by Katie Reus
She figured he liked to micromanage or maybe it was just a weird quirk. She didn’t know and she didn’t care.
Another flash of movement caught her eye and anticipation started to build inside her, a steady hum that sharpened all her focus as she readied herself for what she was about to do. The delivery truck was making its way down the dusty country road. One of the guards at the gate talked to the driver before checking the back of the truck. No surprise, the guard then had the driver get out and frisked him for weapons. Once he was waved through, Selene slowly shifted her weapon toward the house and sure enough her target exited with two guards, one on either side. She’d expected more personal guards but Jurden clearly felt safe enough on his family’s ranch. Which she understood. His perimeter security was good.
She was better.
A doable shot, but not good enough. His guards might not be innocent, but that wasn’t her decision to make. She had very specific orders. One shot, one kill.
Which would cut the head off this burgeoning organization before it grew too big. A couple of well-respected think tanks at the NSA had run scenario after scenario with Jurden, and if he was allowed to grow more powerful, he would cause irreparable damage. He’d already bombed three schools in inner-city neighborhoods, making it look like gang violence. Hundreds of children and teachers had died. And he thought he’d gotten away with it. But bombs leave a unique signature and the man he hired to make the bombs had flipped on him a few months ago to the FBI.
Before that Jurden hadn’t been on anyone’s radar. Now the FBI, NSA, CIA, and a whole lot of other three-letter organizations were currently working to take apart his terrorist cells. It was insane how he’d managed to avoid detection. Insane and scary. They’d have eventually figured out who he was but by then it would have been too late—well, later than it was, considering the loss of life.
His cause would have been bigger and his followers more radical. For once her people had a chance to stop a terrorist organization before it grew unstoppable.
Looking through her scope, she tracked his movements, watching as he talked to the delivery guy, smiling and laughing as if he was just a normal guy, before he headed to the barn. He ran a hand through his blond hair, his blue eyes clear through her scope. She carefully watched his movements and deducted that he wasn’t wearing a vest under his shirt. It wasn’t always possible to tell but Jurden’s movements were too relaxed and his shirt was unbuttoned enough that she was almost positive. So she wouldn’t have to take a head shot. It was almost time.
Her heart rate kicked up the slightest notch but did nothing to alter her concentration. If anything, she was hyperaware of her surroundings. It had taken her a solid two hours to get into position and the past five that she’d been sitting on the property had been mundane, but now the familiar hum of adrenaline coursed through her.
She’d chosen this specific hillside for her final firing position because it was the only area where she could make a rapid escape. The reverse slope of the hillside gave her perfect cover and concealment for her escape and evasion route. No one would even know where she’d set up. Not when she was in her homemade ghillie suit and had camouflaged herself with vegetation from the surrounding area. They might figure it out later, but it would be way too late to serve any purpose and she’d be in another state by then.
Everything else around her ceased to exist as she watched him ride out of the barn on a beautiful stallion. His two guards were with him, but riding far enough behind that they wouldn’t be an issue.
Focusing, she made wind calculations using the grass and mirage at the halfway point to her target. That was something Hollywood got wrong a lot in movies. When snipers calculate wind they don’t do it off where the target is. They do it at the halfway point because that’s where the bullet is at its highest point of trajectory and the wind has the most effect upon it.
Based on the calculations from her range card, she used one of her favorite tactics, the ambush method. She placed the crosshairs of the scope at the point where she knew her target would ride.
She pushed out a deep breath. Steady mind, steady hand.
Three, two . . . She stopped breathing and pulled the trigger.
She hit him center mass. Because of the high caliber, he tumbled backward off the horse, a red stain blooming across the front of his shirt. From there, panic ensued with the two guards and others running from the house and barn, weapons drawn.
That was her cue to get the hell out of Dodge.
An hour later as Selene cruised down the highway in a fifteen-year-old Ford truck with a bad paint job—but a pristine engine—and dressed in a button-down flannel shirt and worn jeans, she put the battery into her burner phone and made the call. Her weapon and ghillie suit were hidden in a secret compartment underneath the toolbox in the back, so even if someone decided to search it, they’d never find it.
Her boss and friend, Wesley Burkhart, answered on the first ring. “Well done.”
“It’s confirmed?”
“Yep. Already hit the news stations.” Burkhart was hard to read, but Selene had known him long enough that, even though his tone was muted, she could tell he was happy with the results. “And eighty percent of his cells have already been dismantled. We’ll be leaking the truth of his perversions to the media in a few days.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised his death had already hit the news, considering Jurden’s family was richer than some small countries. His parents had died five years before, under suspicious circumstances, leaving their massive fortune to their sole heir. Even if he’d been found guilty of his terrorist crimes and ended up in prison, according to the analysts, he would have been able to gain an even bigger following. Selene shuddered as she ran over the potential casualties in her head. “Soon I’m going to switch vehicles but I’ll be back at base in about two hours.”
“Good. Listen, I know you were planning to take a vacation after this but I’ve got a job for you. It involves Tasev.”
