You Only Die Twice

by Christopher Smith

  Miller stood and Blue, who years ago took to his obedience training like a pro, immediately got to Miller’s left and sat down. Miller always kept a supply of treats in his pocket and he gave one to the dog. “So, where to today?” he asked. “The usual?”

  Blue barked.

  “I thought so. Let’s go. We’ve got five miles ahead of us and I think that after today, we both could use the walk.”

  They stepped out of Miller’s library, which was one room out of twenty in his lavish penthouse apartment on Sutton Place, and the moment they did so, Miller saw out of the corner of his eye a blurring rush coming toward him.

  He was struck hard in the head by a heavy object, which knocked him to the floor and to the gray edges of unconsciousness.

  He shook his head, tried to get up, but the room was spinning. His vision was clouded. He could hear tapping on the floor. He blinked hard and watched Blue being taken away from him by someone else. The dog was led back into the library. Miller heard the door click shut.

  Blue barked. That dog meant everything to Miller. He tried to get on his feet but a dark plastic bag was slipped over his head. Someone’s hands tucked beneath his armpits, he was lifted up and urged toward the winding staircase. Whoever it was, was far stronger than he.

  But Miller struggled.

  He may have been older now and no longer the once-celebrated quarterback of the Yale football team, but Kenneth Miller was nothing if not in shape and in spite of his age, he wasn’t weak. He took his elbow and rammed it hard into the ribs of the person behind him, which was enough to make his assailant rear back and lose the grip on the plastic bag, which Miller tore off.

  Gasping for breath, he spun around and faced his killer just as the person charged toward him.

  It all happened so quickly, his mind couldn’t fully process it. He couldn’t tell if the person coming at him was a male or female—they were wearing dark clothes, a black Lycra ski mask and then they were upon him.

  Miller grabbed a vase on the table beside him and threw it just as he was about to be taken down.

  The vase struck the person in the chest, crushing the momentum. The attacker slipped on the marble floor and with a hard whack on the head, became unconscious. Unbelieving, Miller stood there, calling out for help. Where was his staff? Why weren’t they here? And then he remembered. It was Sunday. They had the day off. He was alone.

  He walked over to the body and pulled off the mask. He stared at the face with disappointment and pulled away from it just as the door to the library opened and the person who took Blue away appeared.

  “You can’t get us all,” the person said.

  “Why are you doing this?” Miller asked.

  “You know why. You forced this situation. We know where you were today. We know what you’re in the process of doing.”

  “In the process?” Miller said. “There is no process. It’s done. I signed the paperwork.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Miller laughed. “Yes, I did. You can kill me now or let me die naturally because it won’t matter. You’ll never have my money. Ever.”

  And with that, the person leaped forward and dropkicked Kenneth Miller in the gut. The force was so great, there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. As he flew back toward the winding staircase, Miller saw his life’s mistakes flash before him. Still, even in the face of death, he only regretted one thing. He’d never see his beloved Camille and Emma again.

  His back struck the stairs hard and he rolled over into something that resembled a crude somersault. His face smashed against one of the walnut rungs and he was aware of his nose and his front teeth breaking. His shoulder gave and when it did, it seemed to dissolve. Then his leg caught on one of the rungs and somehow, this twisted him up high into the air.

  For a moment, Kenneth Miller soared. And as he turned in the air, he saw exactly how his life would end.

  He was heading straight for the intricately carved newel post at the bottom of the staircase. On it was a bronze statue of the Greek god Neptune, who held in his right hand a large iron trident.

  Miller’s chest connected easily with it. The trident impaled him with such force that his body slumped over it as it drove through him, ripping through his back and jolting out his spine.

  The room started to spin. The lights began to dim. Death was closing in, but it hadn’t touched him yet.

  In his last few moments of life, he heard Blue trotting quickly down the stairs. And then the dog was beneath him, looking up at him, his expressive face stamped with something Miller hoped was sorrow. Maybe rage.

