Steel Assassin

by Geoffrey Saign

  Christie stood beside him, an arm around his waist. “You have a good heart and it’s finally mine. Right?”

  “One hundred percent.” He smiled at her. For the first time in nearly a week it felt real again.

  CHAPTER 62

  Angel rose off the chair and threw his towel over his shoulders. After a late morning swim in the ocean he had dried off. And he had enough sun. The beauty surrounding him in sparkling water and waving palm trees did wonders for his spirit.

  Walking across the white sand, he was soon inside the rental house. He poured himself a glass of lemon water from a pitcher in the refrigerator and sat down on a rattan chair, waiting for Renata’s massage to end. Body work was a necessity for her due to her limited movement. He hoped the new therapist was good.

  In minutes the bedroom door opened.

  The Filipina therapist, Jasmine, pushed Renata out in her chair. Jasmine had long black hair and an athletic body covered with white shorts and a collared light blue blouse. Late thirties.

  Renata wore a yellow silk robe that covered her body. She beamed at him. “She is fantastic, Angel!”

  He smiled and stood, feeling a little self-conscious in his bathing suit, even though it went to his knees. Taking a hundred-dollar bill off the counter, he handed it to Jasmine. “Anyone who makes my sister happy makes me happy.”

  Jasmine smiled. “Renata is easy to please and I am happy to help her.” She rested a hand on Renata’s shoulder. “I’ll come back in two days for your next appointment. And please consider what I said.”

  Renata lifted her hand slightly. “I don’t need to think about it. I accept.”

  “Wonderful.” Jasmine smiled at Angel and left.

  Angel found himself watching her. She had a graceful stride, natural and not forced. He turned back to Renata. “What did you accept?”

  “Her uncle is a well-known qigong healer in the Philippines and has seen tumors like mine respond to his treatments.” She cocked her head. “We’ve tried a lot of things, Angel, but I have a good feeling about this. Maybe not that I will be able to walk, but perhaps my body can have more strength.”

  He shrugged, not wanting to get her hopes up. “Why not? When do we leave for the Philippines?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “That’s the beauty of it. Her uncle is coming here for three months.”

  “Perfect.” He filled another glass of lemonade. “Thirsty?”

  “Sí.”

  He brought her the glass, which she gripped in her right hand, still strong enough to hold it.

  She winked at him.

  “What?” He chuckled and sat down.

  “Jasmine and you have many things in common, Angel.”

  He stared into his glass. “Renata, my history is not something I wish to talk about with anyone.”

  “Jasmine has a bad history too. She told me some of it. I think you both are ready to start over. There’s no need for either of you to talk about the past.”

  Her love for him made him warm inside, and he wondered if it was truly possible to put his past behind him and have love in his life. “I have much to atone for, Renata.”

  “We both do, Angel. I helped you, remember?”

  “How do we recover from it?”

  She lifted her chin to him. “We help those in need.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

  She smiled. “Think on it. I’m sure you’ll find a way for both of us.”

  He rose, fluidly crossing the stone floor to her and bending down to kiss her forehead. “You always make me feel anything is possible, dear sister. Thank you.”

  Renata laughed. “That’s because it is, dear brother.”

  CHAPTER 63

  The church was filled to capacity with seven hundred people.

  Steel held Christie’s hand, as she held Harry’s. Christie’s whole family formed an unbroken line across the pew. Each family member said a few words about Dale; his life, his spirit, and his easy laughter.

  Through all of it Steel witnessed more fully what a close-knit family Christie had, and how much they loved each other. It still hurt to think that his life had disrupted that harmony and brought such pain and loss. He mourned for Dale too.

  ***

  Across the room, Carol was chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Thorton, who were both fit, slender, and in their seventies. The Thortons were allowing all of them to stay at their ranch house in Montana.

  Steel had given them his condolences for Dale, and both of them had welcomed him with open arms. It had eased his guilt.

  His gaze drifted to Isabella. She was talking to Clay, who sat in a lounge chair by the dining table with his broken leg propped up. Clay had a cast from his ankle to his thigh. His wife, Meera, sat beside him, her hand on his shoulder as the three of them chatted. Clay’s boys were outside.

  Steel wondered if Carlos had found some peace knowing his daughter was safe and happy, and that Mario and Pedro could live their lives in peace too.

  Isabella had talked to him again about Marita and forgiven him. Her words had somehow allowed him to forgive himself. For the first time in a year he had several nights of sleep without her face haunting his dreams.

  Colonel Jeffries had called him days ago, informing him that they had interrupted the bomb attack at Walt Disney World. An alert citizen had listened to the news release of expected terrorism and called about suspicious neighbors. Jeffries had actually thanked Steel.

  The colonel had also relayed that General Morris had asked how he and Christie were doing. It all made him feel good.

  “What do you think of Isabella, Jack?” Harry sat alongside him in an easy chair, his right arm in a sling. His shirt hid the stitches in his left arm.

  Steel smiled. “She has a good heart, Harry. I’m happy for you.” They were all healing, in more ways than one. He had stitches on his arm where Diego had cut him.

