Kill Shot (3 page)

Grace had already fastened her seat belt by
the time Gabe took his own place across from her. She stared out
the window as they taxied before takeoff, doing her damnedest to
ignore him. A table sat between them, but it might as well have
been a brick wall.

“Grace,” Gabe said softly. Her gaze met
his—her eyes filled with pain and coldness—and he decided she
needed no less than complete honesty from him. “I want you to join
my team.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he hurried on
before she could deny him. “You’re the best there is, and I only
want top agents working with me. I need you. Even if it’s just for
this one mission, I need you. It’s important. More important than
anything we’ve done before.”

She was the best sniper he’d ever known. Her
eyes could focus on a target from a thousand yards and she was
brilliant enough to calculate terrain and angles in her head in a
matter of seconds before taking the fatal shot. She never missed.
And they’d worked well together once. She’d saved his life and the
lives of others on more than one occasion.

“If I agree, I want something in return.”
She gripped the armrest of her seat tightly as the nose of the
plane tipped up and then left the safety of solid ground behind.
She’d always hated flying. A weakness he knew she despised in
herself.

“I’ve already told you I’d double what
you’re getting for the jobs you’re doing now. I know what you’ve
been doing with the money, Grace, and how important it is to you.
I’ll give you what you need.”

“I won’t need the money anymore if I work
for you. I want something else.”

He looked at her warily, a feeling of dread
curling in his stomach. He knew what she was going to ask before
the words left her mouth.

“I want your help and your resources hunting
down Kamir Tussad. I want his head on a platter. Take it or leave
it.”

The hatred in her eyes knifed through him,
but he understood it. Gabe stared at her intently, all the impotent
rage he’d kept bottled inside at the terrorist’s name threatening
to claw its way out and slash him to ribbons. He couldn’t afford to
be ruled by anger as she was. Anger made him less than useless.
They were fire and ice, and cold logic was the only thing that
worked for him. He knew if he wanted to get her on his team then he
had to agree to her demand. And then they’d face the past.
Together.

“Agreed. But you’ll not take any side jobs
while you’re working for me. My company has an international
reputation. A good one.”

“Fine. Tell me about the job.”

Gabe handed her a thick file folder. “Take a
look and tell me what you see.”

He waited patiently while Grace flipped
through pictures and let out a long, low whistle. “It’s a clean
job,” she finally said. “Too clean. Land this smooth doesn’t occur
naturally. What was in these places before they were leveled?”

“Whole communities. Houses, people, animals,
children. You name it. Six tribes, sparsely populated by
traditional standards, fallen off the face of the earth. South
America, Central Mexico, Africa, and Australia. The fingerprint is
the same at each place.”

She raised a brow but didn’t say anything
else as she looked through the rest of the documentation. She held
up a picture of a couple, both with pale blonde hair and the kind
of creases in their faces that said they spent a lot of time
smiling. “Who are they?”

“John and Esther Norris. Missionaries with a
Tuareg Tribe in Africa. They came back to the states because she
had pregnancy complications four months ago. They arrived back with
the Tuareg last week and were greeted with this.” He pointed to the
aerial picture that showed nothing more than a flat square of
smooth dirt. “The U.S. Embassy told the Norris’s they’d check into
it.”

“Which means they’ve decided to ignore it
for some reason.”

“You got it.”

“Which is where you come in, I assume. Who
hired you?”

“Frank Bennett.” Deputy Director Frank
Bennett had been a mentor to Gabe for fifteen of his sixteen years
at the CIA.

“Very funny, Gabe. Frank Bennett is dead.
Even I heard that news, and I was in a third world country with
very limited communications at the time.”

“He’s dead because he had information he
wasn’t supposed to have.”

“And now you have it?” Grace asked, holding
up the file in question.

“That’s part of it. You haven’t seen the
rest yet.” Gabe unbuckled his seatbelt and went to the fridge to
grab a couple of waters. He handed one to Grace and sat back down.
“Are you curious enough to stay on board?”

“You knew I would be.” Grace rotated her
neck and used her water to wet a cloth napkin. She wiped the grime
from her face and neck, and the action was unguarded for only a
split second, but it was long enough for Gabe to see a glimpse of
the vulnerability she kept hidden.

