by Kaylea Cross
He was mostly recovered from the grueling mission in the Moroccan desert. As of this morning the fee he’d earned was sitting in his offshore account. He was used to living on a limited budget and stretching a dollar. In his line of work he never knew where he’d be bedding down for the night or when another contract would come in, and he only got paid once the deed was done. At the moment he had enough money saved up to last him a year comfortably if he decided to take the time off.
When his phone vibrated against his thigh he pulled it out of his pocket, still engrossed in a story in the paper about the most recent terrorism threat in Paris. Then he glanced down at the screen and his pulse kicked.
Whoa. A coded message that meant he had a contract offer from the secret forum he and a select handful of others were part of.
Did he want to take another job so soon? On the other hand, while he was enjoying his holiday, contracts from this source were rare and paid a fuck-ton of money.
Dammit, now he was too curious to just ignore it.
He finished his coffee, then strolled back to his rental place in the 11th Arrondissement. He liked the vibe here, the energy of the place. But in another week he’d probably be bored as hell, craving action, and considering his profession, it was safer if he didn’t stay too long in one place anyway.
Up in his comfortable suite he accessed the forum on the dark web and logged in with his password. The unusual job offer made his eyebrows go up.
A woman. And the contract was to capture her, rather than kill her.
Jesse rubbed his goateed jaw and clicked on the attached file. Amber Brown. American. Caucasian, thirty-four. Five-foot-eight, hundred-and-forty-five pounds. Chocolate-brown hair, green eyes. A list of aliases followed, along with her last known locations, London and Istanbul. Possibly headed to Syria.
She had to be an operative of some sort. Nothing else made sense with that kind of CV.
The person posting the contract was offering two mil for her to be captured alive, and only one mil if brought in dead.
Even the lower amount was more money than Jesse had ever seen on a contract before. The higher offer was enough money to set him up for life if he brought her in alive. Enough to allow him to retire on and put this deadly lifestyle behind him, if he so chose.
“Two mil. Jesus.” Who the hell was this chick? And who did she work for?
There was nothing else in the file. Additional intel would be given only to those who accepted the job. The contract was offered to him and two other hitters only, all listed using their forum code names.
Although he didn’t know the others personally, they all knew of each other. They were all former military SOF. Interesting. And that amount of money guaranteed one of them would take it.
It seemed too good to be true, and it automatically put him on edge. Something didn’t feel right. In fact, something felt way off about this scenario.
In all the time he’d been doing this, he’d only ever seen one other contract come up on a female. Jesse always did his homework on the target before taking a job, and only killed bad people who deserved it. So when he’d done his due diligence on that particular job offer, he’d learned that the man behind the contract was an arms dealer who wanted the woman dead because she’d left him for one of his guys.
Needless to say, Jesse hadn’t taken the job. Instead he’d used his resources and a back channel to get word to her. She’d disappeared off the grid with her new lover and last Jesse had heard, they had been living quietly together somewhere in Bulgaria.
This contract felt off too, and definitely warranted some extra digging. There were two ways he could play this, but only one would allow him maximum flexibility. Which way did he want to do this?
He got one of his burner phones and accepted the offer by texting the phone number given. Thirty seconds later, a response came back.
Authorized. Check original source for further information.
Jesse logged back into the forum and accessed the new file waiting for him. As soon as it opened, he took out another burner and called a former contact to see what the hell was going on.
If anyone would know the story with Amber Brown, it was Bautista.
Chapter Two
Megan smiled to herself when she heard the footfalls behind her on the stable floor. “Changed your mind?” She hung her bow and quiver on a peg on the wall.
“How’d you know it was me?”
That low, sexy voice still caused her lower belly to flip. “I’m just that good.”
“Mmmm, real good,” Tyler murmured, wrapping his heavy arms around her waist from behind. He nuzzled the side of her neck, raising goosebumps.
She let out a soft “oof” when a solid nose butted into her shoulder. She shot Rollo a narrow-eyed look. “You can’t still be jealous.”
The horse pricked its ears and stretched its neck out to bump her with his nose again.
“Oh my God, you are jealous.” She smirked and scratched the white star in the center of his forehead, laughing when his eyelids and ears began to droop in ecstasy. “Such a big baby.”
“I refuse to be cock blocked by a horse.” Tyler spun her around and gripped the back of her head to kiss her, his lips warm and hungry. Her former Green Beret knew exactly how to get one-hundred-percent of her attention.
Her toes curled in her riding boots, arousal pooling inside her as she wound her arms around his sturdy neck. Three weeks he’d been here at Laidlaw Hall with her, and still every morning she woke up beside him she wanted to pinch herself to make sure it was real. The man had given up everything for her, career and family included, to be with her and help find the other Valkyries. He’d even grudgingly accepted her burgeoning relationship with her fugitive sister.
Megan loved him desperately for it. And even though she’d had an…unconventional childhood and wasn’t sure what a healthy relationship looked like, the promise ring on her finger gave her hope that she wasn’t completely broken inside. If an incredible man like Tyler was prepared to make that commitment to her in spite of her considerable baggage, then maybe they could find their way together.
