She threw him a grin over her shoulder. “Thanks for the offer, but I told you I don’t follow orders very well.”
With one last wave, she opened her door and climbed into the driver’s seat. She was already stiffening up and would likely have to crawl out of her car to get to her hotel room. It would be worth it, though. Meeks would never be free again. He’d left too much DNA at his crime scenes to get out of this. She’d done the job she’d set out to do and felt damn good about that.
Tugging off the blond wig, Jules pulled pins from her hair, sighing in relief as a cascade of strawberry-blond strands settled around her shoulders. Moving her neck and shoulders to get the kinks out, she steered her car back toward Memphis. Bright lights outlining the bridge twinkled in the distance, and Jules had to fight the unusual temptation to stay just one more day to explore the fascinating city. She pushed aside the unusual longing. She didn’t do tours or take vacations.
Most people would call her crazy for getting involved in something so risky. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a full-time job already. Because of her reputation and the skills she’d acquired, she had more than enough work to keep her busy without seeking out more. Others might consider her arrogant. Risk was the least of her worries, and arrogance had nothing to do with it. She had survived the unimaginable. So many others hadn’t. And while she had long passed the point where guilt and grief made her wish she had died, too, she couldn’t live without doing all she could.
Keeping herself out of the limelight was getting harder. Barely a handful of people knew about her. The more she involved herself, the greater her chances of being found out. Serial-killer cases tended to get more publicity, which meant the people who caught them got noticed, too. Publicity was the last thing Jules wanted. She didn’t hunt serial killers for fame and most certainly not for money. Some might call this her destiny. Jules didn’t know about that. All she knew was she had survived for a reason. If she had the skills to save a life or bring a monster to justice, how could she not do all she could?
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the caller ID on the dash screen. There were only one or two people she could bear talking with tonight. When she saw the area code, her heart skipped several beats. Not a friend, but most definitely someone she wanted to talk to.
Giving herself no time to hesitate or second-guess her decision, she slid into another persona, answering with a brisk, “Yes?”
“Is this Ms. Diamond? Ms. Jessie Diamond?”
“Yes. This is Jess. Who’s this?”
“Ms. Diamond, my name is Lisa Steiner. I’m Senator Nora Turner’s personal aide. The senator wondered if you’d have time to meet with her about a possible job opportunity.”
“I’m not into politics.”
“Politics aren’t involved.”
Jules rolled her eyes at that extremely false statement. “What kind of job, then?”
She asked the question more to see what kind of reason Steiner would give. She had been speculating about how Turner would approach her.
“This is a personal matter. Not one we can discuss on the phone.”
“The payout?”
“Let’s just say you won’t be disappointed by our offer.”
“When and where?”
“The senator is on the road in Ohio, conducting town hall meetings. Can you be in Cincinnati on Thursday afternoon?”
“That should work. Where and what time?”
“I’ll text you the details.”
Ending the call, Jules took a moment to savor this victory. She had a lot of work ahead of her and would likely experience more emotions than she’d allowed herself to feel for years, but she could not turn her back on this. For a short time, she would put aside her need to hunt killers and do what she had dreamed of doing for years. It was time, way past time, to pay a debt.
Chapter Five
Budapest, Hungary
Asher Drake stepped out of the limousine and onto the sidewalk in front of the massive hotel. Head cocked at an arrogant angle, he asked, “We ready?”
Serena Donavan, Option Zero’s head communications specialist, answered in his ear. “Good to go on our end.”
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
Nodding at the dour doorman standing at the entrance to one of Budapest’s oldest and most exclusive hotels, Ash, known only as Humphrey here, strode inside. Impeccably dressed in an eight-thousand-dollar suit made from the finest of wools, he wore a.testoni shoes and a Christian Lacroix tie. A dark brown wig with a receding hairline gave the impression that he was trying and not succeeding to hold on to as much hair as possible. He had a bit of putty at his nose and chin, bushy dark brows, contact lenses the color of dry mud covering distinctive blue eyes, and a set of veneers over his teeth that gave him a pointed, piranha-looking smile. Even Ash’s own mother, rest her soul, wouldn’t recognize him.