Selene’s eyebrows rose at the name. Tasev—first or last name, no one knew for certain—was a true monster. With no allegiance to any country, the man had gouged a huge path of destruction for about a decade, selling weapons to the highest bidder and funneling eastern European women all over the world for the right price. No one had ever been able to get a mole inside his organization either. Then about five years ago it seemed as if he’d fallen off the face of the earth. Some thought he was dead. She’d guessed so too. “He’s still alive?”
“We don’t have visual confirmation but it appears so. You’ll understand why when you read the files. Tasev is planning something huge and we’ve got five days to stop him. But . . . Tasev might be involved with Meghan Lazaro’s murder.”
Bile rose in Selene’s throat and she clenched her fingers tight around the steering wheel. Meghan Lazaro had been a good agent, a good woman, and when she’d been tortured and killed she’d left behind a broken husband. A man who by all accounts had been a freaking Boy Scout before her death. At least according to his files and everything Wesley had ever said about the man. Now he’d gone off the reservation and was on a dark path of vengeance. Selene shook her head, suddenly weighed down with sadness. “Does Lazaro know of his involvement?” If Levi found out about this, he’d do everything in his power to take out Tasev himself.
“I don’t know but I’m sending you all relevant files. You can be on the ground or not. It’s your choice. You’ll be a valuable asset either way.” She knew he was giving her the option because of her unique training. For a job like this she’d be a strong asset whether in the field or in the comm center.
“Ground,” she said instantly, not even having to think about her decision. And it wasn’t because she wanted to bring down Tasev, though she definitely did. She wanted to help Levi Lazaro. The man had gotten a raw deal and she knew how easily he could get caught in the crossfire if there wasn’t at least one person looking out for him. “See you soon.”
; Chapter 3
Off the reservation: when an agent has left the fold of their Agency and no longer recognizes anyone’s authority but his or her own.
Levi held the tumbler Alexander Lopez had just given him loosely in his hand. It was filled with top shelf scotch, neat. He sat on the same chesterfield he’d lounged on mere days ago talking to Lopez about Paul Hill. Hill was a piece of garbage who’d been busted running one of the biggest sex slave rings the world had ever seen. And he’d been doing it right out of Miami. He wouldn’t last long in prison though; there were already multiple hits out on him. Levi hoped the fucker suffered when he died.
Unfortunately his capture meant Levi lost a possible source in his hunt against whoever had killed his wife.
He couldn’t risk going to prison to visit the man either because there would be recordings of the man’s daily visitors and he knew that a lot of the agencies were closely watching Hill right now. They wanted to see what else he was holding back, if anything. Since Levi had left the NSA under less than ideal circumstances and they likely wanted him arrested, he couldn’t get caught on any official radar. Not until he’d avenged his wife’s death. That goal was what made him get up in the morning.
Then he didn’t give a shit what happened to him.
Alexander sat across from him, watching him warily. Or maybe he was just nervous in general. Normally the gunrunner was the epitome of laid back. He tended to wear cargo pants and bright button-down Hawaiian shirts. A little gaudy, but they worked for him. Even though he was in his standard “uniform,” now he was wound tight and none of his normal guards were in the office.
Sighing, Levi set the glass down. They both knew he wouldn’t drink it anyway. He never did. “What’s going on?”
The gunrunner shrugged and rubbed a hand over his face. But he still didn’t respond.
“The beard’s new,” Levi said, just trying to make conversation. His internal radar wasn’t pinging and whether it was stupid or not, he more or less trusted Alexander to be straight with him and not shoot him in the back. They’d done enough business and even though Alexander knew Levi as Isaiah Moore, he trusted the guy more than most criminals.
“Yeah, trying something out. You didn’t bring Jasmine with you today,” he said suddenly, stating the obvious.
Levi straightened at the mention of the escort he’d used as part of his cover on multiple occasions over the past few months. The background he’d built for his current cover ID was a man who loved hiring prostitutes. It had helped establish the type of man he was for his new criminal contacts, and even the smallest details were important when building a background. Something he’d learned with the NSA. He didn’t sleep with any of them, and he liked Jasmine in a nonsexual way. She was real, self-deprecating, and just sweet. No one deserved to get stuck in that life. As of a couple of days ago he’d convinced her to get out of the escort business completely. “Why the fuck are you asking about her?” He hadn’t thought Alexander used prostitutes. It was one of the reasons Levi liked the guy. He had a weird sort of code about stuff like that and it made him different from his criminal counterparts.
To Levi’s surprise, Alexander flushed a dark shade of red and looked down at his own glass. “I heard she’s not in the business anymore. I was just curious about her,” he muttered, the complete lack of confidence out of character.
It took a moment for it to register why Alexander was acting this way. Levi leaned back against the seat, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening. “You like her?” When Jasmine—real name Allison—had accompanied him to meet Alexander on multiple occasions they’d talked a few times. She’d never said about what but maybe she’d made an impression on the arms dealer.
Alexander looked up again but his gaze was shuttered. “I’ve got the information you requested.”
