Now Ethan knew. Jäger hadn’t owned the place, but the woman.
The Huracán glided out of the hotel driveway and into the thick traffic. In his afternoon of watching, Ethan had yet to see the dense traffic ease off at all. At the intersection, the car turned left and was quickly lost in a sea of vehicles.
Ethan hurried across the street and as he ducked between two bushes, discarded the kurta and mask. From his backpack he retrieved a leather jacket and put it on. He kept the camera, made sure the extra lenses for it weren’t quite out of sight in the backpack’s pockets and exchanged the cheap sunglasses for a pair of Versace wraparounds. Wig artfully tousled, jacket opened wide, showing off the silk shirt stretched tight across his chest, Ethan swaggered into the Oberoi.
Just inside the foyer he stopped and surveyed the open, airy space with a slight pout. In such a crowded city, so much square footage was pure luxury and the Oberoi didn’t stint in showing it off. Tall, clear windows flooded the area with natural light, as did the skylights far above. The polished floor was sparsely used by a red grand piano, a statue of ballet dancers, and a few clusters of chairs and coffee tables. It was understated elegance done at its best.
With a dramatic spin, Ethan took in his surroundings, including egress points and potential obstructions—to his own escape and possible pursuit.
“Sir? May I help you?”
Ethan gasped and turned to the speaker, clutching his chest. An elegantly outfitted concierge in a dark blue kurta was standing a couple of feet away, expression politely enquiring.
“Oh my. Yes, darlin’, yes, you can help me. Is this”—Ethan waved wildly at the foyer around them—“the Oberoi hotel? Please tell me it is, because I’ve been to two different places claiming to be the Oberoi so far today and I’m late. I know I’m late but it couldn’t be avoided when there is, like, three different places called Oberoi in this one city.”
The Indian man stood stoically in the frantic wash of southern USA-tinged words and didn’t react other than to nod politely. “Yes, sir, this is the Oberoi.”
“Thank heavens.” With a massive sigh, Ethan grabbed the man’s arm like it was a life preserver. “Now, if you could just be so good as to call Mr. Jäger and let him know I’m here, I’d love you forever.”
Gently extracting his arm, the concierge tilted his head slightly, giving Ethan a very subtle once over. “Is Mr. Jäger expecting you?”
“I should hope so. I’m here to photograph him in your . . .” He sighed as if making a huge sacrifice. “Stunning hotel. But as I said, I’m late, so please don’t keep him waiting any longer. I’ll just be here when you’re ready to take me to him.” Ethan swept toward one of the chairs in the middle of the foyer and dropped into it as if he’d run a marathon and started fanning himself.
It didn’t take long for the concierge to return and inform him that Mr. Jäger wasn’t in at the moment. Ethan’s declaration that he’d wait for Jäger in his suite was met with polite refusal, so in a show of gracious compromise, Ethan allowed them to book him into the suite next to Jäger’s.
The suite was as spacious as the foyer, and as delicately appointed, and the view of Marine Drive as spectacular as promised. Sadly, there was no balcony conveniently adjacent to Jäger’s, but after a quick search, Ethan found an access panel to the ceiling crawl space in the bathroom.
Over the next hour, Ethan kept a surreptitious watch on Jäger’s suite, while making random demands of room service for drinks and food. He didn’t think he’d need the guise of a flighty photographer in order to leave but keeping up the pretence gave him something to do while waiting to see if Jäger would return quickly. He didn’t, and when the sun had been down for over an hour, Ethan decided it was time to stop waiting.
Zipping up his leather jacket, which doubled as light, flexible body armour, he hauled himself up into the ceiling and, moving extremely cautiously, crept across to Jäger’s suite. Twenty minutes with his ear pressed to the access panel assured him there was no one in the rooms and he carefully opened it and dropped silently into the room.
Jäger’s suite was a mirror of Ethan’s and he canvased it efficiently, finding himself completely alone. Then he went through the man’s luggage, looking for clues about why he was in Mumbai. Of course he found nothing. If Jäger was who Ethan believed him to be, then he would know better than to leave even the smallest hint about his motives.
