James closed his eyes again. He wondered what Mak thought about the situation she was in, about Thomas Security not taking her on as a client. Was she angry? Was she worried about her new contract? He wanted to know the answers, and he didn’t—he wanted to forget her. He needed to forget her.
“You can read this—she’s not in it,” Cami said, placing a paper on his lap.
It was the first time Cami had mentioned her. James opened his eyes. “I’m not interested in reading it. The news I’m interested in hasn’t made the headlines yet,” James said.
“Suit yourself,” Cami said quietly as she opened the second newspaper.
A thought occurred to James. “Did Deacon instruct you to do that?”
She put the paper down. “No, James, he didn’t. I genuinely want to read the paper, seeing as we’ve got nothing else to do on this flight and you’re hardly in a talkative mood. But if Deacon had, would you blame him?”
“So you’ve all had a meeting about this, then?”
Cami sighed. “No, we had a meeting to discuss Mak’s strategy and prepare a handover for the firm taking her on. To be honest, I think it’s sad.”
“Sad?” James repeated.
“I want you to be happy, James. You’ve been alone most of your life and it would be nice for you to share it with someone, to open up to someone—especially now. But the reality is that it’s just not in our cards. I don’t know…I think if you really want a girlfriend, you have to at least choose someone who understands our life, and someone who has our kind of training and can protect themselves,” Cami said.
“Yeah, why don’t I find another woman from the CIA so she can inform on me again,” James said, his voice sounding pained even to his own ears.
He didn’t have to pretend with Cami—she was one of the few people he could let his guard down with. Cami had become like a younger sister to him, someone he protected fiercely, but she was also someone who could look after herself.
“Do you remember what you said to me when I made the choice to go deep into the agency?” Her brown eyes were soft and gentle but she didn’t wait for him to respond, because she knew he didn’t want to be reminded. “You said to me: love them enough to let them go. Love my family enough to protect them, to let them think I was dead.”
“I don’t love this girl, Cami,” James said. “I barely know her.”
“I know that, but it’s not the point I’m trying to make. If you want to do what’s best for her, that’s for her to forget you exist, and you know it. That girl’s got enough on her plate without the turmoil you’ll bring. I love you, but Deacon’s right—forget her now while you still can. Don’t make the mistake he made. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair on you. I don’t want to see you go through that, James. And if you did…” She shook her head, as if clearing away an ugly thought.
She was scared of what he’d do, he knew it because he’d thought the same thing. After Nicole’s death, Deacon had been so broken he’d walked away, not even seeking revenge. He was too distraught to wake up in the morning, let alone hunt down her killers and make them pay. But James was different, and they all knew it. He would hunt down every single one of them, and he would make them, and their entire families, pay. No one would be safe. He didn’t want to become that man, but he knew it was inside of him if he were ever so provoked.
“See?” Cami said, holding her hands up. “You know it. If you go down this path, hell will have a new ruler.”
James ignored her, checking the flight path.
“I’m going back to sleep, and you should try and get some too. When we land, it’s on,” James said, closing his eyes again and drifting off into a dark, dreamless slumber.
*
He remembered her scent, the same scent that filled Dasha’s apartment now. He sat quietly on a chair beside the window, looking out onto the street. He’d been waiting for two hours, and he was prepared to wait all night.
“Target entering front lobby,” Samuel’s voice came through his earwig.
“Copy,” James and Cami repeated.
James looked at his watch, expecting her to walk through the door in three minutes, the time it had taken him. He heard the jostling of keys and with it his body came alive, heightened with anticipation and excitement. He was doing what he was best at, even if it didn’t make him a good man.
Her tall silhouette stepped into the apartment and she paused at the alarm pad. He’d deactivated it, and she knew she wasn’t alone.
She turned the lights on and he gave her a sultry smile. He had once shared a bed with Dasha, many years ago, but these days he guessed she’d rather cut off his dick than suck it again.
She masked her shock well, but he knew better. “Liam Smith,” she said with her thick Russian accent. As she walked toward him, the split of her dress revealed her upper thigh, and her fingers so subtly lifted it higher, but he wasn’t distracted.
“Everyone said you were dead, Liam, but I didn’t believe it, not without a body. It’s good to see you again.” She stopped six feet from him.
“Is it? I think you’re lying,” James said, raising one eyebrow.
“What do you want, Liam?” She crossed her arms over her chest and James watched her fingers carefully while maintaining eye contact.
“Information, of course. What else would I be here for?” He smirked and her chest rose with a tightness that told him she was on edge—exactly as he’d intended.
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know about Escanta,” James said, and her eyes flashed with recognition.
“What does a dead man like you want with Escanta?”
“It doesn’t matter, Dash. Tell me what you know and I’ll leave quietly. If you don’t tell me…Well, you know how that goes.”
She took a step forward. “I can’t tell you much, because there isn’t much to tell.” She took another step forward. “Escanta is a cover-up, for something much bigger. It’s small and it’s intended to be a distraction—it’s like a plaque on a building wall, a plaque with the wrong business name. You’re not looking for Escanta, you’re looking for whatever is behind the walls.”
