Tauna's eyes glanced around the apartment. “This is a very nice building. Also some nice people I met on my way up. It would be a shame if you found it burnt to the ground, don't you agree?”
“Is that another threat?”
Tauna shook her head. “No, what would give you that idea? It's just an observation, nothing more.”
Once Angela heard the door close, she sighed. “What a bitch.”
She opened the file once more and looked through the file. When she saw Murakami's location, she sighed again. “You've got to be kidding...”
The restaurant Murakami owned just happened to be the restaurant she planned to meet Chris at for dinner that night. “This should make things interesting...”
CHAPTER 11
Her hand slid across the mirror, wiping the fog from it to reveal her face. Angela leaned forward with her hands on the sink, staring into her own eyes for a few moments, a towel wrapped around her body. She allowed her head to fall between her shoulders with a deep sigh. Slowly, she looked back up.
“Another hit in public,” she said. “Just what do you think you're doing? How long can you keep this up before the entire house of cards comes tumbling down?”
And now Chris had gotten mixed up in this whole thing. A guy who hadn't been a threat to anyone, just someone who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. By all rights, she should have killed him once he saw her in the park. But he hadn't been like Travis' bodyguards. Chris was completely innocent, had nothing to do with any of this.
She put it out of her mind. Just had to get through this night, do what she had to do and leave the rest to chance. Leaving things to chance was hardly her favorite pastime, but she had little choice in the matter.
***
The modified Harley slowly slid into the parking spot before coming to a stop. Angela switched it off and removed the helmet, her hair drawn up and held in place. Her usual jeans had been replaced by stylish dark slacks and in hindsight, she supposed they were hardly appropriate wear for riding a bike. But she had no car and no desire to take a cab. After all, if things went south, she needed a quick way out.
The leather jacket she wore tonight had been a bit less worn and a bit lighter than the one she usually donned. It reached just below her hips and had been virtually unwrinkled, looked brand new in fact. Beneath that, she wore a white blouse with the collar flaring over the jacket's lapels.
Upon entering the sushi restaurant, she heard a voice call out her name—or at least the name she had given. She looked over her shoulder and smiled as Chris came up to her, his own smile evident. He wore slacks and a blazer over a collared shirt open at the neck. His longish hair had been neatly slicked back and held in place.
“Good, you found the place,” he said.
“Yeah, no trouble at all,” said Angela. She looked at the people gathered around the waiting area. “Long wait it looks like.”
“No, not really, I made reservations. They're holding the table, I was just waiting for you.”
“Sorry I'm late.”
“Don't sweat it.” He motioned for her to follow. “Shall we?”
Angela smiled and the two approached the hostess. Once she saw Chris again, she nodded with a smile and led them to their table. It had been located in the center of the restaurant, which Angela didn't like. Something near the kitchen or one of the emergency exits would make for a better escape route should she require one.
Chris pulled her chair out for her and she sat down. He took his seat across as the hostess handed each of them a menu. Angela looked over the restaurant's selection, truthfully uninterested in her choices. Murakami had been her primary concern. She needed to find him, finish the job, and get the hell out of here.
She realized Chris had been speaking this entire time and she looked up to him. “I'm sorry, what'd you say?”
“I said would you like to just split a platter?” he asked. “Probably get more variety that way.”
“Sure, that sounds great.” She began looking around the restaurant, trying to catch some sight of Murakami.
“Is—everything okay?” asked Chris.
“Yeah, why?” Her eyes kept wandering.
“You seem a little...distracted.”
She flashed a feint smile. “Just a little nervous, I guess.”
“You're nervous?” Chris allowed himself a light chuckle. “You've got no idea how crazy I've been over the past few days waiting for this.”
“I've—I've got my reasons,” said Angela.
“Like what?” asked Chris.
“It's been a while since I've been out on a date.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“No, I mean...” Angela sighed. She didn't know what she was doing, but something about Chris seemed...genuine. “I'm married. Or at least I was.”
“Divorced?”
“Widowed.”
“I'm sorry,” he said.
There had been some sort of strange tone in his voice. Almost like he expected that answer from her and had his response prepared.
Stop it, she told herself. He must feel awkward now anyway without you getting suspicious. That must be the last thing a guy wants to hear on a first date—by the way, my husband was killed last year. So you like movies, huh?
Smooth one, Angela.
“No, I'm sorry,” she said. “Not exactly the getting-to-know-you kind of chit-chat.”
“It's fine, you don't have to apologize. I'm glad you told me, I am.”
And it seemed like he was.
“Hey, let's forget about it,” she said. “Should we get something to drink?”
He nodded. “Sounds good.”
When the waiter came by, Chris put in an order for some sake. Once the waiter departed, he looked back to Angela. “The sake here's pretty good, you'll like it.”
“Guess we'll just have to wait and see,” she said.
She heard raucous conversation in Japanese coming from behind. Looking over her shoulder, Angela watched as a man in a tailored suit moved through the tables, greeting the regulars with smiles and hitting their glasses with his own as they shouted the Japanese toast of “kanpai!”
