This wasn’t who he wanted to be anymore. He’d done things out of necessity, to protect his family, and it had all snowballed out of his control. All he wanted was a nice, quiet life raising his kids. They’d been through hell and back because of him and they deserved better than this.
The skin between his shoulder blades prickled.
He peered down the road.
Two figures strolled toward the auto shop.
Could this be them?
It was hard to make out details with both swaddled in puffy coats, hats, and the like. They were the only pair that had come this way since Demetrius had set up to watch. He reached into the glove box and pulled out a Glock he’d procured after crossing into the country. His gloves gripped the metal like a dream. He hated how right this felt.
The couple entered the shop. Nothing else happened.
Demetrius waited another half a minute before getting out of the car and pulling his knit cap low on his face. He jogged across the street and pulled the face mask part of his cap down.
A man opened the door.
Demetrius held out his hands and took a step closer. “I need help.”
“Take the mask off,” the man said.
“Please, can you help me? I was told someone here could.”
“Stay back.”
It was too late. The man had allowed Demetrius to get close enough.
He reached out and stabbed the man in the throat. The blood flowed, his victim gasped and went down. For a moment Demetrius stared into the dying man’s eyes, watching the light flicker out.
There was a day when that look, the sight of a life being snuffed out, used to make the adrenaline pound in his veins. Now, his gut rolled in an unfamiliar manner.
He had to be the old version of himself again this one last time.
Demetrius rolled the body into the shop and locked the door.
Now that the lookout was down, he had seconds to act.
The only way out of the shop front was into the work bay. He shoved the door open and knelt. The smell of grease, oil, and tire rubber assaulted his senses. A man yelled something unintelligible from within, his voice echoing off the metal and concrete.
A flash of movement to Demetrius’s left gave away the position of the other person.
He didn’t think. He threw the knife and sprinted forward. The man pitched backward, falling into a tire, the knife sticking out from his chest. Demetrius planted his foot on the man’s ribs, grabbed the knife, and yanked it out. He cut the man’s throat in a single slice, the way he’d have butchered a goat.
Demetrius shook his head, banishing those memories, and stood.
The forger operated out of a room upstairs. That was the end of Demetrius’s knowledge. From here on out he was operating by the seat of his pants.
He headed toward the stairs. The shop was bound to have cameras and, despite the silent attack, if someone was watching they’d know he was coming. He took the stairs two and three at a time. At the landing outside the door he paused. There were voices coming from inside, their pitch higher but mostly distorted by the thick material between them.
If he were in there, he’d have a back way out, which meant his targets could be getting away now.
He yanked on the door.
It didn’t budge.
He pulled out the gun, aimed, and looked away. The bullet pinged off the metal, then fell to the floor below. He jerked on the door, the damaged mechanism giving way, and ducked.
Three shots rang out, chunks of drywall hitting him in the head.
Demetrius aimed at the figure leaning out from behind a filing cabinet and fired. The target went down and a woman screamed. Demetrius hated killing women, even his piece of shit wife. It’d been her or the kids, and there wasn’t anything in this world Demetrius loved more than his babies. He’d taken the shot, and he’d take the one today as well. It was the only thing that would keep his children safe.
There was no answering gunfire.
He stood and strode into the room.
Sure enough, a window was open and the only person left in the building was the woman. He peered at her blood-streaked face, her wide blue eyes staring up at him.
She wasn’t the mark.
Demetrius rolled the man over. He wasn’t even white. The winter mask had hidden his features from Demetrius to the point that he’d made the wrong call.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Either they hadn’t come yet, they’d been and gone, or they weren’t going to frequent this haunt at all. Whatever option it was, Demetrius’s were gone.
“Y-you aren’t going to kill me?” The woman’s voice trembled.
He should, but she hadn’t seen his face and whatever demons had pushed her to coming here would catch up with her soon enough. He didn’t need more blood on his hands. “Go.”
Demetrius crossed to the desk littered with photographs and bits of paper. He shuffled through the images, but they were all overexposed or blurry. The features of the individuals weren’t of any use to him. This whole thing had been a waste of time.
…
Wednesday. Toronto, Canada.
Lillian stared around the living room of the lavish home. Noah had disappeared around the corner, leaving her to watch the front of the house for any sign that they’d been followed.
She studied the snow-covered trees bordering the property, but nothing moved.
Footsteps thumped on the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder at the entry.
Noah’s feet then legs came into view.
Something funny happened in her stomach. It had been coming on slowly, much like a sneaky spring cold, except this was much more deadly. The sensation rose into her chest, sending her heart rate fluttering as the rest of Noah appeared.
“All clear,” he said.
She cleared her throat, as if that would scare away the butterflies in her belly. This was not the time to develop feelings for her partner. “I haven’t seen any movement.” She gestured at the window.
“Good.” Noah thumbed over his shoulder. “Looks like there are clothes upstairs for you.”