“Good. Go take a shower, and feel free to
use whatever is in the closet. Everything you need is on board.
We’ll have plenty of time for me to tell you the rest on the way to
London.”

“Why the hell are we going to London?”

“Because that’s where The Collective
headquarters is.”

“The Collective?”

“Your new employer. The rest of the team
will be waiting for us there.” He held up a hand before she could
argue. “Yes, a team. A five-man unit all hand selected. The others
have been with me awhile. It took some time to track you down. Be
nice. You’re the new guy.”

“Great,” she said, standing. “We’ll be one
big, happy family.”

Grace went into the small bathroom and he
heard the shower turn on. He knew exactly what she looked like
naked, and the thought of her pale, wet body made him ache with
desire. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was tempting
fate in more ways than one. Grace was a different person than she’d
been two years ago—harder—colder—but he loved her still.

He just had to prove it to her. And pray to
God that she might forgive him.

London, England

Gabe was exhausted—his thirty-eight years
felt closer to a hundred—but at least his life wasn’t tied to the
CIA any longer. He was free. Of course, the reason he no longer
worked for the CIA was that his life had turned to shit, so he
wasn’t sure the levels of bad canceled each other out in the long
run. Shit was still shit, no matter how you labeled it.

If his cover hadn’t been blown two years
ago, he’d still be accepting missions. And he knew with absolute
certainty he’d be dead. He was used up. A man could only live that
way so long before he lost his soul or his life. He’d come close to
losing both.

But now there was Grace.

He spent the flight back to London trying to
keep his mind focused on anything but her, but it was impossible
when he could smell the scent of his soap on her skin teasing his
already-primed senses. All he wanted to do was sink into her wet
heat and chase away the memories of the last two years with every
thrust. He’d be lucky if she didn’t stab him in the back in the
middle of his orgasm.

He shook his head at his foolish fantasies
and got up to check on her, only to find her dead to the world in
his bed—her hair lying like wet ropes against her pale skin and her
body restless even in sleep. She wore a pair of his sweats that
swallowed her whole, and her feet were bare and delicate.

Gabe covered her with a blanket and touched
the curve of her cheek with his fingers. She curled into his hand,
nuzzling against him. He couldn’t stop the pain that clutched his
heart as he remembered how their daughter had always done the same
thing. He turned and walked away before he could do something
stupid like get in bed beside her and just hold her.

Gabe took his own shower and changed into
black cargo pants and a black T-shirt. He spent the rest of the
flight buried in work and keeping his personal life locked away.
And when Grace woke a few hours later—so they could refuel the
plane and their stomachs—her hair was rebraided, she was dressed in
the black jeans and green silk blouse he’d put in the closet for
her, and she sat across from him without uttering a word, content
to pass the time with a book she’d found on his desk.

It was dusk when they left Heathrow. A
gloomy drizzle settled over the city and gleamed in the
streetlights like dirty diamonds. Logan handled the black Mercedes
with ease, weaving in and out of the London streets with
familiarity. Gabe sat with Grace in the backseat, answering
questions as she read through the files again.

“We’ve got company, boss,” Logan said,
meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “They’re trained. Two
cars—one black, one tan—trading off positions since we left the
airport.”

“Open the screen,” Gabe said and turned to
stare at Grace. “Who have you been pissing off lately?”

“This tail isn’t for me. I’ve been off the
grid for two years.”

“Yeah, but I was able to find you.”

“Fine, maybe they’re here for me. Pull over
and I’ll ask them nicely before I put a bullet between their
eyes.”

“You’ve always been a charmer, Grace.”

“If shooting them is out, maybe you should
ask yourself if anyone knows Frank Bennett sent you this
information.” She held up the file in question. “There are
obviously leaks in Frank’s office, or he wouldn’t be dead.”

Gabe grunted in agreement and waited while
Logan flipped a switch on the dashboard. A 6 x 6 television screen
came into view, showing a full view of the traffic behind them.

“Do you want me to lose them?”

“Not yet. Let’s see if we can get an
identification. Slow down a little.”