  The dog was standing in the growing pool of Kenneth Miller’s spilled blood. He looked up at the top of the stairs, where the murderers would be, and then back again at his master. Just as Miller’s mind winked out, he saw Blue look down at the blood and then, with unexpected force, stomp his paw in the center of it.

  FROM MANHATTAN WITH REVENGE

  The Fifth Avenue Series

  By Christopher Smith

  BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  She was being followed. She was aware of it. And she was prepared to act when they acted.

  If they have a chance.

  It was nighttime in Manhattan. Past eleven. Earlier, she tried to sleep, but since sleep no longer came as easily as it used to, she was walking down Fifth, because outside, the city offered distractions she needed to lean on right now.

  The Park was next to her. The cool fall breeze carried with it the smells of the city—exhaust from the cabs darting past her to her left, the rot of damp foliage off to her right, but also a crispness that hadn’t been in the mix when she was here three weeks ago.

  Winter was coming. It was right at her back, not unlike the sound of those shoes keeping time with hers as she strolled down the sidewalk.

  Carmen Gragera listened to those shoes. She first became aware of them when she turned onto Fifth from Eighty-First Street, where she kept an apartment. At some point, she knew they’d find her, especially since she was back in the city.

  What they didn’t know is that she also had come back for them.

  She had returned to Manhattan three days ago, after burying her fellow assassin and lover, Alex Williams, in Bora Bora, where he was murdered while they were on vacation. There, they had been making plans to leave their professional lives as assassins behind so they could be together in a tropical paradise that offered a measure of security due to the sheer remoteness the island provided.

  But with his murder and the burning down of her longtime home, it proved a costly assumption. For reasons that still were unclear to her, the syndicate she and Alex worked for killed Alex and tried to kill her. She managed to escape, but now they were after her.

  After all, the sound of those shoes didn’t lie.

  She could tell by the definitive strike of the footfalls that they belonged to a man. When would he act? She didn’t know, but in her coat pocket was her Glock; her hand was wrapped around it and she’d use it if necessary.

  Unless he shot her in the back, which was possible, though it would be stupid on his part given that they were on Fifth, which was alive with traffic.

  She could feel him behind her. The footsteps were coming closer. She kept her pace steady, her body loose. Fifty feet. Forty. Closing the gap and doing so in such a way that was so obvious, it was amateurish. Why was he giving himself away like this?

  He was probably twenty feet away from her when she approached Seventy-Seventh Street. The traffic light was red and there was a line of cabs waiting for the light to change. Grab one? Plenty were empty. But if the light didn’t change quickly, he might be brazen enough to approach the cab and shoot her, because otherwise, he would have missed his chance and disappointed whoever hired him.

  Best to move on.

  She looked as far down the sidewalk as she could and saw others coming toward her. The area was well lit, just bright enough to quell a murder, unless the man following her was det
ermined to take her out. Again possible, but again, stupid. Still, who knew what his orders were? Who knew if he was just young and naive enough to believe he could pull this off? If he was, she was ready for it.

  In fact, when the light turned green and traffic roared to life, she decided she’d had enough. She stopped and faced him.

  He also stopped. Their eyes met. He wasn’t the young man she was expecting. Instead, he looked somewhere in his late thirties. Tall. Brown hair. Good looking. Wearing a knee-length black coat to keep out the cold and also to better conceal whatever he was carrying.

  “Carmen Gragera?” he asked.

  She watched his hands. Said nothing. A couple brushed past them, the woman’s head on the man’s shoulder. Carmen could smell the flowery perfume the woman left in her wake.

  “You and I should talk,” he said. “I’m a friend of Alex Williams.”

  “That’s your first mistake,” she said. “Alex didn’t have any friends.”

  His brow furrowed. “What gives you that idea?”

  “Maybe you meant to say you were colleagues?”

  “That’s not what I meant to say. I was his friend. Since childhood.”

