Turn the Tide

by Ruggle, Katie

  “When we land, will we get firepower?”

  “Not wise for us to carry when the BfV has home-court advantage. We don’t need to piss them or the chief of station off.”

  Adam Murphy, the Berlin COS, might be Knox’s friend, but if he complicated his job or created an international incident, Adam would quickly reshelve him under foe. Guess it was business as usual—don’t get caught, and deny responsibility for any havoc Knox and Logan might wreak.

  “We don’t know what we’re walking into,” Logan said. “Smarter to have a gun.”

  Knox agreed. “We need to toe the line here. If you step so much as an inch over it—”

  “What’ll you do? Fire me?” Logan gave a scathing laugh.

  Yep, a loose cannon. Good thing Knox was prepared. “I promise, you’ll regret it.”

  “Add it to my long list of regrets.”

  Logan was going to be a pain—along the lines of passing a kidney stone with blood in the urine—but if anyone could find Ashley fast and bring her in from the cold, it was him.

  She was in love with him, even though she did a decent job of hiding it. Logan seemed clueless.

  That love would be Ashley’s greatest weakness, and Knox’s strongest weapon.

  The flight attendant draped one of Knox’s unpacked suits, which she had steamed for him, over a nearby chair. That was the signal.

  Yawning, Logan wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “You look tired,” Knox said, rising from his seat wearing the jogging attire he’d changed into. “I’m going to see if the pilot can get us there any faster, but you’ll still have time for a nap.”

  With a nod, Logan looked out the window.

  Knox strolled down the narrow, carpeted aisle of the plush cabin and opened the door to the cockpit. The pilots had already donned individual oxygen masks, independent of the aircraft. Knox slipped on his mask and engaged the small tank of air attached at the bottom.

  One of the pilots disabled the plane’s onboard rubber jungle, switched the pressurization system into manual gear, and began a rapid drop in the cabin’s pressure.

  When Knox got the thumbs-up after a few minutes, he grabbed the case Sanborn had ensured would be here. He returned to the cabin, where Logan had lost consciousness from hypoxia. The sedative in his food would keep him knocked out for four hours, without any groggy side effects, once air pressure was restored. Knox thumbed open the case, placed the barrel of a bio-injector gun to Logan’s nape, and pulled the trigger, inserting a GPS microchip.

  The built-in local anesthetic would block the nerve signals in the tiny area, ensuring it wouldn’t leave a sore spot. By the time Logan awoke, refreshed from much-needed shut-eye and thinking he’d merely dozed off, his friend would be none the wiser about the implanted tracker.

  With or without Logan’s full cooperation, Knox was going to find Ashley Agnello.

  Chapter 3

  Berlin, Germany

  Saturday, March 5, 11:07 p.m. CET

  Ashley stood in front of Hans Lang. Black-market dabbler. Notorious forger. Douchebag—that’s what her cousin Franzi had warned about her ex-boyfriend. Hans made the best passports in Berlin, but he couldn’t be trusted in business, or the bedroom.

  She glanced at the armed guards posted at the door of his office. A hot ball of anxiety rocketed up her throat. If she had another choice, she would’ve taken it. Getting the hell out of Europe, without being stopped at customs for having a passport worth schiesse, was at the top of her must-do list. And it wasn’t as though her family had a mental Rolodex of underworld contacts on speed dial.

  Hans Lang was as good as it was going to get.

  Ashley took out the bundle of cash she’d managed to scrape together—ten thousand euros, a fortune for her friends and family—and put it on the desk in front of Hans.

  He smoothed his hands down the front of his tracksuit, his gold rings the size of an ape’s knuckles glinting in the amber lamplight. There was something handsome about him—sparkling eyes, thick head of hair—but his steel girder of a nose fought against it.

  “I agreed to help you, quickly,” he said, “so Franzi would give me a second chance, but things don’t always work out as intended.” He spoke in English with a heavy accent.