Ethan found a spot by the windows at the front of the suite where he could see the road outside but not be easily seen in return, and settled in to wait. Two hours later, when the traffic had finally eased off, the orange Lambo returned, disappearing under the canopy at the entrance. Ethan moved to his next position, the ambient light from outside enough for him to see by without his sunglasses.
Pressed to the wall in the sitting room, next to the doorway from the small entryway, Ethan let all of his thoughts and worries go. His instincts were unparalleled, his training etched so deeply into his bones it was almost part of his DNA. The few small niggling injuries he’d accumulated over the past several months faded out of his conscious mind. He couldn’t afford to let them slow him down in this fight. Jäger was so close to the end of the line Ethan had to succeed. If his target got away now he’d have to start all over again—and Ethan didn’t think he had the reserves to do that.
Three intense months of hunting, stalking and killing had taken their toll. His already spare frame had lost mass, leaving his muscles ropy and even more starkly defined. Yet it wasn’t his body Ethan feared for. The hollowing out of his chest that had started as he walked away from the penthouse in Sydney had continued until he felt completely empty inside. All the warmth and fulfillment he’d felt over the past year had vanished as if it had never been—except for that one place under his ribs that still burned hot, a sun sitting in the vacuum of space.
Jack.
Ethan had had to put his lover out of his head in order to get this job done, but he hadn’t been able to cut himself off from the man entirely. No matter how far Ethan ran, or what he did, or who he did it to, Jack would always be with him now. The changes he had wrought in Ethan were as indelible as those the Cabal had made, as deeply embedded. At first, he’d allowed himself to long for Jack once a day. Then once every two days, every three days, then once a week. Distance between didn’t lessen the pain, rather seemed to intensify it, until in The Hague Ethan had nearly forgotten why he was doing this.
Jack had been so close Ethan could have lifted a hand and brushed it across his back, like he’d done hundreds of times before. A light trail of his fingers over that broad, hard surface as he moved past Jack in the kitchen, or in the shower, or as they lay together in bed, Jack snoring and oblivious as Ethan explored him in wonderment. He knew that back so well it had been almost as if he could see Jack’s St. Thomas Cross tattoo through the material of his ISO jacket and shirt.
All it had taken to stop him was the reminder of his knife sliding into Four’s body. Of watching Ten’s chest to ensure he didn’t draw breath. Of the uncertainty of Seven’s wellbeing. That’s why he was doing this, not for Jack or himself, but to make sure his siblings’ torturers were punished.
The click of the key card in the door’s lock snapped Ethan back to the present and focused him on the immediate threat. The door opened, someone stepped in, and then closed the door. Three long strides brought the person down the entryway and into the living area.
It was the steps that told Ethan this wasn’t Jäger. The man wasn’t that tall. Then a hand appeared and he froze.
Brown skin. Long fingers. Blunt nails.
Ethan grabbed the wrist and pulled, then hooked a foot around the man’s forward leg and swept it out from under him.
Even as Ten started to fall, he twisted and pulled Ethan over, both of them crashing to the floor. Rolling, Ethan hit the credenza against the wall. A vase of fresh flowers toppled over. Catching it, Ethan tossed it at Ten, who deflected it with a forearm so it smashed against the wall, th
en lunged after him. Ten piled on top of Ethan and they rolled, hitting the credenza again. A tray of cut crystal tumblers and a decanter of liqueur rattled but didn’t fall. Trapped between Ten and the furniture, Ethan didn’t have much room, but he slammed a fist into Ten’s ribs twice with as much power as he could. Ten grunted and reared back, lips pulled away from his teeth in a vicious snarl. Ethan thrust the heel of his palm up and into Ten’s face, hoping to break his nose and perhaps shove shards of bone and cartilage into his brain.
Ten dodged the blow and got an arm around Ethan’s neck. He hauled Ethan up into a sitting position, swung around him and, forearm pressing on his throat, leaned backwards. Air cut off, Ethan scrambled at the floor, seeking the shards of the broken vase. The moment his fingers found wet ceramic, he grabbed it and slashed at Ten’s arm. Ten let him go and shoved backwards.