“Fantastic.” The sweats were beginning to smell stale. “What else did Andy say?”
Noah led the way into the kitchen at the back of the house where a few envelopes had been left for them containing cash and contacts. Whoever had decorated the place was a fan of white. The cabinets were white, the marble countertops white with veins of silver, even the floors and drapes were white. Sterile. Cold. Even with the heater roaring she couldn’t help but shiver.
“Would it kill them to have a little color in here?” She leaned on the island and wrapped her arms around herself.
“It is pretty bleak.” He grabbed a water and twisted the cap off.
“Are you going to tell me what Andy said?” She didn’t like him stalling.
“Not much. Turns out SICA got a lead on where Sarah and the baby were, which was with Andy and Carol.”
“What?” Lillian gripped the edge of the counter.
“They’re okay.” Noah set his water bottle down and placed his hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. “Sarah and the baby are back with Rand and off to whatever corner of the earth. Andy and Carol have split up for the time being, and everyone has relocated. SICA didn’t get close to them.”
“Oh, God. Lead with that next time. Shit.” Lillian leaned into him, enjoying his touch.
Her worst nightmare was if the baby got taken. The baby was their weak spot. If the baby was captured, their efforts to do anything else would be refocused on saving the child. Nothing else would matter.
“Sorry. Andy knows some people. Got us set up here and we’re waiting for word of what they want to do next. It’ll determine where we go.”
“It’s so strange being out of the loop like this.” She’d been the hub for so long, not being plugged in was like losing part of herself.
“Andy’s working on something. He seems very keen on getting you back in the
loop. It sounds like everyone else is blind without you. You have operational oversight on this whole thing. Sooner we get your head back in the game, the better off we’ll all be.”
There were a few things Lillian knew were fallback options, things the team had been considering. A good chunk of the responsibility for each of them rested on her. And she was stuck in a house in the middle of nowhere.
“I feel so bad dumping this on him and Carol. They have their own problems to deal with, you know?” Lillian looked up at him, grateful for his support.
His lips curled up slightly and he bent to lean on the counter. “It’s part of being a team.”
“Yeah. I know that.”
“Then trust the rest of your team to have your back.”
“I totally trust them.” Her insides knotted up, a dozen minor details popping to mind that she wasn’t certain anyone else would think of.
Noah tapped her nose and chuckled. “You’re a control freak.”
“Hey.” She glared at him. Or tried to.
Guilty as charged.
He kept watching her, a mischievous smile on his face. It made him look younger, boyish, not nearly as battle worn.
If he was a complete stranger and they were at a happy hour, that was the kind of smile that she’d go for on a guy. The one that said he knew how to have fun, make her laugh, forget work for a while.
Noah’s hand slid from her back, down her arm to her hand on the marble. He gave it a slight squeeze, then straightened.
She did not need to feel like that about Noah. In another time and place, sure, she’d be attracted to him even though she knew better. He wasn’t the nice guy she normally went for. He was the bad boy that would no doubt get her in trouble.
But she wasn’t going down that road.
Lillian swiveled away from him, putting distance between their bodies. “Mind if I turn on the TV?”
She was used to living in D.C. where people breathed politics and current events. Much of her job consisted of being ahead of the news cycle. Losing herself in a little midday recap could be good to realign her head.
“Knock yourself out.”
There was a small sofa and TV set up adjacent to the kitchen. If it wasn’t for all the white it would be a cozy setup. Not that she was one to judge. Her older sister had dictated how she styled her house because from time to time Lillian had to vacate so they could put a client up in her home. That meant nothing could be too personal.
She retreated to the sofa with her legs curled under her and fished the remote out from under a pillow. Noah busied himself with the coffee machine. It took her a moment to figure out which buttons did what.
She found a channel and settled in to let the details wash over her.
The first image that flashed onto the screen chilled her blood.
Noah strode across to stand next to the sofa. “Turn it up?”
No…
Lillian hit the volume button. The anchor switched to a breaking story out of Montreal, and showed an aerial view of an auto body repair shop.
She knew that shop.
She’d been there that morning, shivering in the cold.
“Noah…who? We didn’t…”
They watched the story unfold, the deaths tallied at three, with no witnesses or leads on the suspect. When they’d left the shop that morning everyone had been alive.
“Please tell me this isn’t connected to us.” Lillian knew better, but she wanted to hear the lie.
“Keep it on, take notes.” Noah paced the distance between the sofa and the island. “We knew they’d be close, I just hoped we’d be a bit ahead of them.”
“Can they track us here?” She twisted to stare at Noah, fearing the answer.
“I could, so I have to assume whoever is after us will be able to.” Noah grimaced. “We used the new IDs to purchase the train ride. If they connect those names to us, they’ll be able to track us when we cross the ocean. Andy needs to know that. He might be able to do something about it.”
Lillian closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to panic.
Noah’s hand found hers. “Take sixty seconds. It’s okay. We’re going to hang tight. If we act now, we’re just letting them flush us out. We stay the course, keep our heads down, and stay a step ahead of them.”