  Earlier, their conversation had been in German. Most people in large cities knew English, apart from the older Easterners, who spoke Russian as a second language. Yet, it was odd.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked in English, following his lead, adding an artificial accent.

  Besides a passport to get off the continent, she needed a new name, a history. Birth certificate, social security number. She had to become someone else, somewhere else. Permanently. No way she’d give the CIA the thumb drive that she’d hidden. It was almost a certainty they’d use it to hurt people, find a way to turn it into a weapon. Destroying it would be equally rash and reckless. In the hands of someone with altruistic motives, the information could do invaluable good. She just had to figure out who the right person was.

  Hans opened his top drawer, set a brown envelope on the desk, and pushed it along with the money toward her. “It’s on the house.”

  Knife-edged tension straightened her spine. “Why?”

  Everything came with a price, especially for a scum sucker like Hans.

  “I’m truly sorry. It’s nothing personal, only business.”

  Whatever he was talking about definitely sounded personal for her. She opened the envelope. The documents looked in order.

  She stuffed everything in the inner pocket of her puffy down jacket. “Are they good?”

  “Best work I’ve done. Untraceable. I hope you get to use them. Careful on your way out.”

  Her heart stumbled over its next beat, and she went stone-still. What in the hell was waiting for her outside? “You sold me out. To whom?”

  “BioGenApex security. There’s a high price on your head. Five hundred thousand euros. You’re a walking lotto ticket. No honor among thieves, right? But I am sorry. I’m still in love with Franzi. I think this will ruin my chance.”

  Poor Romeo, but this was Ashley’s life on the line. “How do I know you won’t sell out my new identity too?”

  “If you survive, promise to put in a good word for me with Franzi, and I say nothing. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Ashley rolled her eyes. “Do you have a gun I can use?”

  “I’ll sell you one for a thousand. But the bullets will cost you nine.”

  Ten thousand for a loaded gun? Douchebag. She needed cash for bribes, transportation, and supplies if BioGenApex hounds were on her tail. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  The knife in her pocket would have to do. She went to the window across from the desk and turned off a nearby lamp. Hugging the frame, she shifted the curtain and peeked out into the night.

  The Spree River dominated the view, a dark, glassy serpent slithering through the belly of the city. She peered down at the road lined with streetlights. A nondescript black Mercedes van was parked across the street. Two men visible from the front seat, probably more in the back. Another one posted at the corner, wearing a black blazer, smoked a cigarette.

  “Is there another way out of the building?”

  “Lower level. Opens onto a dead-end alley. They’ll have people there too. The deal was they take you outside the building.”

  She couldn’t let herself get boxed in or taken. “A fire escape?”

  He shook his head with a sympathetic frown. “Leads to the alley.”

  Maybe they’d only have two guys out back as a precaution, one if she was lucky.

  It was her best bet. She hustled down the stairs, queasy and light-headed. Bypassing the large foyer, where more of Hans’s men stood guard outside the front door, she headed for the stairwell on the south side.

  Blood thundered in her ears
as loudly as the raging water of the Eisbachwelle crashing against rocks. Pulling out the Tomahawk knife concealed as a comb, she drew an unsteady breath. Could she stab someone, slit a throat to survive?

  She steeled herself with Knox’s words ringing in her brain: Kill or be killed, it might come to that.

  He’d boosted the basics of her hand-to-hand skills—essential moves under the right circumstances that might save her life—and taught her a little Israeli knife fighting. Very little. She was no expert, more of a butcher than a surgeon, but she could handle a blade thanks to him.

  If she was backed into a position that left her no choice, then it’d be self-defense. Not murder. She could take a life to save her own.

  Ashley slipped off the plastic comb teeth, revealing a four-inch blade, and pushed through the door to the basement. Her nerves were raw from the running and hiding, Glasses turning up everywhere she went like a tenacious horror-movie villain.

