No Shen hovering over him, spewing death.
“Do you know what psychological trauma is? What it does? How it works? Of course you do. I’m sure they teach you all about that. What to do. How to prevent it. Did you know it’s ten times more powerful than any physical injury you can think of? How it’s so much easier to inflict? How it lasts longer? I wonder which will be more chilling? Killing you now and letting her discover your lifeless, rotting body or…letting her see the life leave your eyes?”
Aiden gritted his teeth. Everything was normal.
He walked into the bathroom, only glancing back to look at the open blinds.
Finally, he took a seat at the edge of the whirlpool tub, lifting the handle and watching as water poured out of the spigot. Staring down as the water splashed against the spotless surface, Aiden tried to remember his dream. Remember everything so that he could forget it. He wanted to remember the surprise when he answered the door and Shen was waiting there for him. He wanted to remember the gut-wrenching feeling when he saw the flash of silver as Shen drew his gun. Remember being cornered in his own home and being forced to fight his way free. Remember being outwitted and outmatched, something his stubborn ego resisted owning up to. Remember passing out as Shen smashed his head against the wall, the black closing in on him. The feel of the ropes. The fear of the door alarm going off. Jin’s final whisper.
The sound of the water rushing into the tub brought him back to reality. A reality that was as devoid of blood as the tub. The truth repeated in his head, resonating and powerful. It was just a dream. None of it had been real.
Aiden smiled as relief washed over him. It was pure, unpolluted relief, not clouded by his anxiety or the remnants of a dream that didn’t make sense. Laughter gurgled from inside of him to the point of tears.
And that’s how Jin found him when she finally walked into the bathroom. “What the hell is so funny?”
Aiden had to give it to her—it was an excellent question—but he couldn’t answer her, not with his head soaring over his body. So he tried to anchor himself by wrapping an arm around her waist, to maybe pull himself back to the ground. It didn’t work.
“You’re actually…guffawing, and it’s gross,” she said, face blank and tone level.
“Jin…Jin.” His laughter dwindled as he sobered. “None of it was real. It was just a dream.”
Jin sighed and carded her fingers through his hair. “I know, baby. Come on, get up.”
Instead of standing, he tugged her into his lap. Jin shifted so she could bury her head in the junction of his neck, as if she was claiming the spot, as if it was exactly where she belonged.
And Aiden was content.
Chapter Fourteen
Pohang Correctional Institution
Pohang, South Korea
October 1
“Is it ready?”
Zicon schooled his features into a blank mask. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to do this, but he was resigned to, obligated to, and in this instance, forced to, so he sat there obediently. His thumb scratched along the dragon tattoo on the underside of his wrist.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t ready,” he said, his tone biting. He held his watch up to the clear window separating the two of them and tapped it three times.
“Three hours?” the man asked, brow hitching upward.
“Exactly three.”
The man shifted closer to the window and lowered his voice. “Is he trustworthy?”
Zicon shrugged.
“He better be. If I have to spend another day in here, I’m going to snap.”
Zicon’s eye twitched. You deserve to be in here. You deserve to snap. He pushed back from the secure visitation booth and the metal legs of the chair dragged across the floor. Some of the other visitors winced. Some glared. He snarled and they averted their eyes.
Zicon stood and turned to leave, but there was a corner of his conscience that spoke louder than his determination to get out of there as fast as possible. “Oh, and by the way? His name is Cho. You should remember that name.”
“Is he one of ours?”
“Oh. That matters to you now?”
The man behind the window groaned and rubbed his face like he was tired. “Zicon.”
Zicon’s smile was humorless. “People go to jail and they change religion. They start kissing birds and eating whole-grain wheat so they shit easier. You on the other hand, sit here thinking only about your hurt feelings. It’s amazing.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry about Pu-Chang? Well, I’m not, so get over that shit and do your job. This isn’t a therapy session. Make sure I don’t spend another day in this jail.”
