London Calling

by Veronica Forand

“I can’t go against this. Can I ask if there’s any truth to it?”

  Chief had been such a help to her from the moment she arrived at the department with her badge, he deserved to know something. But not yet.

  “Between you and me, the accusations have more to do with Dad. Other than that, I can’t say more.” She tried to contain the shaking in her words. Her security clearance would never be approved, no matter how hard she begged. Her career was over.

  Chief Nolan offered to help in any way possible, but he’d never clear her name. She’d murdered someone in the middle of London, and her father was implicated in all sorts of espionage.

  By the time he hung up, her future narrowed to the one person who caused her to lose everything. Maslov.

  Three hours later, while she was finalizing her plans, Macknight called.

  She answered on the second ring, adding a lightness to her voice she didn’t feel. “Hey, stranger.”

  “Are you still at the flat?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I’m headed home.”

  “We’ll be in Heathrow in a few hours.”

  The timing was one night too early. She should have left as soon as Chief Nolan told her she couldn’t return. Now she’d have to hustle before the team came back. Seeing Macknight again would throw all sorts of roadblocks in front of her plan.

  “Looks like we’ll miss each other. I have to make my flight,” she lied. “If I don’t get back, they’ll give my spot away on the SWAT team.”

  “Which airport?”

  “I have to go.” She hung up and shut off her phone. He knew how she felt. The moment he’d admitted his assignment was ultimately to kill her father, he also killed off any affection she could have had for him. How could a woman care for someone who destroyed her family? She couldn’t. Only…although her mind embraced this mentality, her traitorous heart had yet to climb on board the hate Macknight bandwagon.

  She packed her bag and departed in record time. Once outside, she withdrew a few hundred pounds with her ATM card, then a few hundred more from each of her credit cards. She left her phone in the flat. Getting off the grid was more important than communicating with anyone she hated.

  Trying to stay as nondescript as possible, she purchased a black blazer at an H&M. With a white T-shirt, jeans, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and no makeup at all, she should blend in to the daily commuters moving about the country. She boarded a train headed west to Reading, then transferred to the Portsmouth line.

  When she arrived in Plymouth, she took a ferry to St. Malo, France, where she picked up a train that meandered its way down to Roses, a seaside town outside of Barcelona. The location was not highly populated but had enough of an influx of tourists for her to avoid drawing attention as an outsider.

  The irony of moving from respected police officer to assassin in a matter of weeks added more guilt and conflict inside her, but her sense of right and wrong had washed away in the blood spray from her father’s head. Her act would make up for all death and destruction Maslov had created.

  She located a café that provided computer access. The café was somewhat busy for an afternoon. She grabbed a cup of coffee and a large blueberry-filled pastry and thanked the cute guy at the counter, who ignored everyone for the soccer game on the television.

  Several computers were available for use. All at least five years old, but hopefully with updated programs. She sat down at a computer in the back corner of the room, facing the door, and began to descend into the dark web.

  It wasn’t easy to enter some of the darkest pages. There were new barriers and different security clearances to get through, but she figured most of them out, eventually ending up on a board called the Black Tower, a place for hiring, buying, and renting anyone or anything. It also contained a bulletin board to discuss issues. Like before, she started her inquiries into Belarus under the name LacrosseBunny.

  Her questions began benign enough. She was looking for victims, wondering about the people involved and any motives for the attack. Several people answered her with random comments. Only a few sounded like they knew anything of substance.

  Conspiracy Webber: I heard it was linked to the 2011 bombing in the Metro.

  Emma had come across that incident during her last internet search, but the men convicted of setting that bomb had been executed, and no motive had been uncovered. She veered away from 2011 and focused on current events.

  LacrosseBunny: Are there any links in the current bombing to the Russian government?

  Conspiracy Webber: Why would they bomb Minsk?

  LacrosseBunny: Create unrest, possibly stop potential spies. There were two Russians killed. One that had information on oil reserves under the Arctic.

  Conspiracy Webber: No evidence of that. The bomb was too messy. The GRU is cleaner in its kills.

  LacrosseBunny: True, but that could be the cover. I’ve heard a name. Maslov. Any information?

  She waited almost twenty minutes and heard nothing.

  Then someone called Truth Seeker picked up the conversation.

  Truth Seeker: Who are you?

  LacrosseBunny: Just looking for the truth.

  Truth Seeker: Stay out of it. You’ll only get yourself killed.

  LacrosseBunny: There are worse things that can happen to a person.

  She closed out of the account. Being outed might end Maslov’s career if he didn’t eliminate the leak. He should learn about this soon and would probably be here in Roses in four to six hours. Unless he sent his minions.

  After ordering a few sandwiches and several bottles of water, she walked to the ocean, weaving through the palm trees and admiring the clear blue water. She’d rarely taken vacations when she’d worked as a police officer. The past tense of her occupation cut deep into her soul. She’d loved her job. As much as so-called experts claimed a career didn’t define a person, in some ways it did. She’d been proud of her badge and the moments where she’d made a difference in the lives of others. And she’d still be in law enforcement if it hadn’t been for Maslov.

