The "I" Word
Jacob's imprint was sent to kill him. What gives?
This is an AU where Jacob did not imprint on Renesmee (but she was born). Life took a much different path in this story, much different... Rated for language and [potential] later sensuality.
1. who wants you dead, jacob ephraim black?
Rating 5/5 Word Count 1022 Review this Chapter
"His name is Jacob Ephraim Black." Niall's voice was as business-like as ever, clear and educated in spite of his Irish accent. It made him sound silly, to be honest, the strange contradiction of sophistication and... not-sophistication humorous. I'd worn my mask for so many years, though, that keeping my own expression serious was easier than anything else. This life isn't supposed to be easy, Anneliese. I could still hear Kei's words to this day, the brutal honesty in her chocolate-colored eyes. "Born January 14th, 1990 in La Push, Washington. Indian Reservation. Quileutes." I wasn't sure why Niall ever bothered with these, I always got this information downloaded to my phone, but he always did like to inject himself into everything. "So he's 25." Wow, Niall! You can do math! Want a gold star? I swear this man has a sixth sense, always will, and this was backed up by the way he glanced toward me right at that very moment, his green eyes questioning. He had kind eyes. The scar that ran right across one brow, though, said exactly why that thought was not a good indication of his personality. This was a man that had killed.
I was a woman who had killed, too. I was in no position to judge, not that I ever did. "Hm?" I raised my brow at him. He did a half-shrug and went back to skimming the target's profile.
"Finished high school, absent frequently, remains in La Push today. That's the thing 'bout small towns, they're like tar pits. Hard to get out of."
"Speaking from experience?" I'd been trained to push, to pry, to learn. All information was valuable, whether it was ever used or not.
"I lived in a small town once. It was damned hard t'get out of, let me tell you..." Niall had been trained to be physically sharp and not much else, as far as I knew. But he was a nice enough guy. As nice as guys were in this business, that is. "Anyway. He's a mechanic," he cautioned, "he'll prolly have plenty o' objects t' use as weapons handy all th' time."
I half-smiled, "I guess I'll have to lure him out."
"He ain't married 'r anythin', should be easy enough. 'Specially since y're pretty." The Organization wouldn't have me if I wasn't pretty enough to them, he knew that. I said nothing, waiting. "Anyway. Gotch'er plane tickets, docs, everythin' in this bag. L.L. Bean, baby, you're a travelin' photographer. That lens cost us eight grand, so ya better be thankful."
"Pocket change," I murmured, hefting the backpack over my shoulder. "Ugh. I guess this means I'm gonna have to wear khakis?" I could hear someone approaching, so I expected him to get all serious again. I know I did, straightening and making sure I looked perfectly ready and capable to handle anything. I kind of was.
He grinned and feigned apology, to my surprise, "'fraid so. It's summer, you can just wear some shorts."
"Don't sound so hopeful, Niall! It's rainy in Washington, don't you know?" He jumped to his feet at the voice he'd obviously not been expecting. "Tsk, tsk, O'leary, already rusty?" Ah, Tara had never been good with tact. She didn't even notice the flinch she'd gotten as a response, swinging her hazel gaze to me. "You're on assignment? Damn. I was hoping to hit the clubs tonight, I've gotta get close to this one guy, and you're always so good to take with on assignments like this." I could feel my frown as I stared at her for a second, not sure what she was trying to achieve with that statement. She made it sound so... dirty. Not that I was clean, no, I've a lot of blood on my hands, but... I wasn't a whore. Tara didn't mind sleeping with some of the targets if they struck her fancy before killing them, whereas I did the deed before doing... well... the other one.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
She made a noncommittal sound, tilting her head oh-so-slightly toward Niall. Grudgingly, but surreptitiously, I glanced over at him, noticed the way he was gripping the edge of the desk in this office. Oh, shit. He can't possibly be jealous? Workplace relationships ended badly, especially in jobs that worked in the moral grey area. Oh, who was I kidding? Morality had nothing to do with what we did. It may have at one point, but... now it was all for the money. In the end, it always would be.
"Wonder what this kid did," I said, well, blurted.
"He's a year older than you." Niall reminded me, still looking decidedly uncomfortable. "And to answer your question..." He grabbed the papers, flipping through them. His brow knitted. "Er... That's... Classified." It was uncommon for our Superiors to not tell us the reasoning for a hit. Usually it'd be, say, trafficking, or corruption, or that they were a threat for what we stood for. Whatever we stood for in this day and age, that is. If it was classified... then it was purely for the money.
"Fair enough," I said, not showing that it even bothered me a teeny-tiny bit. I grabbed the ticket that was tucked in one of the outer pockets of the edge of the pack, glancing at the departure date. "Well, I've got a plane to catch. So sorry to have to miss it, Tara," I played along, for now, with the hope of discouraging Niall and setting him straight without having to be upfront about it. "Best of luck."
"You, too. Doubt you need it."
"Can't hurt anything." I replied, smiling at her and nodding to Niall. "Thanks for the info. See ya both later."
"How long do you reck'n you'll be gone?" He sounded too hopeful.
I shrugged carelessly, pretending to think for a moment. "It varies from assignment to assignment, Niall. I'll keep you guys posted. Later."
I felt both of their gazes on my back the whole way to the door, but I wasn't thinking about them anymore.
Who wants you dead, Jacob Ephraim Black?