HOME | DD

Description
I hated traveling, even though my job required it frequently, and I was happy to be home after my long day.

“Welcome home sweetheart.” Donovan kisses me as I let go of my rolling carry on at the front door and disentangle myself from my trench and Louboutins.

“Thank you, darling,” I respond, honestly happy to see him. I am always happy to see him after a job, a constant reminder that there’s a reason I do what I do.

“How was your flight?”

I had a moment of panic. I thought about the stop at security but quickly shook it off. He didn’t know, and he didn’t need to worry. “You know.” I tell him, my usual hatred of planes showing in my voice. “As fine as it could be.”

He chuckled. A streak of fur flew past me to the next room, followed by another. My welcome home from the cats.

“I’m going to change.”

Will they find me? I thought as I quickly changed into more comfortable clothes for a quick bite—jeans and a t-shirt. Do they know where I live? Am I prepared if they do? Coming off a job is always difficult, and I’m always worried when I get home, even though two years of no issues should calm me.

Pots and pans clanged downstairs, shaking me back to my reality.

“Donovan,” I called downstairs, “I was thinking we could just grab a burger.”

No answer.

“Donovan?”

Still no answer.

I pad over to my large silver jewelry box. Diamonds and pearls glisten at me, requesting removal. Instead, I take the small tab on the divider between my two thumbs and pointer fingers and lift the velvet piece off, revealing my weapon.

I open the magazine to make sure it’s loaded and walk as quietly as I can out of the room to the stairs, gun poised as I was trained.

The long, scared cry of the cats as they pass me, ears back and tails bushy, gets my attention more than anything. Something about the situation makes the trimmed hairs on the nape of my neck stand up. It’s the feeling I get on a job when I’m being watched.

From the kitchen entryway I can see Donovan lying on the floor, a frying pan inches from his head on the floor. I clear the room and rush to him. He’s out cold. He looks almost peaceful with his eyes closed, but I can see some matted brown hair over blood. I can’t keep putting him in danger. I kiss his forehead, a gesture of promise that I will be back, and silently make my way out the backyard door.

The moon is high in the sky, and it vaguely reminds me of the night Donovan proposed. That night, though, was so much happier; it was during a simple time in both our lives, but mine especially. Before all this…

“Mrs. Heller,” a male voice whispers from the shadows.

I turn quickly and point my gun at the intruder. As he steps into the moonlight, I am struck by his features—normal, though angular, face, but with striking translucent blue eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost white. I have been trained to pay attention to detail, and I know the faces of all my targets, but this face is unfamiliar. I have never seen this man in my life.

“Who are you?” I demand of him, my heart hammering. “How do you know my name?”

“We know quite a bit about you, Mrs. Heller.” His voice is soft and definitively non-American. European? I’m trying to record the scene in my mind as my stomach struggles with the nervousness.

“Why did you break into my house? You hit my husband.” I knew I was stating the obvious, but I was getting angrier the longer he stood there, and my training didn’t exactly prepare me for this. How dare he come into my home and threaten my family. Work was never supposed to come home with me.

He moves closer and I shake my gun at him. “Come any closer and I’ll kill you here and now.”

“And risk waking all your neighbors and blowing your secret?”

How does he know this stuff!? I wasn’t supposed to feel fear in these situations, but I was getting more scared by the minute.

“I apologize for your dear husband. My guard thought he was a guard of yours. A simple mistake.”

“Well your mistake is going to make me take him to the hospital. He’ll need stitches.”

“Tell them he fell and hit his head. You’ll come up with something. You’re good at lying.” He was taunting me.

I grit my teeth.

“I just wanted to make a visit,” he said, smiling and making his way to the gate. “Think about your secrets. Are they worth keeping? Worth dying for?”

I keep my gun pointed at him. He puts his hands in the air, as in surrender, and makes his way to the back gate. He becomes a black shadow as he walks out of the moonlight and my yard, leaving me scared, nervous…and not at all like an agent.

I need to know who this man is. He can’t hurt my family and get away with it.