Logan did as he was told while Gabe opened
his satellite phone and pressed a number on speed dial. He switched
on speakerphone and kept his eyes on the screen as it rang. The
voice that answered was amused. “This is Dragon at command. Looks
like you brought back trouble, Ghost. I’ve been watching the drama
unfold from my laptop.”

“Do you have a visual?” Gabe asked.

“I’ve got a partial face of the driver of a
black Audi. The windows are tinted, so that might delay things a
bit until I can get the image cleaned up. I’ll run it through the
system and see if we get lucky first, though. The plates are
bogus.”

“What about the second vehicle?”

“I don’t see the secondary vehicle. Are you
sure there’s another?”

“We’re coming up to an exit off the
motorway,” Logan said. “They’ll switch places.”

The inside of the car was tense with silence
as they all watched the black sedan take the next exit.

“I still don’t have a visual on the
replacement vehicle,” Dragon said.

“He’ll be there,” Logan growled. “I know how
to spot a tail, boy.”

“Settle down, Grim Reaper,” Dragon said.
“You’re too uptight. When was the last time you got laid?”

“I’ve got a visual,” Gabe said before his
two agents could get into an argument. “Tan sedan at five
o’clock.”

“Hot damn. I guess Grim Reaper really does
know what he’s talking about.”

“Dragon, shut up before Logan kills you,”
Gabe said, rolling his eyes.

“Sure thing, Ghost. I’m real agreeable like
that. I’m running the second face through the recognition program.
The plates on the tan sedan are also fake.”

“What do you want me to do, Ghost?” Logan
asked. “We’ll be at headquarters soon.”

“Go ahead and lose them,” Gabe said.

“What’s the point?” Grace asked. “It’ll only
be a matter of time before they find your headquarters if they were
able to track you from the airport.”

“Yes, but I prefer to make them work for it.
If they use computers, then Dragon might be able to lock in on
their location.”

A low whistle echoed through the phone line.
“Damn, that’s the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” Dragon said.
“Please tell me it belongs to the package you went to pick up. Is
she single? What color is her hair?”

“Goodbye, Dragon,” Gabe said and
disconnected the line. Gabe caught Grace’s snicker out of the
corner of his eye.

“Somebody is going to kill that wanker
someday,” Logan muttered.

“Meaning you?” Grace asked.

“I can only hope.”

Grace held on to the seat as Logan
accelerated across four lanes of traffic. Horns blared, and she
turned to watch the tail cars scramble to keep up. They exited onto
a roundabout that had just enough traffic to make things confusing,
and they disappeared into the heart of London, no trace of their
followers behind them.

Half an hour later, Logan drove them up to
the front gate of the building Gabe owned on Chapel Street. It was
six stories of dark red brick and beveled bulletproof windows. Wet
ivy drooped in planter boxes and snaked across the front of the
building—a green so dark it looked black against the red of the
brick.

“What’s your cover?” Grace asked.

“Worthington Financial Services. It’s solid.
Licensed and taxed to the max. Owned by Edgar Harris. Me,” he said,
giving her a wolfish grin. “Your cover is Maggie Fitzpatrick, my
new analyst. You’ll only need the cover when you go outside the
safety of the building. No one’s allowed inside except for
agents.”

“Am I staying here?”

“You have an apartment on the sixth floor.
It’s furnished, and a wardrobe has been supplied, though the
clothes might be too big. You’ve lost weight.”

“I figured you’d take the top floor.”

“I did,” he said, smiling at the mutinous
look that crossed her face. “I’m across the hall from you.”

“As long as you stay on your side, we won’t
have a problem.”

“You can’t hide forever, Grace.”

“I find that incredibly ironic coming from
you.”

Logan cleared his throat, and they all fell
into an uncomfortable silence. The car was scanned, and the wrought
iron gate opened smoothly. Logan parked on the short, graveled
drive and turned off the ignition. Grace was out of the car before
the entry guard could open the door for her, and Gabe came around
and took her by the elbow. She stiffened against his touch, but he
held firm as he faced the head of Worthington Financial’s security
team. As far as his guards were concerned, Worthington Financial
was exactly what they portrayed it to be. No one except the
immediate team under Gabe’s command really knew what went on inside
the building.