Zicon stood silent for a moment before he said, “Wait for the alarms.”
With that, he pushed the chair back under the table, another squeal of metal against linoleum, and walked away without looking back. He didn’t care if his words caused some sort of last-minute introspective epiphany or if the older man waved it off. Hell, it wasn’t hard to deduce what his reaction would be. Detached responsibility. It’s how he ended up in jail in the first place.
As he walked out the facility gates, Zicon wasn’t surprised when a guard in a tan uniform whistled in his direction. He didn’t look his way, instead, Zicon continued walking until he was on the far side of the prison gates facing the street. The guard approached him on his left side as per their agreement.
“Do those pass regulation?” Zicon asked as he glanced down at the tattoos peeking past the cuffs of the guard uniform.
The guard grinned and readjusted his cuffs.
Zicon held up his hand and motioned to the taxi waiting across the street. The silver vehicle drove around and pulled dangerously close to the curb. The driver rolled the window down and leaned over, a tattoo consisting of two bold strokes visible on the back of his hand as it hung out the window. “Finished already?”
“I really wish I was. Take me back to the airport.”
Zicon opened the door, began to slip in, but paused. He looked back at the guard. “I don’t get it. Why are you helping him?”
“Helping him?” The guard laughed, his eyes flashing with hints of red. “I’m not that benevolent.”
Chapter Fifteen
American Embassy
Seoul, South Korea
Jon was bored to tears—down to his bones, down to the tips of his toes. He glanced at the large digital clock hanging over the door and counted down the minutes until he could leave. Only a few more hours. The fact that they had him working on his day off when he obviously had better things to do with his free time—like sleeping—pissed him off. They had him answering phones. Phones. He was an FBI agent, not some goddamned secretary.
In the middle of his pity-party, he heard rusty wheels turning. Leaning into the aisle, he searched around the department for the source and oh, did he find it. A new face weaved in between the desks, pushing a cart while delivering mail. Jon’s frown slid into a wolfish grin as he did the calculations.
Five seven without the heels, boyish, slim figure, smooth, tanned skin, olive- green eyes, shapely thighs. She wasn’t from around here, obviously. He calculated a fifty-fifty chance of either making a total fool of himself or landing a first-class trip between her legs. His grin deepened. So worth it.
As she wheeled closer, Jon puckered his lips for a low whistle, momentarily forgetting that whistling, cat-calling, howling, et cetera, et cetera, did not work on women. He swallowed the whistle when a firm hand cuffed him upside his head. He knew that brand of punishment. Jon sat up ramrod straight and pretended to be overly engrossed in the criminal analysis report that should have been submitted weeks ago.
The same hand gripped Jon’s shoulder, and he winced, trying to smile through the pain. “Good afternoon, boss!” he said, too loud to be convincing. Alonso Ruiz’s nostrils flared, and Jon shrank back into his chair.
Ruiz’s voice was gruff. “What are you doing, Agent Kim?”
; “Uhh…” Jon peeked at the paper in his hand. “Work?”
Ruiz squeezed harder. Jon winced…harder.
Ruiz glanced at the new face. “She’s new and her record is impeccable. So guess what that means?”
A thousand possibilities, really. “That you want me to show her the ropes?” Jon suggested, his lips stretching over a toothy smile.
Ruiz popped him upside the head again. “You show her any of your ropes, and I’ll make sure one finds itself around your neck. I don’t want to end up in Human Resources again because you’ve created your own welcome package.”
Jon grinned at the word package, but when Ruiz’s eyes narrowed, his grin dropped like a stone. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Good.” Ruiz turned for his office. “SBT analysis on my desk within the hour. And notice I didn’t say in an hour. Within. As in beforehand.”
Jon nodded again, watching the Special Agent in Charge walk away. He realized as the office door closed with a click that the only reason Ruiz had left his office was to deter Jon from the delectable piece of bait currently approaching his desk.
