passports and weapons. “We
    need to talk. Go into the living room and wait for me.”
    “I‟m getting something to eat; you tried to starve me.” Angel turned toward the
    kitchen. Kael was after him in an instant. With an arm around Angel‟s waist, he

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    scooped him up and carried him to the living room, where he tossed him on the
    couch. “Sit! Do as you‟re damn well told.”
    Angel sat cross-legged and his tone was confrontational, but he made no
    attempt to get up. “Have you got your scalpel in your pocket? Why don‟t you just kill
    me now?”
    How the hell did Angel know he carried a scalpel? “What are you talking
    about, boy?”
    “Kael Saunders, John Carpe, Markus Muller. Who the hell are you? You kill
    people for a living, don‟t you? I just want to know why you were going to kill me.
    What the hell did I do? I don‟t sell guns to bad guys.”
    “I was never going to kill you.”
    “Maybe I was imagining it then.” Angel spread his hands, casting his eyes up
    to the ceiling.
    Kael stopped in front of him and removed his jacket and gun holster. “Would
    you like to share with