  “I’m not saying we’re going to get married, but it feels right.” Harry cocked his head at him. “Strange how things work out, isn’t it?”

  “I think it’s wonderful, Harry.” Christie sat on the other side of Steel, also in an easy chair. Her lower leg was bandaged and crutches leaned against the wall. “I wanted to kill her at one point and now I might have a new sister-in-law.”

  She reached over, and Steel took her hand and smiled.

  Harry turned serious. “I think of Dale all the time. See him smiling when I walk into rooms. But he isn’t there.”

  “I see him all the time too, Harry,” Christie said softly.

  “I’m sorry.” Steel had said those words a hundred times to Harry’s parents and family.

  Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, Jack.”

  Harry’s eyes and voice were sincere, and Steel believed him. Christie squeezed his hand.

  “It wasn’t yours either,” he said to Harry.

  Harry sighed, and then smiled broadly. “Christie had a smackdown talk with all of us about her professed love for you, Jack, and that we better leave it alone.”

  “Did she?” He eyed Christie, who blushed.

  Harry continued talking. “I’m the last one who should point fingers, when I’m half-crazy about a woman who tried to kill me.”

  Steel raised his eyebrows. “So there are fringe benefits to working for me.”

  Harry nodded. “You got that right. I already told Isabella I’m still working for Greensave until we get enough money saved up to start the farm.”

  “That works for me, Harry.” Steel realized Meera was standing in front of him.

  Her brown skin shone, her eyes bright. Her long black hair fell onto a yellow blouse, a long white skirt beneath that. Slender. Calm. Elegant.

  He liked her demeanor. He hadn’t talked to her much and was glad she had approached him. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Clay g
ot hurt, Meera.”

  She smiled. “Yes, but he will live. He is a protector, like you, so he worries about his family. I told him that if one man stands up and acts heroically, then we all need to support that man or soon there will be no one left to stand up.”

  Her voice softened. “He agreed, Jack, and will tell you that himself sometime before you leave. Thank you for standing up so many times for all of us.”

  He took a deep breath and smiled up at her. “No wonder Clay loves you so much.”

  She winked at him and walked away.

  Christie squeezed his hand again. “Thank goodness I’m not the only one who thinks logically. Sometimes I think you men are too emotional.”

  He chuckled. “I think you’re right.”

  Carol wandered over, sitting on the arm of his chair. Tall and slender, she wore slacks and a blouse, her hazel eyes studying him. “Jack, since everyone is saying it, I have to too.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I wouldn’t want any other man to take care of our daughter. She’s strong because of you, and she survived two years of kidnapping because of you. I survived last year because of you. We all accept the risk. And Rachel would never want any father other than the one she has.”

  “That means a lot to me, Carol.”

  “You mean a lot to both of us, Jack.” She bent over and kissed his forehead, and then left to talk to Isabella.

  He heaved a sigh, looking at Christie. “It’s nice to be loved.”

  Christie winked at him. “Don’t forget that.”

  Rachel hurried into the room from the outside door, stopping in front of him, her face lit up with excitement. Her red T-shirt was loose over her jean shorts, her skin glistening with sweat. “Dad, there’s lots of birds here. Want to do a species-finding challenge?”

  “Sure, why not?” He turned to Christie.

  She waved him off cheerfully. “You better spend as much time as possible with her, because as soon as I’m healthy I’m going to demand our road trip.”

  Rachel looked at Christie. “Sometime we could do a species challenge too.”

  Christie beamed at her. “I’d be happy if you just taught me the names of all the birds you know, Rachel.”

  “Deal.” She pulled on Steel’s hand. “Let’s go, Dad!”

  He chuckled. Rising, he pecked Christie on the lips, and then walked out of the house with Rachel, her auburn hair shining in the sunlight. The sweet whistle of a western meadowlark greeted him. Grassy fields, forest, and nearby mountains made him smile.

  “Rachel, I’m going to give you a one minute head start.”

  She smiled mischievously. “You’re going to regret that, Dad.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  She walked away, looking for birds. As he watched her go he felt a swelling of warmth in his heart. They were all safe. No regrets. And he could relax.

  He had put all Greensave assignments on hold for three months while everyone recuperated. Afia Ameen had contacted him through her protection agency, happy to hear he was safe. He had called Wyatt, relieved to hear the man was going to live and be healthy. Wyatt had said he was proud to help him—and that his door was always open.

  He wasn’t worried about anyone anymore. Just relaxed and at peace. He wasn’t responsible for the choices others made, including Christie, but he could honor and cherish them.

  “Come on, Dad!”

  He walked into the grass, glad to have nothing to do but look for birds.

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  See how the Jack Steel series began!

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  Geoffrey Saign’s next book

  Elite FBI special investigator Alex Sight chases environmental terrorists who go on a murder spree. Along the way he discovers a treachery that will turn everything upside down.

  Excerpt from Kill Sight

  CHAPTER 1

  The late May southern California sun was a raging fireball in the clear sky, sending sweat running in rivulets beneath Odysseus’ black Lycra suit. The other three hooded men observed him carefully. He checked his watch. Noon. He took a deep breath, the image of Kristen tightening his jaw.