  The heavy steel door closed behind her with a soft thud. The dim stairwell was pitch-black in the corners. Anyone could be waiting for her on the ground level below. She’d be easy pickings on her way down.

  There was a tightening between her shoulder blades—that flare of intuition—before she heard it. Movement from the corner over her left shoulder—in a blind spot. Rustle of feet against concrete, measured breathing.

  She whirled, slashing out with the knife.

  The shadow—a hulking, male figure—danced back, torso concaved, stomach drawn in away from the reach of her blade. Close, she’d been so close, but had missed. She couldn’t outrun him down the stairs, and if she made the mistake of turning her back, he’d have her.

  He lunged toward her, but she parried with the knife, forcing him back.

  This guy would kill her the second she gave him a chance. She shuffled to the right in a fighting stance. He mirrored her step, and she slashed at him with the blade.

  The whoosh was a zing in the air. Zero contact. She’d missed entirely.

  Her body tensed as she prepared for an opportunity to end this. She sensed a split second of hesitation on his part, an opening, and feinted to the left.

  The air moved when he deflected her blow. She crouched into a somersault—praying there was room so she didn’t slam into the wall—and as she sprang out of the roll, she kicked his right leg out from under him.

  He lurched, snatching her arm, throwing her to the floor, and landed on top of her.

  Oh God. Her thoughts darted around like a mouse in a cage looking for a way to escape. She tightened her hold on the knife, ready to stab his groin and launch a fist to his—

  “Ash, it’s me.”

  Her heart squeezed. Logan?

  It’d been almost two years since they’d last spoken, but she went weak at the sound of his deep, smoky voice. If she wasn’t flat on her back, her knees would’ve buckled.

  He took the knife from her hand and vaulted to his feet. Lifting her from the ground with an effortless jerk, he shoved her against the wall, sending tingles racing through her body.

  Up close, even in the shadows and haze of confusion, she made him out.

  Still, she palmed the right side of his face, ran her thumb over his wounded eye, checking that he was real. She relished the leathery texture of his eyelid, the outline of his beautiful mouth, his warm breath on her face, and she melted inside.

  Longing to hug him, she settled for gripping his shoulders as though he was the only thing keeping her from falling off the side of a cliff. Through his wool coat, the hardness of his well-muscled body and the solid, familiar feel of him was a comfort, the weight of him an anchor grounding her. He was bigger than she remembered, standing close in the deep shadows of the stairwell with her heart pounding so hard it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a determination that masked her desperation.

  He let out a quiet sigh. “I can always tell when you’re lying.”

  Logan stroked her cheek, sliding his palm down to cup the side of her neck. The silken caress seemed to touch her everywhere, and the wiring in her taut muscles slackened.

  Yes, Logan knew her like no other.

  For a surreal second, the bittersweet ache left no room for anything else.

  She stepped closer and sagged against him, but that sense of relief disappeared faster than a cry in the wind when the uncanny timing of his arrival registered.

  “We have to go.” His hand curled around her wrist, his calluses rubbing her skin. He led her down the stairs before she had a chance to voice the questions spinning in her head. “Knox is out front. He’ll create a distraction in a minute.”

  Something in her chest sank to her toes. Knox and anyone from the Agency were a bigger threat than BGA. She would never allow herself to fall into the CIA’s hands. Never. The grim, gruesome things they’d do to her to get the thumb drive sent a shudder through her.

  “And he’ll take care of the guards in the van,” Logan said.

  “There are at least three of them. Maybe more.”

  “It’s Knox. He can handle it.”

  They passed two BGA guards limp on the floor by the door leading to the alley.

  “Did you do that?” she asked.

  “Yes. But there’s someone else, sitting in a car at the end of the alley. Strange. He didn’t do anything when I took out these two and dragged them inside. Just watched.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Horn-rimmed glasses, close-cropped hair.”