Ethan threw himself forwards, tumbling over one shoulder and coming up to his feet. Ten was also up and came at him without a pause, forcing Ethan into the corner. Grabbed from behind, Ethan leaned back into the other man and ran his feet up the wall. Kicking off, he flipped over Ten, breaking his hold. He landed and skipped backwards as Ten spun and attacked again. Ethan threw up arms and knees to keep Ten from landing a blow on his core. They moved into the open area of the suite, between the grand piano and office desk with a view of the ocean through a wide window.
“They’re not going to let you keep going, One-three,” Ten said calmly, dodging a spinning kick. “They know you’re coming.”
“I made no secret of it.” Ethan snatched a folded blanket off the back of a couch and snapped it out at Ten’s face.
Dodging the material, Ten shifted right into Ethan’s kick. He flew sideways, staggering into the desk. A lamp crashed to the floor. Ethan lunged for him, but Ten slid along the length of the desk, before sitting on the corner and spinning on the polished surface. Ethan threw himself out of range of the boots aimed at his chest, and Ten came after him.
“How did you escape the chopper?” Ethan followed the words with a fast series of punches to his ribs.
Ten grunted and broke off, dodging around a plush armchair, keeping it between them as Ethan circled.
“You’re too quick to run, little brother,” Ten said in his flat tone. “The water brought me round and I found an air-pocket which kept me alive until I found an exit.” He traced a new scar running from under his hairline and down his right temple. “You left me with this souvenir.” He jumped onto the chair, tipping it over backwards and riding it down. Using the momentum, he launched himself at Ethan.
Ethan met him, fist driving for his exposed side. Ten threw an arm up, shoving the strike high, delivered a solid blow to Ethan’s guts, then spun. He wrapped his arm around Ethan’s wrist, wrenching it around behind him.
Going with the turn, Ethan jumped and landed on his brother’s back. Ten fell forwards and Ethan propelled himself into a tumble over his head. Flipping to his feet, he delivered double-barrelled kicks right into Ten’s face.
Blood splattered the floor as Ten scrambled away. Ethan pursued him.
“Where’s Jäger?” he demanded, keeping his brother on the defensive.
“You won’t find him.” Ten spat bloody phlegm. “The bosses wanted him brought in.”
The bosses of the Cabal. Ethan’s ultimate targets.
“Let it go.” Ten angled around until he faced the view from the corner suite.
Back to the scenery, Ethan loosened his limbs, readying for the charge. “I can’t. They have to end. What they did to us was wrong. It was cruel and they had no right.” He may as well have been talking to a brick wall for all that Ten would understand.
Blood dripping from his nostrils, Ten was as blank as if Ethan had been talking about how pleasant the weather was.
Ethan hurt. Not just from Ten’s blows or his strained muscles. He hurt in his chest. He’d spent the last three months believing he’d killed all of his remaining brothers, that he’d left his only living sister to the mercy of the Office. And yet, here was Ten. Alive. And it hurt to know he would have to kill this cold, distant man all over again.
Why couldn’t this all just be over?
“They’ll take you back, One-three.” Ten took a few steps backwards. “You just have to go with me to meet Zero.”
“I didn’t fall for that last time, what—”
Ten was already moving though. He spun and raced for the door to the suite. Ethan sprang after him. Ten wrenched the door open, dashed out and slammed it shut behind him.
Barrelling outside, Ethan was a fraction too late narrowing his eyes against the glare of the outside lights and didn’t see the trap in time to stop himself from springing it.
Ten hadn’t kept running. He was, instead, crouched against the glass balustrade on the edge of the landing, which gave an unobstructed view of the hollow core of the building.
Ethan all but collided with Ten as he surged up to his feet. Shoulders rammed into Ethan’s gut, lifting him. Hands grabbed the material of his pants around his thighs and hefted him up and over.
Ethan tumbled out over a lot of empty space, half blind from the light. He twisted, reaching for Ten, for the railing, for anything. Ten dodged his flailing hand and stepped back. His expressionless brown face was the last thing Ethan saw as he plummeted.