He raised his head, light brown hair slightly mussed, his slate blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the dreamy look on her face. “That’s better. Can I steal you away from him now?”
“I might be able to be persuaded. You sure you don’t want to give it a try?” She nodded at the saddle she’d just taken off Rollo. “He’s such a great horse you could ride him bareback.”
Tyler eyed Rollo warily and shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Oh, come on.” She bumped his hip. “You were SF. You can do anything.”
“I could ride him. I just don’t want to.”
“Chicken.”
His eyes widened in mock outrage. “Chicken?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I mean, what else can I call you if you’re not even willing to give it a try?”
“Oh, you’re gonna pay. You’re gonna pay for that.” Without warning he grabbed her, hoisted her over one broad shoulder, and quickly strode for the stable door.
She shrieked with laughter and gave a half-hearted struggle as she hung over his back, leaving Rollo to gaze after them from the comfort of his luxurious stall. “Where are you taking me?” Hopefully to their bed in the gatehouse, but maybe he had another spot picked out for some sexy times.
“Anywhere I want.”
She pinched his butt, earning a swat on hers. “Ow. Hey.”
“Hey, nothing. You’ve got a punishment coming, young lady.”
“Ooh, does it involve a blindfold and restraints?” She’d never imagined being willing to make herself that vulnerable to a man, but she trusted Tyler and he rewarded her trust in the bedroom in ways that made her entire body melt.
He laughed low in his throat, confident and sensual. “You’ll find out soon enough.” His shoes crunched on the pea gravel path that led from the stables to the main house, the fall sunshine warm overhead.
Th
e discreet clearing of a masculine throat brought her head up. She planted her hands against Ty’s ass and shoved up to twist around and look over his broad shoulder. “Oh. Hey,” she said, pushing a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her eyes.
The master of the gorgeous Cotswold estate stood near the northern entrance to the back garden leaning on his cane, his piebald Anatolian shepherd rescue Karas sitting at his feet. “Enjoy your ride?” Marcus asked in his lovely Yorkshire accent, his amused gaze shifting between the two of them. He’d grown a short beard over the past few weeks since Ty had been here, partially covering the burn scars on the left side of his face. Megan wished he wasn’t so self-conscious of them.
Ty released his hold across her lower back, allowing her to slide off his shoulder. “Um, yes.” Damn, Marcus was her dearest friend, but she felt like she’d just been caught making out by her father. She tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “Is something up?”
“Trinity’s been trying to reach you. When she couldn’t, she called me. You need to call ‘er back straight away.”
Megan had left her phone behind at the gatehouse. Ty handed her his. She took it and strode straight for the main house, bringing up the Valkyrie’s number. “Did she say why?”
“Said she ‘ad news about Amber.”
Her heart leapt. She glanced at Ty, then faced Marcus. “Thanks. I’ll take it in the study.” Without waiting for them she ran to the manor house, through the back door and down the hall to Marcus’s most private sanctum.
The rich, sweet scent of old paper and leather filled the air as she rushed into the room, leaving the door open for the others. She dialed Trinity’s number, hope mixing with anxiety. Had they found her sister? Was Amber okay?
“Tyler?” Trinity answered.
“No, it’s me.” She turned slightly as Tyler stepped into the room, Marcus’s shadow appearing down the hall behind him. “Marcus said you’ve got news?”
“We think we’ve found her.”
Megan expelled the breath she’d been holding and tightened her grip on the phone. “Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
Megan sagged and closed her eyes, leaned back on the edge of Marcus’s antique mahogany desk as relief swept through her. “Where?”
“Syria. Possibly Damascus. Footage taken from surveillance cameras at a bus station outside the city show a woman who could be her.”
Nothing conclusive though, which was no surprise. They were trained to be ghosts, able to hide in plain sight when necessary. “Nothing since?”
“No. But if it is her, a man was killed in an alley soon after she would have arrived in the city.”
“Who was he, and how was he killed?”
“Unidentified so far. But two shots to the legs to bring him down, then two to center mass to end him.”
Could definitely be Amber. “Okay, so, we’re going? Ty and me?”
“Not yet. There’s something else.”
She frowned. “What?”
“I just got off the phone with Rycroft.”
Alex Rycroft, retired SF and legendary NSA agent who had taken this Valkyrie rescue mission on as a kind of personal crusade. “And?”
“There’s an open contract against your sister. It’s big.”
And there it was. Megan had known it intellectually. Of course there would be people out there gunning for her sister. But having it verified was another thing. “How much?”
“Two mil.”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Two million?”
“Yeah.”
That was insane. It was the kind of money offered to a contract killer for the head of a major cartel or the leader of a country, not a single female operative. “Holy shit.” Tentacles of fear began to spread through her stomach.
“Well, two mil if she’s brought in alive. One mil if she’s dead.”
Megan hid a grimace. “Who’s the contract been offered to?”
“That’s the interesting bit. Only three hitters have been offered the contract. Rycroft was contacted by one of them this morning. And you’ll never guess who gave him Rycroft’s number.”
“Who?”
“Georgia’s husband, Miguel.”