  A flurry of curses flew from her. “Glasses tracked me from Munich, where he tried to kill me at the safe house.” No conversation. No hesitation. Relentless. “He’s not with BioGenApex.”

  Who was he? Why was he hunting her? And why did he want her dead?

  Logan opened the door. Moonlight illuminated the passageway between the two buildings. As they stood close together in the doorway, he pointed to the car at the mouth of the alley. Glasses was nowhere to be seen.

  “When Knox gives the signal, we’ll make a break for it and meet him near the front of the building. At the dead end of the alley, above the wall, is a fence. There’s a street.”

  She glimpsed the five-foot brick wall with a chain-link fence connected to the top. On the other side of the fence, the street ran along a hill.

  Logan ducked back inside the entrance, squiring her with him. His presence swallowed the space, hijacking her thoughts. She looked at the strong column of his neck and higher at his face that was mostly shrouded in shadow. But she saw the tightness of his frown. She pressed her forehead to his wide chest, glad he was there. He curled his arms around her, cupping her head. The dread inside her dissolved for a moment. The darkness ceased to exist. There was only Logan’s heat and the shelter of his sturdy frame.

  “Ashley, why are you doing this?” His deep-timbered voice whispered over her skin.

  She raised her head, meeting his gaze, and there was an instant charge in the air. Tension stretched between them like a cord, heavy and thick, reeling them closer. It was a miracle he was beside her—as though her prayers for help had been answered—but it was also hard to believe.

  The old Logan before the car bomb, the one she’d been madly, secretly in love with, would’ve taken a bullet for a friend, gone to the ends of the world to get her out of trouble. But the Logan she was furious with had turned his back on her at his cabin.

  She traced the perfect line of his mouth with her fingers. “Why on earth are you here?”

  He clutched her shoulders, bringing her flush to him, and she leaned against his big, steely body.

  “I’m here for you.” His voice was strained with emotion, chasing a shiver up her spine.

  Their bond still existed in defiance of time and distance. It was as real as he was now.

 
“Ash—”

  A boom shattered the quiet. The ground shook beneath them, sending her pulse skyrocketing. An explosion out front. Car alarms shrieked in a series of beeps.

  They jolted apart and dashed from the building to the end of the alley. Logan gave her foot a quick boost with his cupped hands, propelling her up. She gripped the edge of the wall, her gloves scraping the stone, and hoisted herself to get a foothold. Giving thanks for her hours spent in the gym, she climbed over the chain-link fence.

  The air was sharp with smoke from the main street.

  Logan jumped, grabbing onto the top of the wall with apparent ease. At the same time, Glasses burst from the shadows near the mouth of the alley with his sights locked onto them.

  Logan was big and powerful—had the agility of a Bengal tiger—and was over the fence in a blink. He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the main street. To a rendezvous point, where Knox was lurking. Perhaps the others, too, who were supposed to meet her at the safe house in Strasbourg. Ethan Diaz and Mike Walsh. Maybe Diaz would be camped on a rooftop with his sniper rifle, eye trained through the scope waiting for her.

  But this is Logan. Logan. Her best friend. The other half of their dynamic duo. He’d never set her up.

  She yanked free of his grasp. “Do you trust me?”

  Without hesitation, Logan said, “Always.”

  She glanced through the chain-link fence. Glasses drew a suppressed pistol from his coat.

  Pop. Pop. The flash of gunfire lit up the darkness in the alley as bullets ricocheted.

  Ashley took off up the hill with the hard, uneven surface assaulting her feet. Logan Silva, the only man she’d ever trusted with her life and her heart, was at her side. He kept pace, his long legs devouring the cobblestone street. Their breath punched the frosty night air white.

  Adrenaline fired her muscles, heating her blood despite the icy smack of wind lashing her face. She led him in a grueling sprint up the steep hill toward the Schlesisches Tor U-Bahn station. The U1 and U3 trains ran regularly, every few minutes.