  Reaching up, his fingers and toes found the small indentations and outcroppings he had already spotted. Years of climbing gave him strength to move fast. He quickly inched his head above the fifteen-foot stone wall.

  His heart pounded. Laughter and a splash came from the distant pool. The guard was approaching from the far left on the grounds. The guard’s suit jacket was open, his holstered gun visible.

  Lowering himself back down, hanging with one hand with his toes dug in, Odysseus pulled the silenced Glock from his waist pouch. After counting to ten, he silently swung himself atop the wall.

  The guard walked by just below him.

  Jumping down from the wall, Odysseus’ knees bent when his feet hit the plush grass. Straightening, he jammed his gun barrel against the whirling guard’s neck, and whispered, “If you want to live, on the ground, on your stomach.”

  The guard paled and complied.

  Odysseus put a knee on the guard’s back and said softly into his neck radio, “Go.”

  Rubber-coated grappling hooks made soft sounds as they sailed lightly over the top of the wall and snugged into the stone. The others soon joined him. Six-foot-four, Menelaus’ rounded shoulders and square back bulged beneath his Lycra. Patroclus, five-eight, had a thick torso, and Achilles stood six feet, his lean frame approximating Odysseus’ height and size.

  From his backpack Achilles pulled a silenced Glock. Patroclus already held a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun. Menelaus dug out a syringe and injected its contents into the guard’s arm, then armed himself with a Desert Eagle.

  The guard went limp. Achilles tied his wrists and ankles, and then gagged him.

  Odysseus led them across the tennis court single file in a crouched run to the six-foot-high patio wall. Built out of designer cored brick, it separated the court from the pool area.

  Odysseus looked through the brick, past the pool, at the glass doors at the back of the house. He prayed there would be no surprises. Waiting until the girl was swimming away from them, head down in the water, he strode around the north side of the patio wall, his gun level. Patroclus followed him.

  Achilles and Menelaus rounded the south end and headed for the house doors, running undetected behind Wheeler and his wife.

  Wheeler was in his bathing suit, lounging on a chair and listening to his iPod, while watching his daughter swim. His plump body revealed his easy lifestyle. Sunbathing in a chair next to him, Wheeler’s wife wore a yellow bikini. Her eyes were closed and she looked asleep.

  Odysseus’ lips pursed. The good times were over for Wheeler. It took Wheeler five seconds to notice them. By then Odysseus was in front of him.

  “What the…” Wheeler sat up, looking at each of them, his face quickly taking on several shades of darkening red, before turning pale. Sweat beaded his forehead. He didn’t reach for the cell phone on the table by his drink, but he did pull out his earbuds and tap his wife’s arm. She woke up and sat rigidly, her eyes wide.

  Standing in shallow water, Wheeler’s teenage daughter had stopped swimming. Her face blanched as she crossed her arms across her chest.

  A twinge of pity struck Odysseus. The girl reminded him of Kristen. Innocent.

  Muffled shots of the MP5 came from the house. Achilles and Menelaus. Odysseus listened, satisfied when the gunfire stopped.

  He glared at the two terrified people in front of him. “Mr. And Mrs. Wheeler,
you’re going to reap what you sow.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Alex Sight felt death hanging in the air—like a fading memory. He wanted to ignore it but couldn’t. Pausing in the living room, staring out at the patio, he swallowed over what was coming.

  Persian rugs, expensive wall art, and pottery on pedestals betrayed the wealthy lifestyle of the owners. None of it meant anything to them now. He wondered what they thought it had done for their lives.

  Taking the last few steps to the patio doorway, he stopped when his senses exploded with sensual details. Like the million bursts of sunlight dancing off the surface of the swimming pool in the backyard, and the hundreds of fiery points the late-morning sun created on his arms and face. Even the holstered Smith & Wesson M&P Shield 9mm in the inner waistband of his jeans felt extra hard against his skin, as did the ankle sheath holding his OTF Microtech double-edged blade. The notes of a nearby singing warbler seemed acutely crisp and sharp.

  Walking through the open glass doors, he noted a large blood-red numeral 5 spray-painted on the patio. They were making a game of it. His arms stiffened over the chalk outlines of the victims beside the pool.

  He walked to the left.

  FBI Deputy Director Joseph Foley was sitting with a woman at a small white table with an enormous purple umbrella shading it. Three glasses of pink liquid were on the table, coffee and a manila folder in front of Foley.

  Alex reached the shade of the umbrella and stopped, staring at Foley.

  Foley took off his sunglasses. Smudges beneath his eyes indicated a lack of sleep, but his six-three, solid frame seemed alert. Dressed in a dark blue suit and tie, his graying hair swept back above commanding eyes and a jutting jaw.

  Alex hadn’t seen Foley for nearly a year. Wrinkles lined the corners of the man’s eyes and mouth, betraying his forty-eight years and lack of sleep. Alex wondered if at thirty-eight he appeared older too, and if his lined forehead gave away his own weariness.