Anyone who looked at the man named Humphrey would see what he wanted them to see—wealth, supreme arrogance, and a disdain for most of mankind. Ash had played the role more times than he could count. It was actually a comfortable one, as not giving a damn came easily to him.
As he sauntered through the lobby, he was aware of the whispers, the stares. A few recognized him, most didn’t, but he ensured he made an impact that everyone would remember. Humphrey was a man who made things happen. He might not give a damn about people, but he definitely wanted them to give a damn about him. Egomaniacal Behavior 101.
Humphrey did not have an entourage. That was part of his mystique. It was rumored that he had killed ten men in less than a minute because they betrayed him. That was an exaggeration. It had been only six, and his reasons had nothing to do with betrayal.
He didn’t slow down when he neared the elevators. The doors magically opened for him the instant he arrived. Anyone watching might believe he had the power to call forth an elevator by sheer magnetism alone. They didn’t know that he had people controlling the hotel elevators. It was an amusing parlor trick that went well with the mystique he had cultivated.
The doors closed and the elevator rose slowly toward the penthouse suite. As he was alone and the cameras had been disarmed, he repositioned his earwig and asked, “Any interference with the communication?”
“Clear as a bell. Pure as the driven snow. Perfect as a spring morning on the moors of my beloved homeland.”
Ash winced at Sean Donavan’s ridiculously cheerful tone. Donavan had just returned from his honeymoon and had yet to come down from the clouds. His wife, Serena, gave a soft chuckle and said, “Shh.”
Sean and Serena’s romantic relationship had caused no problems. As usual, they were on the mark professionally and did their jobs well. When they’d announced their engagement last year, Ash had wondered if things would change. They hadn’t. In fact, other than the annoying cheerful attitude from Sean and the happy glow on Serena’s face, nothing was different. He was glad of that, as he’d hate to lose either of them.
The elevator jarred a bit when it stopped at the top floor. The doors slid open, and Humphrey emerged. In a glance, he noted the guard count was exceptionally high. Not that unusual for a meeting such as this. The reputation he’d developed for Humphrey almost required additional protection. Perhaps it was small-minded of him, but Ash enjoyed knowing that he had created that kind of fear in these people.
In an odd way, Humphrey’s deadly reputation made Ash’s job harder. Taking out the infamous Humphrey would be a gold star on someone’s assassination list. It would likely happen someday. For right now, Humphrey offered a valuable commodity that gave him a certain amount of protection. Didn’t mean some hothead looking to make a name for himself wouldn’t take the risk, but that was the game he played.
A barely perceptible nod at the behemoth guarding the door gave the man permission to commence a search. Jerking his head at the two bodyguards standing behind Humphrey, the behemoth gave the order.
Holding his arms up and out, he allowed the pat-down. Not carrying a weapon int
o a meeting with a well-known weapons broker might have seemed insane. A gun wasn’t necessary. If he wanted anyone dead, Humphrey could find ten household items to do the job just as well.
Search complete, the grim-faced guard muttered something, and whoever was on the other side opened the door. Another guard, slightly smaller than the others, stood there. “Mr. Humphrey, please come inside. Omar is waiting.”
Omar Schrader was a slight man with spindly legs, thinning hair, and an unfortunate overbite. He looked as dangerous as a sickly kitten. Behind that unassuming appearance was an intelligent, lethal man whose appetite for money was matched only by his voracious need for beautiful women. Omar relied on his wealth and influence to get him the latter.
Beady eyes twinkling, Omar held out his hand. “Humphrey, my dear friend. How delightful to see you again.”
Shaking the other man’s hand was like holding an eel, both cold and slimy. Humphrey resisted the urge to wipe his hand the instant the shake was over. Insulting Omar was not a good idea.