Like that would stop him.
So what that he had sort of a reputation?—it wasn’t true, anyway. It was just his…friendly manner was often misinterpreted. First impressions meant everything around here, apparently. But it wasn’t like he had anything else to do in this glass-ceilinged hellhole. And even so—it was his day off, and he would get his kicks, even if he had to do it in this cold, empty office. The office where he’d only seen mid-level crime cases crapped together under piles of bureaucratic red tape. The office where he’d never been able to escape from under the shadow of his ex-partner. The office where he was under-recognized and over-worked.
He wanted adventure. He wanted action. He wanted… something.
That brought him back to the pretty set of legs—the action—waltzing his way. It wasn’t the raving review or exorbitant commendation he was looking for, but she would do.
The new clerk was only a few feet from his desk when he leapt into action by snatching his phone off the hook and yelling into it. “You tell them to have those reports on my desk within the hour! And notice I didn’t say in an hour. Within—as in beforehand! That’s an order!”
Jon slammed the phone into the cradle; then grimaced. Shit, did he break it? He recovered quickly and grabbed a random file off his desk, snatching it open. A stack of papers flurried around and off his desk and, exasperated, he scrambled after a few. He almost considered giving up the charade when a pair of legs came into view.
No, totally worth it.
Straightening, Jon held his hands up in mock frustration. “So much work, so little help.” He laughed a little too loud.
The clerk looked down at him, blinking and offering him a nonplussed smile, and Jon resisted frowning at her. She glanced at Jon’s nameplate, shuffled around in her cart, and handed him a stack of mail. On top of the bundle was a brown envelope sealed with red tape. He reached out to take the stack and let his fingers linger along the ridges of her knuckles. She had soft hands, he thought, kind of large, but whatever.
Jon slowly let his eyes travel up from her décolletage to her face, and snatched his hand back as if he’d been bitten when he noticed her glare burning a hole through his hand.
“Oh! Sorry! I…”
The clerk retracted her hand and tucked it under her now-crossed arms. Okay, that fifty percent chance of failure may have been optimistic.
She maneuvered the cart around him and continued her work without looking back. However, Jon was an opportunistic asshole on a good day, so he didn’t feel too bad as he watched her walk away, liking the sway of her hips in the tight pencil skirt.
Jon watched her until she disappeared and it wasn’t until then did he notice the envelope in his hand. Ripping the red tape, he blew a shot of air inside the envelope and plucked the single sheet of paper out. His frown deepened with each line he read. Surprised, because this couldn’t be real, he made a beeline for Ruiz’s office and ran smack into the SAC’s chest.
“Hope you’ve been putting your English to good use recently,” Ruiz said.
Jon frowned and took a step back, rubbing his nose. “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,” he recited in English.
“Apparently they like smartasses more than I do. They specifically requested you. Demanded, actually. I’m not exactly okay with them throwing their weight around with my people, but it’s not like I can refuse them either.”
“Seriously? They asked specifically for me?” Jon grinned. “Guess my track record spoke for itself, eh?”
Ruiz didn’t smile back. “What track record?”
“Hey!”
Ruiz rolled his eyes and about-faced toward his office. Jon followed silently. “Here.” Ruiz slid a report summary across the desk once Jon sat down.
Jon shuffled through the papers before scratching the back of his head. A familiar symbol showed up on the very last page. “The Five Star Mob case?” His brows knit together. “That case is dead. With Shen behind bars—”
“Shen Park is dead,” Ruiz interjected, leaning back into his seat and crossing his arms.
“Dead? How? He was like a demi-god in prison.”
“Someone got a hold of a weight plate and bashed his head during their rec hour. They couldn’t get a facial identification but eye witnesses say it was him. They say he picked a fight, and—”
“—lost,” Jon finished. A thought hit him. “Does Aiden know?”