“He's the owner,” said Chris. But she didn't need the confirmation. Angela recognized Sho Murakami from the photograph Tauna provided. She watched him move through the restaurant and pass into a narrow hallway beneath the bathroom sign.
“Anna...?”
“I—I'm sorry, Chris, I'm not feeling too well, I'll be right back.”
She went to that same hallway and saw the bathrooms on the right. But at the end of the small corridor was a swinging door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY. Angela pulled her gloves on and then reached beneath her jacket for her shoulder holster. She drew the Desert Eagle with one hand, the other hand producing a silencer from her pocket. She screwed it on and slid the weapon into the sleeve of her coat, her hand gripping the silencer to keep it steady in there. Prepared, she slowly pushed through the swinging door, moving quickly to the corner so she could keep an eye on everything. Murakami moved about the kitchen, looking over what his cooks were preparing and ensuring it had all been up to his standards. He pushed a few to the side and showed them how to prepare something and they all watched with amazement as he displayed his talents.
Murakami then moved to another door at the back of the kitchen, presumably to an office. Angela followed and entered another small corridor, one that had a tall Japanese man guarding a single door. She caught a glimpse of Murakami's face in that room just before the door closed.
“Can I help you?” asked the guard.
“I'm here to see Mr. Murakami,” she said.
“He isn't taking visitors right now.”
“Tell him it's a matter of great importance.”
“He isn't taking visitors right now.”
She sighed. “Look, tell him I work with Dante, okay?”
The guard hesitated before he spoke again. “He isn't taking visitors right now.”
“Is tha
t all you say?”
He remained silent, just stared at her with dark eyes. Angela sighed. “Fine.” She turned around but after taking one step, she pivoted on that foot, swinging her leg in a wide arc and nailing the guard with the platform heel. She bent him over and drove his head through the wooden door.
When she pulled him out and opened the door, shots rang out. Angela dropped to the ground as the bullets ripped through the guard. She let the Desert Eagle fall from her sleeve and grabbed the hilt, raising it just in time to see Murakami kick the weapon from her hand and then rush past her.
“Fucking hell...” She grabbed the gun and quickly scrambled to her feet, giving chase. Just before she entered the kitchen, bullets fired once more and she hugged the wall, the shots barely missing her. She kicked the door open, knocking a waiter down. She leapt behind the cooks as Murakami opened fire again, shooting a few of his employees in trying to get to her.
Angela sat against the stove, listening as the shots continued to ring out. Once she heard the click, she sprung up and fired twice. Murakami hid behind a waiter, the bullets striking him instead. With the waiter gone, Murakami pointed his gun and fired again.
She grabbed a frying pan from the stove, throwing its contents and using it as a shield to deflect the bullets. Angela threw the pan and Murakami ducked, lunging towards her. Her hands wrapped around the handle of a pot filled with oil. She removed it from the stove and hurled it at Murakami, covering him with the scalding liquid. He screamed in agony as the oil burned his face.
Murakami raised his gun and began shooting blindly. Angela could dodge the frantic fire with relative ease, dropping to the ground and crawling closer. Once she found herself close enough, she swung her legs out in a scissor kick, locking her heels together around his ankles and bringing him to the ground. She jumped back to her feet and pointed her gun at his head, pulling the trigger a final time and placing a bullet through his forehead.
Angela unscrewed the silencer when she saw two more bodyguards enter the kitchen. She sighed and raised the gun, firing one shot into the first guard's throat. That would make things difficult to deal with now that gunshots were heard.
The second guard wasted no time in drawing his own firearm and began shooting. Angela jumped to the side, once again finding herself behind the stove. Once she heard the click, she leapt over the stove, squeezing off three shots each of them striking the guard in his chest. Holstering the gun, she removed the gloves and shoved them in her pockets as she left the kitchen.
Chris had a confused expression on his face when he saw her approaching the table. “Everything okay?” he asked. Angela could only imagine what she looked like at the moment—hair tussled from all the jumping around, probably had some grease on her clothes and her make-up most-likely completely smeared.
“We need to go,” she said.
“Go?” he asked. “What do you mean go? I just ordered.”
Angela took a twenty from her wallet and dropped it on the table. “That should cover the drinks, come on.”
“But why? We just got here.”
“Chris, please, I'm not feeling too well and I just want to get out of here.”
“Okay, that's fine.” He picked up the twenty, giving it back to her before replacing it with one from his own wallet. “But this is on me.”
She smiled. “Fine, but let's go.”
Once they were outside, Angela could hear the sounds of sirens off in the distance. She placed her hand on Chris's arm. “You know what I'd like to do?”
“What's that?”
“Let's go back to your place.”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “My place?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I want to go to your place. Is that okay?”
He hesitated for a moment before offering his response. “Yeah—yeah that's fine.”
“Most guys I wouldn't have to ask twice.”
“It's not that, just...seems a bit sudden, that's all. I mean, are you sure that's what you want to do?”