Something brushed his grasping hands and he closed his fingers around it. Soft leaves from the decorative vines draped over the edge of the balustrade were crushed in his fists. Momentum jerked the plants out of their shallow soil and he dropped again, his weight too much for the slender tendrils. But it slowed him enough to catch the lip of the balcony.
Thirty odd floors of space yawned wide below him and there was nothing but his fingertips to stop him from falling the entire way. Heart slamming, Ethan focused on getting his breathing under control. His fingers stung like they were being pierced with hot needles and his arms trembled with the effort of holding himself still. Slowly, slowly, he pulled himself up in the most daring chin-up ever. Ethan got one forearm onto the very narrow lip under the balustrade. Trusting to that, he let go with his other hand and reached for the thickest wad of plants he could find. The moment he tugged on them, they came loose and he jerked back. There was absolutely no purchase against the glass barrier, his hand sliding downwards even as his body swayed, pulling him away from the edge. His precarious hold on the landing slipped.
Then a hand appeared over the top of the railing.
Brown skin. Long fingers. Blunt nails.
Ethan didn’t even have to think twice. He threw himself upwards, striving for that hand. Palms slapped against wrists, fingers closed tight, and Ethan was hauled upwards.
Jack pulled Ethan over the glass balustrade, taking his weight and staggering backwards until he was pressed against the wall, his errant lover clasped tight to his chest.
Ethan was shaking, dragging in shallow, gasping breaths. He tucked his face into Jack’s chest and clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his muscles as hard as they’d clung to life seconds ago.
“Jesus,” Jack murmured over and over, arms tightening around Ethan.
He’d rushed out of the elevator just in time to see Ethan be thrown over a balcony—on the far side of the hotel. His heart had stuttered to a stop, then slammed into frantic action as he raced around the landing. Across the way, a brown-skinned man had sprinted away in the other direction, not waiting to see if Ethan fell, or caught himself on the balcony below, which he had.
Thank fuck.
And now Jack wasn’t about to let him go. Not now that he’d finally caught up and nearly lost him in the same moment. Nothing was going to—
Ethan twisted out of Jack’s hold and put on a pair of wraparound sunglasses. “I have to go after him.” He spun around, ready to run.
Jack caught his arm and dug his heels in. “No fucking way.”
“He knows where Hermann Jäger is, and that’s how I find them.”
Ethan wasn’t trembli
ng anymore. He was still and expressionless, closed against the chaotic feelings that threatened to swamp him. As much as he’d brought turmoil into Jack and Ethan’s life, the psychiatrist Adam Quinn had given Jack precious insight into this man. These deadly calms that had once scared Jack only left him concerned now, knowing that Ethan was battling against unwanted emotions.
“Okay.” Jack didn’t relax his hold. Ethan wasn’t running away again. Ever. “But not alone.”
For a moment longer, Ethan was statue still, then he nodded. Not so long ago, Jack would have accepted that nod at face value. Now, after three months of chasing Ethan as he assassinated his way around the world, after being so close they could have touched in The Hague and Ethan had simply walked on by, he wasn’t convinced. Yet he had to show some trust or he’d never get Ethan out of here alive.
Jack let his hand drop. Ethan didn’t run away.
“Do you have a plan?” Ethan asked.
Pointing to the stairwell the bastard who’d tried to kill Ethan had disappeared into, he said, “Follow him. He knows where Jäger is.”
That rogue corner of Ethan’s mouth twitched up for a second, then he was off and running. Jack was on his heels not a second later. They burst into the stairwell and both of them stopped on the landing, listening. In a hotel of this size and at this late hour, not many guests used the stairs, so it was easy to make out running footsteps . . . below them, heading downwards. Ethan in the lead, they raced down, taking stairs three at a time and leaping over railings. Thirty floors flew by and by the time they hit the wide, glossy floor of the ground level, it was just in time to see an orange Lamborghini peel out of the driveway.
Ethan sprinted through the largely deserted foyer for the front of the hotel. Jack veered off.
When Death Frees the Devil Page 17