Levi realized he was changing the subject and left the Jasmine topic alone. It wasn’t his business anyway. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”
Alexander half smiled, looking like the predator Levi knew him to be. He might hide behind his low-key attitude but the man hadn’t lasted in this business for decades by being stupid. “I’ll give you the morgue files for our normal fee, but . . . I’ve also come across something I think you’ll find interesting. The man who engages in that fucked-up killing style you’re hunting was found dead too.”
All the blood rushed to Levi’s ears, the roar so deafening it took him a moment to find his voice. He tried to appear as if he was unimpressed when in reality he’d sell his soul to find the man. For almost two years he’d jumped from cover to cover, working deep off the grid in various criminal organizations as he tried to hunt down the man who’d tortured and killed his pregnant wife. He knew the man was Russian and he had his name. That was it. “You’re sure it’s the same man?”
Alexander nodded. “His name’s Vasily and he’s linked to almost fifty murders across the globe. All murder for hire. It’s him.”
Levi had never told anyone the name Vasily. “And you have confirmation?” That bastard was dead? Levi should feel relief but instead he felt rage that he hadn’t been the one who’d killed him. Even if Vasily had been behind Meghan’s murder, he’d been hired to do it. Which meant Vasily wasn’t the final target. Levi wanted the man who’d given the order.
“I have more than that—I know who his boss is.”
Levi didn’t bother hiding his eagerness now. He couldn’t if he tried. His heart rate kicked into overdrive and his damn palms actually grew damp. “What do you want for this information?” Because he didn’t doubt it was good. Alexander wouldn’t have come to him with it otherwise.
“Our normal fee plus you set me up with Jasmine. On a date. A real one. You’ll tell her what a good guy I am and make it happen.”
Levi blinked, watching Alexander to see if he was messing with him. He didn’t respond though, a tactic he used when he wanted his opponent to keep talking.
Alexander’s jaw clenched. “I’m just asking for a setup. That’s it. I would ask her out myself but I can’t find her,” he muttered.
That was because she’d gotten out of the business and was using her real name instead of Jasmine. “You know she’s not for hire—that a real date would be just that. A real date.”
“I know. I want to take her out, not pay for . . . You want the information or not?” Alexander snapped, his face flushing again.
“You know I do. I give you my word I’ll set something up with you two. Other than a date, I can’t guarantee anything though.” He wasn’t a freaking pimp. And even if he’d sell his own soul to get the information he desperately wanted, he’d never sell another human. He might have crossed some lines in the past couple of years but he’d never cross that one.
The arms dealer nodded. “I also have one more condition. After I give you the information on Vasily’s boss, I know you’re going to want to meet him. I also know you take escorts with you for whatever reason, and we both know you’re not sleeping with them. My only other condition is that you don’t take Jasmine—or any hired woman—with you when you meet the man. He’s worse than Paul Hill.”
It took a lot to surprise Levi, and right now, he was stunned that Alexander knew he wasn’t sleeping with the escorts and by the man’s odd request. There could be a multitude of reasons for the request, but the mention of Hill made him think there was only one: Alexander didn’t want any women to get hurt. “Deal.”
Alexander nodded once, then picked up two manila envelopes sitting next to him on the couch and handed them to Levi. “These are the known victims, and this”—he slid another, thicker, envelope over to him—“is all the information I was able to gather on Vasily. Looks as if he was killed by a single shot to the head. Whoever dumped the body did a piss-poor job of weighting him down. He was dropped in the Everglades but a driver for one of those airboat tours found him tangled up in some tree roots.”
Though Levi was eager to devour the contents of the files, h
e held off opening them. He’d do that once he was alone and wouldn’t have any interruptions. “Who linked all the murders?” Because there had been no fingerprints or DNA left with his wife’s . . . body parts. Her killer, or killers, hadn’t even left him her whole body to bury. Hadn’t left them their unborn child . . . Fuck, he shook his head as that dark abyss he struggled with every day threatened to swallow him. They’d left pictures of what they’d done, of her being raped, before they’d killed her. He’d burned them all, unwilling to let them go into evidence. No one would ever see Meghan like that. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the horrific images but that just made it worse. Levi clenched his jaw, a sharp slice of rage threatening to overwhelm him.
Alexander shifted in his seat, that wariness back in his gaze, and Levi realized he probably looked as if he wanted to murder someone. “Ah . . . Interpol. I’m sure there are other agencies that linked them as well, but my contact is with Interpol.”
That was certainly interesting, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Alexander had managed to avoid prison for a long time so it stood to reason he had an interesting array of contacts. Ones who found him too useful to bring in. “Who’s his boss?” Because whoever that was, he would be the man who’d ordered Meghan’s execution. And once Levi had that name, he’d rain hell down on the man and he didn’t care who got in his way as long as the animal wound up dead.
Alexander glanced over his shoulder at the door, even though Levi already knew the room was secure. The man had anti-surveillance hardware in place that basically blocked the government from eavesdropping on anything said in this room. When he looked back at Levi, for the briefest moment there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. For himself, or Levi, he wasn’t sure. But then it was gone. “Tasev.”