…
Wednesday. Munich, Germany.
Mitch paced the small room. He hated their options, what they were being forced to do.
“I should be at the summit,” he said.
“You can’t go, and neither can I,” Irene said yet again.
“There has to be a way. There’s a way, isn’t there?”
“Mitch, the CIA has us both labeled as traitors.” Irene’s dark gaze was hard. Unyielding. “There is no way we can attend the summit. It has to be Lillian. It was always going to be Lillian. If any of our intel allies see us, they will be obligated to turn us in and the best we could hope for is a lifelong prison stay. Most of them are still on the fence about SICA. We have to do this right and bring them over to our side of things. Our egos can’t get in the way.”
“Then what do we do?” He stared at Irene. They both knew what the answer was. What it had always been. He just didn’t like entrusting the national security of their country to a woman who made her living gaming the system. She was a fixer. It was her job to twist the law if it suited the needs of her clients. “Is she even going to be able to get to the meeting?”
“Andy said she’ll be there, so she’ll be there. She’s been preparing for this for months.” Irene held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say. We’ve been over this a hundred times. Our best chance right now is to put our allies in one room, have Lillian present the evidence about SICA to them. It has to be from an unbiased speaker. Lillian is unknown in the intel world. She’s a blank slate to them. Besides, she knows what’s going on, our movements, and we know we can trust her. This is the best way to do this.”
“I want to be there. Maybe not in on the summit meetings, but close by at least?”
“We can’t risk having all of us in one place. Besides, we’d be putting America’s biggest allies in one room. They should rightfully turn us in. And what if SICA finds out about it? What then? We can’t keep doing this by ourselves, Mitch. If we’re ever going to get our names cleared, if we’re ever going to be able to go home, we’ve got to be proactive. And this isn’t even about Lillian anyway. This is about you wanting to control things. Admit it.”
Mitch grumbled a reply, incoherent words. She had him there. He hated not being involved with everything. He’d always been hands-on when it came to his agents. Taking a step back was tough for him. In the bigger picture they were all on the same side. Lillian had risked her life to help them from day one, and now she was on the run because of it.
She sighed. “Will you please sit?”
“Fine.” He perched on the bed across from Irene and propped his elbows on his knees. “How is it going down?”
“They’re going with the UK plan. Everything’s in motion.” Irene pulled out a pad of paper with words scribbled on it.
“What are we doing? Are we making a move on our journalist?” he asked.
“It’s still too risky to go the news route. We need to try to identify his sources. That’s it. We can get them if we’re patient, wait, and watch.”
“I hate sitting here doing what feels like nothing.”
“I know.” Irene sighed. “Me, too. Old dogs like me should be used to this, but I don’t know if I’ve ever had so much at stake.”
“Old dog?” Mitch snorted.
“Shut up, you.” Irene glared at him. “You know what I meant.”
He held up his hands in surrender.
Irene put on this face, that she was too old, too worn out by the world. But Mitch had gotten a look at the woman under all of that, and she was beautiful. He’d let her put on this act for the world and bide his time.
He loved her, and someday he�
��d tell her.
Chapter Seven
Wednesday. Toronto, Canada.
Noah stared at the latest news report. It had to be a slow day if all the channels were focused on a triple homicide. So far nothing had been said about the forger working upstairs, but it had to be assumed the authorities knew what the equipment was for.
He peeked at Lillian, her eyes glued to the TV. He didn’t need to lay out how dire the situation was to her.
If he were flying solo, he’d pack a backpack and strike off on his own, sticking to small towns until the trail had gone cold. Then he’d make a move to South America or Africa. Somewhere warmer, for sure. But they had work to do. Somewhere to be.
He paced to the windows and peered between the curtains. The ground had a light dusting of snow, with more threatened in the forecast.
SICA knew what they looked like.
He glanced over his shoulder at Lillian. There was no mistaking her for anyone other than who she was. She had a distinct look.
“Lily?”
“Hmm?”
“We need to dye your hair,” he said.
She blinked at him, her eyes so large and round he could fall into them.
He took a step closer to the sofa, unsure how she’d take this news. “It would probably be a good idea to cut it, too.”
“Do we have to?” She lifted a hand to her messy bun.
“Yes. I bet there’s some dye in the gear.”
“Noah…”
She lowered her eyes to the floor. He braced himself for a fight, but she kept sitting there not saying a word. After a few more moments she nodded.
“Okay. I’ll go check upstairs.”
Lillian got up and walked toward the front of the house, her steps heavy.
He sat on the sofa and leaned his elbows on his knees, watching the TV but not seeing it. What the hell was he doing with her?
Nothing yet, but he wanted to. Had always wanted to, if he was being honest with himself.
“I found some dye,” Lillian yelled from upstairs.
He didn’t answer and she didn’t call out for him.
Traitor Games Page 9