Angela mentally kicked herself as she grabbed Christian's hair and pulled his head down, pressing her lips to his. When she broke the kiss, Chris still had his eyes closed and he cracked a smile.
“Okay...my place, then.”
CHAPTER 12
Lithe fingers worked the knot on the running shoes. Once they were sufficiently tied, Angela stood up and went through some stretches. She wore a pair of running shorts and a tank top, her hair tied behind her head. Mason stood by her, holding a stopwatch. The pair stood in a valley before a simple obstacle course—vaulting horses, a sand pit with a rope dangling over it, uneven bars, and two rows of twelve tires held close together.
“You've got fifteen seconds to complete this course,” said Mason.
“Is that it?” asked Angela. “I thought you said this was going to be challenging.”
Mason grinned. “Everyone ready?”
Angela crouched into a running stance and then she heard a series of guns being cocked. She stood up, staring at the peaks of the rocky hills that surrounded them and she could see a row of uniformed men holding assault rifles aimed at the course.
“Go,” said Mason, hitting the stopwatch.
“You can't be serious,” she said. “Men with assault rifles?”
“You just wasted five seconds with your bitching,” said Mason.
Angela cursed under her breath and ran at the course. As soon as she did, the marksmen opened fire. She vaulted over one horse and slid beneath another. Next came the uneven bars and she jumped on the lower one, propelling her to the higher one and swung around it, moving fast enough to avoid the shots. She released her grip, flipping into the air, a bullet nicking her shoulder as she did. She grimaced as she grabbed the rope. Live ammunition. Mason wasn't kidding about the mortality rate.
The pain in her arm made it difficult to hold on, but she did, swinging back and forth for a few moments before releasing it and flying head-first towards the tire. Her hands fell in the center of the first row and she used them to propel her towards the fourth, flipping in the air and landing in her feet, crouching low and springing up once more, backflipping past the finish line. Once she landed, the guns stopped and Mason walked towards her, writing down the time in a small notepad.
“How was that?” she asked, resting her hands on her knees and catching her breath.
“You had less than a second left on the clock but you lost five seconds at the beginning. So you went through the whole thing in just under ten. Not bad.”
“Not bad? That was good enough for James Bond!”
“Yeah but this isn't London and I sure as hell ain't Judi Dench,” said Mason. “Do it again.”
Angela chuckled. “You insane?”
“It's been suggested.”
“Can't I at least get a minute to rest? Have a drink of water?”
Mason smiled and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, the one that had been nicked. Then he began to squeeze and Angela flinched. “You think your enemies will give you a minute to rest? Let you have a drink?”
He shoved her back, releasing his grip. “Do it again or get the hell out of my sight. “We're not training you to be one of those Delta Force pussies. So get off your ass and run the fucking course again.”
***
Angela lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She raised her hand into her eye line and stared at the naked ring finger. She hadn't worn the ring much to begin with, given the nature of her work. Didn't want the enemy to have anything they could threaten you with. But while on leave, she would wear it. And looking at her hand now, how naked it felt without it, how strange she felt lying in bed next to another man, it all felt wrong to her.
She rolled on her side and looked at Christian, who slept with his back to her. Sliding closer, she moved her arm around his naked torso, pushing her body up against his back. Closeness, that's all it was. She just needed a warm body.
Her hand was wet.
She lifted it up, seeing it stai
ned red. Quickly, Angela turned Christian onto his back, his vacant eyes staring up at her, bullet holes lining his torso, and a pool of blood settled next to him on the mattress.
***
“NO!”
She gasped, her body damp with sweat. Beside her, Christian stirred awake and looked up. “Something wrong?”
Angela allowed herself to relax and slowly lay back down on the bed. “No—just a bad dream.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. “You wanna talk about it?”
She shook her head. “No. But thanks.”
As she settled in to fall back to sleep, her nostrils detected something foreign. A lingering scent of smoke. Turning to the side, she noticed the remains of a cigarette butt on the nightstand, with a familiar Chinese character stamped on the filter.
***
The combination of the morning sun on her face, the scent of fresh coffee and the soothing sound of jazz finally caused Angela's eyelids to slowly rise. As she sat up in bed, Christian entered wearing a robe and holding two mugs of steaming coffee. He smiled upon seeing her.
“Hoped you'd be awake.”
She offered a faint smile back, pulling the sheet over her chest. Her lips wrapped around the edge of the cup, slowly sipping the coffee. Recalling what she saw last night, her gaze shot to the nightstand, but found nothing. The cigarette was gone. Looked as if it had never been there. Did she imagine the whole thing?
Christian sat beside her on the bed. “I've got an extra robe you can borrow. Figured you don't want to eat breakfast in the clothes you wore last night.”
“Last night...” she muttered. “Listen Chris...last night was amazing, but...”
He looked at her with concern. “But what?”
Angela sighed. “This is complicated.”
Christian nodded. “Look, I know this was sudden, and I'm sure you had your reasons for last night. But...I don't think you should just dismiss this so quickly.”
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