“And what is behind the walls?” James asked, not backing down as she leaned forward, cupping his jaw with one hand.
“I don’t know,” she said.
James saw the metal glisten in the moonlight before he saw her move. He reacted, without hesitation—his mind knew what to do after years of training.
Dasha jumped back, but it was too late—he’d swiped the blade from her fingers and with one hand secured her wrists behind her back. He slammed the blade into the flesh of her shoulder joint, hurting her with her own weapon. Dasha was a blade expert, but she relied heavily on it, too heavily—it made her predictable.
His hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream, and he stood up, positioning her on his seat by the window. He took a rope from his back pocket and secured her to the chair and then stepped back to view the raging anger in her eyes.
“I told you not to lie to me,” James said. “And I saw your busy fingers well before you pulled the blade from your sleeve.”
Her head tilted forward, the knife in her shoulder sending what James knew to be excruciating bolts of pain through her body.
James put one hand on the knife blade and turned it, butchering a hole in her shoulder cavity. Again he muffled her cry with his hand but he didn’t have long now—someone would hear her and alert the police, or worse: her friends.
“If you don’t answer my question, the next one will be a full turn. Understood?” James asked.
“What do you want?” Dasha spat at him.
“I want to know who is behind Escanta. Don’t tell me you don’t know. You’ve been a busy woman, Dasha, playing both sides of the game and getting into bed with the enemy.” Her eyes widened and James laughed. “I might have disappeared, Dash, but do you really think I don’t keep tabs on what my friends are up to? Look, I don’t care who you�
�re fucking, and I’m not here on behalf of the agency, which you’re stealing information from and feeding to your boyfriend. I just want to know about Escanta.”
Her breath wheezed in and out and James hoped she wasn’t going to pass out before he had what he wanted. Talk quickly, Dasha.
“Russians. Escanta is a Russian group. The members change every six months, so that they can’t be traced. They collect information, on people like you, and feed it behind the walls.”
“Who are they feeding it to, Dasha?”
“I don’t know. It’s a group”—she coughed—“layers of groups. Behind Escanta is another, and then another, and then another. It’s like peeling back a rotting onion. They’re bad men, Liam, and even the Mafia don’t like them. They run in their own circles, and they don’t mix with us. The word is that the main group, the ones who control everything, have been running an underground cult with occult practices for hundreds of years. That’s all I know, and if you want to find out more, find the head of Escanta. He will be the only one with a link to the next layer.”
James clenched his jaw. It was bad news—a mystery of horrors.
“How many in Escanta?”
“I don’t know…eleven, twelve maybe. You won’t find them in Russia, though. Go to Hungary.”
“Why Hungary?”
Dasha pressed her lips together and James turned the knife, watching the blood leak onto the floor like a flowing tap. She was seconds away from unconsciousness.
“Their headquarters are there. That’s where the group makes their money, mostly in drug smuggling—heroin.”
“Give me a name,” James pressed, his grip adjusting on the blade.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Dasha screamed and James knew he’d extracted all he could. And it was time to leave before she attracted any further attention.
“You’ve been most helpful,” James said, smirking.
“Fuck you!” Dasha said as he walked away. “How did you do it, Liam? How did you get out of the agency alive?”
James paused, watching her fight to stay awake, to hear his answer, but it was a battle she was never going to win. Her eyes rolled backward and her head slumped forward.
“I made a deal. Take care, Dash,” James said as he moved toward the door. Cami emerged from the adjoining sitting room, where she’d been waiting in the shadows, and they exited wordlessly.
They took the stairs, three at a time until they were in the foyer. Samuel gave them the all clear as they stepped out onto the street but James still did his own surveillance—you could never be too careful.
Cami unlocked the car and they slid in.
“Go,” James said, as he set to work removing the second skin that was attached to his fingers—it masked his fingerprints. There would be no police investigation, though, because then Dasha would have to admit what had happened. And that would never happen. Not a single word about tonight would ever leave her lips unless Escanta came for her. That was a risk James’ should’ve eliminated by killing her but he couldn’t do it, not given their past, not after Paris.
“Samuel, ring it in,” James instructed when they were several blocks south of her apartment.
“Consider it done,” Samuel said.
By the time the anonymous call was placed and the medic crews reached Dasha, James and Cami would be long gone—like ghosts in the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN –
MAK ASHWOOD
Thirteen files sat atop one another, like a leaning tower ready to topple. Mak hoped the tower wasn’t an omen of how the case would proceed. She prepared for her cases like she had done for her university exams—every detail was meticulously noted, every fact memorized, every explanation analyzed. And she prepared early. There was no last-minute cramming, no pushing of the deadline. And now she had sixteen hours until she had to be in court.
“Kayla,” Mak said as her girlfriend answered her phone.
“Hiya, gorgeous. Are you ready? Are you nervous?” Kayla asked.
“All of the above,” Mak said.
Kayla was a childhood friend who had also become a lawyer. She’d gone in a different route, specializing in medical litigation, but she still understood.