Ruiz grunted. “Off the grid all day. I’ve tried calling, but no one’s picking up. I made a call to his chief, but Julius can’t get a hold of him either. So it’ll be your job to relay all this to him when you fly out today.”
“Today? But why me?”
“That’s a question I’ll ask later. Until then, you’re getting on a plane and you’re going to play nice.”
“Fine, sure, whatever. Any leads?”
“The prison guards say it was a fight, but my nose tells me that it was too violent for that. There’s been some under-the-radar movement, and there is speculation that this was an assassination by a member who plans on taking over.” Ruiz pointed to a surveillance picture of a young man with braided hair standing outside the prison gates. “Yoon Zicon, second in charge.”
“I don’t recognize this face.”
“You wouldn’t. He handled all of Shen’s stateside affairs in New York. Ron pulled his file this morning. He was the last person seen visiting Shen in prison. He was also seen communicating with several people on the inside. The Feds confirm that he is back in his New York apartment as of last night.”
Ruiz tossed another file, indicating with his chin that Jon should flip through it. “Partner up with Choi and make sure nothing ugly is headed his way. The last thing he needs is his past making an unwanted appearance.”
Jon nodded. He stood, collected the files, and bowed before heading for the door.
“Oh, and Agent Kim?”
Jon turned again with a raised brow.
Ruiz took a slow sip of his coffee. “Make sure no one dies.”
Chapter Sixteen
Key was watching.
Key watched from the desk he’d been assigned as the new clerk. He watched as the men he’d identified as Alonso Ruiz and Jonathan Kim—that cheeky little shit— talked about the contents of the red-taped envelope he’d just delivered.
Humans pray, we watch.
Key picked up his cup of tea and took a sip, watching his lipstick stain the white porcelain. The saleslady who’d sold it to him called it Rouge Sensation. It was a pretty shade, he guessed. He twirled a lock of his bobbed wig around his finger, grinning like a fox as Jon accepted the file and the plane tickets. There was movement, an outbreak of it, as Jon grabbed his coat from his desk and tucked the file under his arm. Key scrambled to swivel his chair away from Ruiz’s door as Jon barreled towards the exit.
Glancing down at his legs to make sure the seams of his pantyhose were st
raight, Key sashayed—there was no other word to describe it—hurriedly down the corridor. Flipping through a file he’d snatched off a desk to make himself seem less suspicious, he tried to keep the shorter man in his sight. If he hadn’t worn these damn heels…
As he and his team fought to formulate a new plan after the Status 2, it had been up to him or Tahir to complete the task of infiltrating the Seoul legal attaché’s office. Despite Tahir's gender and flawless beauty, her winning—read unstable— personality pushed the job right into his lap. And it kind of worked for everyone. Jon’s reputation for wooing women made him one of the easier targets Key had ever dealt with, and Key was a master manipulator. Plus, it was kind of thrilling, having the man flirt with him like that. Jonathan Kim was beautiful and he felt no shame in admitting that.
The large elevator lobby at the end of the hall came up, and Jon stepped onto the first available car. Key entered an adjacent one. He pressed the button and waited anxiously as the car lumbered down each floor. The elevator dinged when it reached the ground floor, and Key prepared to scurry out, but when the doors opened, he only had time to bite back a yelp.
Jon stood, stocky arms crossed, glaring into the car. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice low and intimidating.
“What…” Key paused and cleared his throat, adjusting his pitch. “What do you mean?”
Jon’s eyes narrowed. “I’m paid to track people down. It’s what I do and I’m kind of good at it, too, so what makes you think I don’t know when I’m being followed?”
“Are all agents this paranoid?” Key sniffed indignantly. “I’m not following you and I don’t know what you’re talking about, so if you’ll excuse me…?” Key shouldered his way out of the elevator and into the lobby. Jon shouted after him, so he walked faster, heels clicking the entire way, not stopping until he hit the women’s bathroom.
The Halo of Amaris Page 9