  She returned to the café, now empty and dark. The large department store across the street was still open, so she shopped for a while, trying on clothes and rummaging through sales racks before slipping into a supply room and hiding behind some boxes. When the doors locked and the staff went home, she moved to a window overlooking the café.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  As they approached the terminal at Heathrow, Macknight remembered his phone call with Emma. She was leaving. “Jack, can you search for which flight Emma’s taking out of London?”

  Owen’s expression hardened. “I told you to leave her alone.”

  The big brother act was becoming too much. “I rarely pull rank, but I do make the decisions on this team. Don’t forget that. She’s going back to New Hampshire. Summoned back to work. But something’s off, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Going back to work is good, isn’t it?” Owen asked.

  Jack pressed himself into the airline seat beside Macknight. “If her work is with the police, she’s lying. She’s not returning to law enforcement ever.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “According to HQ, the CIA won’t drop their investigation of her. HQ analysts are scrambling any data on her and her father so the U.S. can’t get their hands on it. Makes sense. She murdered someone in broad daylight, and Langley has no idea why she wasn’t arrested through proper channels, but they’re dying to know. Her father’s disappearance is also raising questions that MI6 won’t answer. In other words, she isn’t being summoned back to work.”

  “If she can’t go home, why wouldn’t she stay put?” Owen asked.

  “Because I allowed her father to kill himself without trying to stop it, and I won’t take out Maslov.” Not that Macknight had any regrets about the former. Emma was safer because of it.

  “Do you think she’d chase Maslov without us?” Jack asked.

  “The woman who escaped MI6 and
fought Russian prison guards? She has a vendetta.” Macknight rubbed his temples. He couldn’t lose her to Maslov after all that had happened.

  Owen swore under his breath.

  When they arrived at the flat, Macknight raced to his room. All evidence of Emma had disappeared, except her phone. Which now explained why she’d stopped answering her phone and hadn’t responded to text messages.

  He called Derek. They needed to follow her and make sure she wasn’t on a suicide mission.

  “Nice job in Berlin. Federov is under control. You guys make a great team,” Derek said before any hellos.

  “Right.” Macknight didn’t give a damn about Russian assets at this point. “Have you heard from Emma?”

  “No. I thought she was headed home.”

  “She doesn’t have a job, thanks to her involvement with us.”

  “I imagined she’d go become a teacher or some such thing.”

  “Seriously? You think she’ll become a bloody teacher? You’re a jackass, Barlow.”

  “I’m not lowering myself to your insults. Keep your head down. I need the team rested and ready to go again in the next two days.”

  “We just got back. What happened to the sabbatical you promised me?”

  “Too much to do and not enough operatives as fluent in Russian as your team. There’s a model in prison in Turkey that might have had a liaison with one of the higher ups at the Kremlin. I want Trinity to infiltrate the jail and see what she can find out.”

  “Not until Emma is found and safe.”

  “You go off without permission, and you’ll be on a permanent sabbatical. That’s an order.”

  “She might be headed after Maslov.”

  “I. Don’t. Care. She’s not our concern anymore, and if she does take down Maslov, it’s one less person I need to worry about.”

  “Bugger off.”

  “Macknight, your team needs you, and you don’t even know where Emma is. For all you know, she could be waiting for a plane at Heathrow.”

  “We checked all the airlines. She’s not scheduled to fly.”

  “I don’t care. She’s no longer our concern.”

  Macknight hung up instead of saying what he actually felt about Derek’s orders. He rubbed his temples and tried to think rationally about how to locate her. She could be anywhere right now. Maybe even headed to Moscow.

  He called out to the team. “She’s left. Can we trace her movements by train or car?”

  Jack walked into the room at an easy pace, as though he had all night to find her. “She’s in Spain.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I added a tracking device to one of her luggage wheels.”

  “Why?”

  Jack cocked an eyebrow.

  Macknight smiled, the panic subsiding. “I owe you.”

  “It’s my job to take care of the team, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s as much a part of it as anyone.”

  “Agreed. You wouldn’t happen to have access to a helicopter?”

  “Actually—I do.” He got on his phone.

  Owen and Trinity wandered into the room. Owen carried a large glass of water. Trinity had already showered and was in a new pair of jeans, her hair wet, her face free of the makeup she’d worn to catch the target. Fleming followed at their feet, wagging her tail. She rubbed up against Jack like a cat. Looked like she’d accepted Jack as a permanent member of the team as well. She tended to be a bit clingy after they returned from a trip, since their HQ-issued housekeeper only visited twice a day.

  “She’s gone?” Owen asked.

  Macknight nodded. “According to Jack, who I now love like a brother, she’s in Spain.”

  Jack waved a hand to quiet them down as he spoke on the phone, then walked out of the room, calling out directions to staff a Wildcat.

  Owen watched Jack leave then turned back to Macknight. “Spain? We can be there in two hours.”

  Trinity nodded. “I’ll pack a few things. I should be ready in five.”

  “No. This is me only. Derek ordered the team to stay put. We have an assignment we could be called to any minute.”

  “But you’ll be in Spain,” Owen said.

  “You can lead it.”