“You teach those bad boys who’s boss, Mak. So, are we going out for our customary pre-case drink?”
It was a ritual that before either of them had a big case, they would go out for a drink. Just one, but one was enough to take the edge off the nerves and ensure a decent night’s sleep.
“I’m ready when you are,” Mak said.
They confirmed the details and Mak found herself grinning as she hung up the phone. She locked the files away in the cabinet, grabbed her bag and locked her office behind her. Her bodyguard, one much less interesting than Cami, was waiting for her in the hallway.
“I’m going to The Market, on Essex Street,” Mak said.
The past week had been interesting. She had moved apartments, and with the impending trial she was still living in a maze of boxes. It didn’t feel like home, and she felt uncomfortable in the space. She hoped it was a temporary measure, and given that she hadn’t received any more notes, she felt more confident, more protected.
Kayla was waiting for her when she arrived and had managed to secure a table in the busy cocktail bar. She sat poised like a true lady with her legs crossed and her cheek resting in the palm of her hand. Mak’s life hadn’t been easy at times, but Kayla’s had been worse. She went through a rough patch, got kicked out of school, got hooked on cocaine, but managed to turn her life around again. Luckily she’d never been arrested during those days, otherwise her legal dreams would never have been realized. They’d lost touch briefly but had reconnected when Kayla had gone into rehab. And they’d spoken nearly every day since.
“I took the liberty of ordering,” Kayla said, eyeballing Mak’s security.
“I will be stationed by the bar,” her bodyguard said, and walked off. Mak breathed a sigh of relief.
“How’s that all going?” Kayla asked with a humored smile.
“Don’t get me started. He’s driving me nuts. And he’s got as much personality as a piece of cardboard.”
Kayla burst into laughter, her entire chest shaking as she giggled.
“Anyway,” Mak continued, “this is my life for the time being so no point giving it much more thought. Let’s talk about something else—anything else, please.”
“Well, I’ve got news…I’m going home next week. For a few days, maybe less, maybe more, we’ll have to see how that goes.”
Mak thought the apprehension in Kayla’s voice probably reflected the thoughts in her mind.
“Wow. That is good news, right?” Mak asked.
Going home to see your parents should be no big deal, it should be something you look forward to, but Kayla had barely spoken to her parents in years, let alone seen them. The last time she had been at home she was sitting on the front doorstep with a duffel bag of belongings—after they’d kicked her out. They had reason; she’d stolen from them, she’d verbally abused them, and she’d caused a scene in front of her younger siblings. Kayla had since rebuilt her life, but Mak guessed Kayla’s parents were still hurting.
“It should be, I suppose. I don’t know, Mak, I’m terrified to go back there. The memories…they’re not good.” Kayla wet her lips and averted her glistening eyes.
Mak reached across the table and squeezed her arm. “Things are different now. You’re different, and you’re healthy and successful. Forgiveness is a long road, right? And it’s taken a long time for your parents to get to this point, so they wouldn’t want you to come home unless they were sure about it.”
“I know, and logically it makes sense. But there’s still some part of me that is terrified of stepping up to the front door of that home, of not being allowed in again.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Mak said. “When are you going?” She wished she could go with her, but Mak’s trial aside, this was something Kayla had to do on he
r own.
“Next weekend.” Kayla dabbed at the corner of her eye. “Please tell me my mascara hasn’t smudged. I paid a good price for this waterproof shit.”
“You look as beautiful as the moment I walked in.” Mak beamed a grin so big she felt it stretch her face.
Kayla scoffed. “Smooth, Mak, smooth. Oh, three o’clock looking fine.”
Mak’s eyes bulged in surprise: Deacon Thomas.
“Unbelievable,” Mak muttered. He sat on one of the couches, with a group of four men and, right on cue, as she sat staring at him with her jaw open wide, he looked up.
“Talk to me, Mak,” Kayla urged.
“He’s the other owner of the security firm, the one handling Jayce Tohmatsu’s security.”
“The brother of the guy on your flight, correct?” Kayla said.
“Correct,” Mak mumbled under her breath. Kayla’s eyes crossed over to the couch. “He’s coming over.”
Mak turned toward him. “It’s a surprise to see you here,” she said.
“Likewise,” Deacon said. “I heard your trial starts tomorrow. Good luck.” He turned to Kayla and introduced himself, and then turned straight back to Mak.
“How is everything going?” he asked, nodding in the direction of her bodyguard.
Mak shrugged her shoulders. “It appears to be fine, but how would I really know?”
His smile was beautiful, and innocent, but Mak thought underneath the persona he was nothing of the sort. “Everything is fine,” he said. It was a reassurance, and Mak wondered how he knew such things if he was no longer handling her security. Was he watching her too?
“Good to know,” she said, looking past him to the group of men on the couch. “Boys’ night out?”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Deacon said.
“I thought you’d be too busy for a night out,” Mak pushed back. She still thought about that meeting and wondered if the excuse they had given her was the truth, or if there was more going on. But perhaps she was overanalyzing it—she did have a lawyer’s mind, one that questioned everything.
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