  “Then you know Alex well. Where did he grow up?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  Anyone could know that, but only those closest to Alex would know what she was about to ask. During their last two weeks together, when they spoke freely about their private lives, he brought up the one topic that haunted him most. It was something he said he’d never be able to live down. Not with himself, not with his family.

  “What was Alex’s biggest regret?”

  “There were a few things.”

  “Why not take a shot at one of them?”

  “Should I start with his family?”

  “If you want.”

  “OK, so you want the obvious one. Alex regretted not being there for his father’s death. He had the opportunity to catch a flight and spend some time with him, but instead he chose to take another job. He thought his father had more time. He was wrong. He died while Alex was away. Alex regretted that, and when he asked me if I agreed that he’d made a mistake, I told him that he had. He knew better. He should have been there.”

  It was the correct answer. He took a step closer and she took a step back. Watch his hands.

  “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “Even if you were, I’d kill you first.”

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me with what?”

  “I work for Katzev.” He raised his eyebrows as if in bemusement. “Strike that. I used to work for Katzev. Now, he wants me dead just like he wants you dead. If we talk frankly, we might be able to help each other. I think that would be a smart idea.”

  “How do I know you’re not working for him now?”

  “You don’t.”

  “Well, there’s a balm of reassurance. Take your hands out of your pockets.”

  He did.

  “Who are you?”

  He looked around him. “We should get a cab,” he said. “I’ll tell you what you want to know inside. Right now, we’re too exposed.”

  “Can’t handle it?”

  “After what happened last night, I’ll admit I’m on edge.”

  “What happened last night?”

  “They came after me. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “I wonder how lucky that makes me.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Do you want the 101 version, Carmen? I used my contacts. You were seen at LaGuardia. You were followed to your apartment on Fifth and Eighty-First. Done.”

  “Bullshit. I wasn’t followed.”

  “Sorry, but you were.”

  “Nobody followed me. I would have known.”

  “Apparently, you didn’t, because you were followed, just as you and Alex were followed to Bora Bora.” He paused. “Which you also knew about. Right?”

  Obviously, she didn’t know. Point taken.

  “I received a call from Alex not long before his death. It was just before you went to the island. He told me he was in love with you, which concerned me. You have a reputation for being arrogant. I told him to stay away from you.”

  “I wish he had. He’d be alive now.”

  “We don’t know that. All we know is that Alex and you were targeted, and now I am too. Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then maybe we should help each other figure it out before we both wind up dead.”

  “What’s your name?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She sighed. “Then, what do you want me to call you?”

  “Jake.”

  “Jake?”

  “You got something better?”

  “I’m Carmen Gragera,” she said. “But you already know that. We’ll call you Jake for now. When you’re comfortable telling me the truth and that your name is probably Hamlisch, or worse, we’ll likely be on better terms. As for now, you’re Jake.” She nodded at the street. “So, Jake, let’s grab that cab so you can tell me everything you think I need to know. I’m eager to hear.”

  Books by Christopher Smith

  In the United States

  Fifth Avenue Series

  Fifth Avenue: Book One

  Running of the Bulls: Book Two

  From Manhattan with Love: Novella Three

  The Fifth Avenue Series (Box Set)

  A Rush to Violence

  From Manhattan with Revenge

  From Manhattan with Love and Revenge (Box Set)

  Bullied Series

  Bullied: Book One

  Revenge: Book Two

  Witch: Book Three

  War: Book Four

  The Complete Bullied Series

  Stand-Alone Books

  You Only Die Twice

  In the United Kingdom

  Fifth Avenue Series

  Fifth Avenue: Book One

  Running of the Bulls: Book Two

  From Manhattan with Love: Novella Three

  The Fifth Avenue Series (Box Set)

  A Rush to Violence

  From Manhattan with Revenge

  From Manhattan with Love and Revenge (Box Set)

  Bullied Series

  Bullied: Book One

  Revenge: Book Two

  Witch: Book Three

  War: Book Four

  The Complete Bullied Series

  Stand-Alone Books

  You Only Die Twice

  Also available in Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Brazil, Canada, India and Japan.