“You’re looking well, Omar.”
Omar gave a gap-toothed grin. “Clean living. You should try it.”
“And then where would people go when they need what I supply?”
“Excellent point. I understand you have something new to offer?”
“Experimental and tested on a limited basis only. However, the first one to make the right offer will be the first one to get the weapon.”
“I am intrigued. Tell me more.”
Humphrey nodded toward one of the men who had searched him. The flash drive had been taken from him when he arrived. Omar waved his hand, giving the guard permission to return it.
Humphrey went to a laptop sitting on a desk and inserted the drive. A few clicks later, a legitimate-looking formula appeared. Omar was no chemist, but he was educated in a variety of deadly things. The compounds in the formula could indeed kill thousands when mixed together, perhaps millions. It was authentic-looking enough to fool even the most experienced weapons dealer and would get Humphrey where he wanted to go. Omar was a go-between. He would review the information, and if he approved, he would then sell it to a client, taking a substantial fee for himself.
Glasses propped on the edge of his nose, all humor replaced with a serious, studious look, Omar sat at the desk and reviewed the deadly information.
Humphrey stood several feet away. Not by any change in his demeanor did he give away his tenseness. He had been assured that the formula looked so authentic that ninety-nine percent of the world’s chemists would not immediately detect the flaw. The other one percent was worrisome, but Omar was no chemist, which provided a certain amount of assurance that the formula would pass muster.
Omar glanced over his shoulder. “You have a recording of the tests?”
“Just one. As you know”—Humphrey offered a small, feral smile—“finding a large group of people to agree to die for the sake of science is difficult.” He nodded toward the screen. “Click on the second file.”
Turning back, Omar did just that and watched, mesmerized, as five people seemingly unaware of their fate were spritzed with a clear, odorless substance. Seconds later, chaos erupted on the screen.
Even though it was fake, watching people act out horrendous deaths was not pleasant. Having been told the performance would be for an obscure horror movie, the actors had been paid well for an hour of their time. They had walked out of the studio unaware that they’d played a part in setting a trap for a mass murderer.
Still not sure they’d pulled it off, Humphrey raised an arrogant brow and brazened it out. “Well?”
“You have outdone yourself, my friend. This will attract many.”
The “many” didn’t hold Ash’s interest. There was no shortage of people looking to kill for various reasons. Many would be interested in owning this type of bioweapon. Only a few could afford to pay the exorbitant price Humphrey would demand. There was only one man in particular they were targeting. Carl Lang had already proven his willingness to murder large numbers of people for both fun and profit. They were counting on this weapon being right up his alley.
“Your asking price?”
“Two hundred fifty million.”
“That’s quite a lot of money.”
“Considering the product, I believe the amount is more than justified.”
“Hmm.” Behind Omar’s thick glasses, his eyes glistened with greed. “Considering the buyers we will be dealing with, the risks are higher than normal. I’ll want more than my usual cut.”
Before Humphrey could protest, Omar was quick to add, “Be assured, I don’t think you’ll have any problem getting your asking price.” He pulled out the flash drive, closed the laptop, and stood. “I’ll set up the auction and get back to you on the final bid.”
“No.”
Omar froze, cocked his head. “No?”
“I want to attend the auction. I have too much on the line this time.”
“Do you dare imply that I would cheat you?”
Omar would cheat his own mother if the price was right. Humphrey walked a fragile line here, but he had no choice. The only way to get to his target was to be invited to the auction. He was counting on Lang being the highest bidder. Others would try, but Lang had the money, which made him the most dangerous for right now.
“Cheat me? No, of course not, Omar. However, we’ve known each other long enough that you should trust me. This is the most valuable product I’ve ever offered. I deserve to be involved with the whole process.”
Beady eyes narrowed, gleaming with malice. “Or I could just keep the formula and leave you out altogether.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh, really?” Omar sent a look to one of his men, and weapons were drawn. A smug smile lifted Omar’s thin lips. “What, may I ask, is keeping me from doing that very thing?”