  “Sorry, Mac. I go where you go. As far I’m concerned, Emma saved my life when she entered that prison. I owe her some backup on whatever insane adventure she’s undertaken.”

  Trinity nodded. “I was specifically ordered to Liam Macknight’s team. If he goes to Spain, I go, too.”

  Owen slapped him on the arm, his grin in full sail. “Just get ready, Mac. We have a better chance bringing her back if we go together.”

  A few minutes later, Owen let out a Gaelic curse that he only said in the most dire situations.

  Macknight ran to his room. “What’s the matter?”

  “She raided my closet. Damn it to hell.”

  Macknight stared at the arsenal in the back of Owen’s closet. “What did she take?”

  “My SRS-A1.”

  The Stealth Recon Scout was short enough to fit into her suitcase, lethal enough to take out Maslov at a distance, and proof positive that she’d gone hunting.

  Chapter Fifty

  For two hours, she waited, holding the rifle she’d stolen from Owen, and armed with enough ammunition to take out whatever small army Maslov would bring to shut her down permanently. At one point, several men walked past the café, and Emma pointed the loaded rifle toward them, just in case. As she sighted in, her focus sharpened on four men who had been drinking and were on their way either to bed or to find a new location to enjoy the evening.

  She lowered the weapon. Here she was, ready to blow out Maslov’s brains, which he deserved, but something niggled inside of her, telling her that it wasn’t her job to murder people who had wronged her.

  A car drove up to the café. Two men in suits exited the vehicle and walked to the door. Realizing it was closed, they moved to the back of the building. Emma almost followed them but remained in place. If Maslov showed his face, she’d take the shot. She didn’t want collateral damage, even though these thugs wouldn’t think twice about taking her out.

  Twenty minutes later, they returned to the car. When Maslov emerged, Emma lifted her rifle and focused the crosshairs on the center of his chest. She could end him right now. Her heartbeat shook inside of her, destroying the calm needed for accuracy. This wasn’t justice, this was vigilantism. Something her father had always spoken against. He’d believed in the justice system. But he was dead, and no government would be prosecuting his case.

  She’d waited too long—one of Maslov’s men pointed to her store window and raised his gun. She turned and ran. Her finger twitched with the need to go back and take him out. Instead, she was now the one being hunted.

  Hesitation killed. Just as it had killed Elliott. Looking back, her partner’s mistake made sense. He wasn’t an idiot—he gave a damn about doing the right thing.

  She hid in a supply closet, behind several boxes, her rifle aimed toward the door.

  Footsteps ran back and forth for what felt like forever. She wouldn’t shoot without confirmation. No collateral damage. She’d rather be shot herself than harm someone innocent.

  When the door to the supply closet opened, she held her breath. The men stepped inside, speaking in Russian. That was enough to convict them. When one of them flashed a light inside, she took the shot, and watched him fall. Bullets rained into the closet, and she returned fire.

  When her enemy stopped, so did she. Maybe she killed him.

  She exited the closet, with her finger ready to kill whoever was in her way. Maslov called out to her in Russian from somewhere close. “Emma Ross, you’re after the wrong enemy. I didn’t kill your father. I wanted him alive. You know I did.”

  Maslov was screwing with her, throwing her off guard. He had brought her father to his death, no matter who pulled the trigger. And he was responsible for her mother’s death, as well, and so many others.

  Sh
e turned around but couldn’t see him. Pressing herself against a wall that would never hold back whatever firepower he had in his hand, she waited and prayed he’d step into her view.

  “Pathetic bitch. Burn in hell for all I care. You are nothing to me but an annoyance.” Something like a gas canister was tossed across the room toward her. She dove to avoid it, but instead of gas, it detonated.

  The loud boom, the debris, and the slam onto the floor, all knocked her unconscious. She woke choking amid clouds of smoke.

  She had to move. Flames filled the stairwell and the exit. Once the clothes on the racks caught fire, the entire place would become an inferno. She reversed course to the rear of the building in search of a fire escape. That, too, was blocked by fire.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Roses, Spain. Why would she pick this site?

  Macknight and the team arrived in the dead of night, ignoring the exhaustion of finishing up the prior assignment as they moved their equipment into a rented van and a car. Jack and Owen drove off in search of a decent place to set up surveillance near the GPS locator, while Macknight and Trinity headed straight to the spot from where Emma’s suitcase signaled them.

  The tight passage leading to the area was blocked by firefighters. Once they pushed through and located the source of the billowing smoke, their mission ran into a flaming roadblock. Emma’s suitcase was somewhere inside an inferno.

  “We need to get her,” Macknight said, starting forward, his heart already racing ahead into the building.

  Trinity grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place. “We could end up killing ourselves trying to rush through the flames only to find she’s not even there. We’ll get her, but you have to divorce your feelings for her to do it.”

  The fire blocked the front entrance.

  He gathered his scattered emotions and scanned the area. If she was in there, they had to find a way into the place. “Let’s scout the back.”

  Trinity led them around the building. She acted like a curious tourist, never drawing unnecessary attention to herself. Her competence lifted some of the weight from him as he filed his feelings for Emma into the back of his mind.