“Miguel Bautista?” As in, the formerly most feared enforcer of one of the most vicious drug cartels in U.S. history, now married to the former Valkyrie sniper?
“I know. This guy reached out to Bautista when he was offered the contract on your sister. He thought something might be off and wanted to check her background. Apparently he and Bautista knew each other from their military days, and they’ve kept in touch off and on over the years.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jesse Cordova.”
Wasn’t familiar.
“Rycroft met with Bautista to review Cordova’s background. He’s a former Marine Raider, been in the business for about seven years. Used to operate for the CIA, then the NSA. He and Bautista met in A-stan. He’s one of the best and has a certain… understanding with his former NSA handler that allows him to operate with a lot of latitude when he takes jobs that are off the books. Rycroft’s all over this, and thinks we can trust him.”
“Trust him to what? Let him go after Amber?” Megan rubbed her temple, her mind racing. “She’s my sister. I’ll provide backup if she needs it. I can be on a flight out of here within the hour.”
“I thought you were positive she’d let you know once she located Hannah?”
Amber had promised it the night Megan had helped her escape in London weeks ago. “Yeah, well, that was before I found out some asshole put a two-million-dollar bounty on her head.” Jesus, with that kind of money offered, who knew how many hitters would come after her?
“As of right now, you and Ty are on standby. I’m flying to London tonight, and I’m bringing Georgia and Bautista with me. If we go to Syria, we all go together.”
“No way, a team that size might spook her into taking off. Let me go to her. I just want to make sure she’s safe, then I’ll help her find Hannah.” She didn’t want to wait for the others, she wanted to get to Amber now. “Tyler will go with me. We’ll link up with Amber, and the three of us will handle the rest.” She met his stare over her shoulder. He was standing by one of the bookcases, Marcus beside him.
“No. Either we all go, or we all stay,” Trinity said. “That’s how this is gonna work. Rycroft’s orders.”
Screw Rycroft, she’s my sister.
Megan bit the retort back. Trinity wanted the same thing Megan did: to find all the others and bring them in safely. And the truth was, Megan was at their mercy. She didn’t have the resources to find and track Amber on her own.
“Fine,” she relented, “but if anything changes, I’m not waiting.”
Megan had lost her sister once. She wasn’t letting it happen again.
****
A warm, salty wind bathed Yury’s face as he stood on the deck of the passenger ferry crossing the Bosphorus, hands in his coat pockets. People milled around him, talking and smoking but he barely noticed them, staring numbly out across the water.
Ahead lay the ancient spires and skyline on the European side of Istanbul. Zoya’s favorite city.
Just her name, the memory of her beautiful face was enough to crush the breath from his lungs in a wave of agony.
They’d been here twice together, spending two or three decadent days and nights each time. Wandering the historic streets, drinking in the sights and the culture. Shopping at the Grand Bazaar. Eating. Making love in the middle of the afternoon and falling asleep together. Waking up to do it all over again in the shower, on the floor, or out on the balcony without caring if anyone saw them.
They’d been insatiable, both of them obsessed with the other.
No one had ever touched his ice-encased heart the way Zoya had. She’d been his equal in every way. His perfect match. Cunning. Beautiful. Deadly.
And she’d loved him. Incredibly, she’d loved him, in spite of all his imperfections, in spi
te of the man he was. All the things he’d done, many of them ugly. She’d loved him because of all that.
But in the end, her love for him had killed her.
He stepped to the railing and gripped the sun-warmed metal with both hands, fighting the tidal wave of despair and grief. The anger was so much easier to bear. This suffocating, crushing pain he was forced to endure on a daily basis was unbearable. He’d become a bitter shell of a man, existing for one purpose and one purpose only.
To kill the woman who had taken Zoya from him.
No one had ever understood him the way she had, and no one ever would. When he’d lost her he’d lost half of his soul.
The bitch who’d killed Zoya would beg for death before he released her from her suffering.
As the opposite bank drew closer, the sight of the familiar skyline caused a suffocating, white-hot pain to fill his chest. A wound as fresh as the day he’d lost Zoya.
They’d been here in a luxury rental house on their last night together. Neither of them had known how final that goodbye would be. He could still remember every detail so vividly. Lying in bed with the sheets tangled around their legs, the spice-scented breeze coming through the window carrying the sounds of the city foot traffic below.
He’d been antsy. Wanting her to come with him when he left for Moscow the following morning. But she’d had one last thing to take care of. One final loose end to secure in order to get the last of the money.
“One last job. Just this one last job to tie up all the loose ends, and we can leave everything behind.” She rolled over to straddle him, naked, her bare breasts bobbing above his face.
She’d laughed when he’d tried to take one ripe nipple into his mouth, clasping his face between her hands. “No, listen. We can go wherever we want. We could even buy a place here. As soon as I get the last of the money we can do whatever we want, for the rest of our lives.” She leaned forward to kiss him, her lips warm, lingering on his. “We’ll be together forever.”
Forever. That had been their dream. And it had all turned to ash when he’d discovered her body in the safehouse he’d secured for them in St. Petersburg, along with the note.