Without blinking an eye, Humphrey nodded at the laptop. “Plug in the drive again, and you’ll see.”
Omar inserted the drive. When neither of the files appeared on the screen, the amoral weapons broker whirled around, his eyes spitting furious indignation. “What have you done?”
“Just a little insurance policy. The instant you clicked off the flash drive, all information was destroyed. I have the original in a safe place.”
Omar turned back to the laptop and continued to try to pull up the information. After several minutes, he closed the laptop and stood. Facing Humphrey, Omar gave a tight smile. “Well played, my friend. Careful you don’t play too hard, though. You might get burned.”
“Ah, Omar.” Humphrey sighed, shaking his head. “We’ve known each other too long to play games. Do we have a deal or not?”
“I will have to confer with my associates before I can make such a promise.”
Omar was still trying to play games, but instead of calling him on it, Humphrey chose to appeal to his ego. “You set up the auctions. You invite who you want. You’re the man in charge.”
Omar’s smile indicated he’d scored with that last comment. “That is true. Very well, my friend. I will arrange the auction and contact you with the location. Just be sure that when you come, you bring a drive that does not do a disappearing act. Yes?”
Humphrey grinned. Omar was a slimy weasel, but he could be likable as long as you didn’t turn your back to him.
“Excellent. I’ll be sure to bring you a bottle of Balvenie Scotch to celebrate.”
Omar clapped his hands together with glee. “You know my weakness. Very well. We will drink it together after we make the sale.”
With a small salute, Humphrey walked out the door. He looked neither left nor right, knowing eyes would be on him until he entered the elevator. As before, the elevator doors opened like magic, and Humphrey stepped inside.
The instant the elevator doors closed, Ash spoke into the mic doing double duty as a cuff link. “We’re in.”
Chapter Six
Jules had been watching him for a while. For someone trained
in covert ops, Asher Drake was surprisingly easy to track. Of course she had studied him. Knowing everything about her targets was her number one rule. And she had learned everything she could about this man long before she’d accepted this job.
Orders from her new employer were simple, straightforward. Watch Drake. See where he goes, what he does, who he meets, what he says. Proceed with caution. Don’t approach, don’t engage. Not yet. Report your findings.
Couldn’t get much easier than that.
Of course, she had no intention of following orders, most especially the last one. Jules had engineered this job for her own purpose. If her employer found out her reasons, she would lose the job, possibly her life. The risk was nothing new to her, but there was the added benefit of doing the exact opposite of what she’d been told to do. Considering who her employer was, disobeying orders had never felt so good.
She was playing a dangerous game, one she wasn’t certain she would win. But she had no choice but to try. Some things were worth fighting for, and a few things were worth dying for. This was one of those things.
Besides, it could be worse. How many people would love to be sitting at a sidewalk café in the middle of one of the most beautiful cities in the world, sipping coffee and enjoying a delicious Dobos torte? Not to mention the sheer enjoyment of watching an unarguably gorgeous man.
Asher Drake’s physical bio said he was thirty-eight years old, six-three, weighed around two hundred ten, and had blond hair and blue eyes. The bio didn’t do justice to the man. It said nothing about shoulders broad enough to carry a grown man through a desert or a hard, athletic body built for strength and endurance. And blond hair? Not exactly. From this angle, the color was more of a summer wheat, but in the direct sunlight, she had counted at least four shades of blond, a little bit of brown, and maybe a hint of auburn. It was somewhat shaggy, as if he hadn’t had a cut in a while. The longish, unkempt style suited him. His skin was a light golden bronze. He had high, sculpted cheekbones, a sharp nose, and a chin squaring toward stubborn. She suspected that centuries ago, his Viking ancestors had conquered foreign lands and created new worlds. Asher Drake looked like he had inherited every bit of that power and arrogance.
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