Eternal (London Mob Book 3)

by Michelle St. James

  “Let me clarify it for you,” she said. “I’ve dodged bullets, been accused of murder, hidden from the people behind this. Hidden from you. I’ve been missing my daughter, learning to spot people following us, working sources that we could later turn to find information like we did at CBT. So while I’m not exactly a professional, I can handle a conversation about what’s coming.” She turned her eyes on Farrell. “And you should know that better than anyone.”

  Twenty-Four

  She leaned against the side of the restaurant, trying to figure out why she was so angry. Farrell appeared before she could find the answer. He tried pulling her into his arms, but she shoved him away.

  “Jenna…”

  “What?” she said, turning on him. “I get it, okay?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” she shouted. “You’re going to leave me back at the hotel while you try and find Levchenko.”

  “I hadn’t figured out what to do, to be quite honest.” His voice was perfectly even, giving no indication that he was thrown by her anger.

  “You hadn’t figured it out? You hadn’t…” She laughed. “That’s great, Farrell. Why don’t you let me know when you figure out what’s best for me.”

  She hadn’t expected an apology, not from Farrell, not for this, but neither did she expect the hardness in his voice when he spoke.

  “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “Don’t you think I get some kind of say in how that happens?” she asked. “Especially after everything we’ve been through?”

  She had to give him credit; he thought about the question before he answered it.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Not necessarily…” She turned away from him, fisting her hair in her hand to keep from screaming aloud. “So you think it’s your decision? You think what happens to me, where I go and what I do, is up to you?”

  “I think I know the danger better than you do in this case.” He wasn’t giving an inch.

  “Well, I beg to differ. Mostly because I’ve been shot at because of the virus just as much as you have. I’ve had to give up my freedom, my daughter — ”

  “Our daughter,” he corrected her.

  “Our daughter.” Saying it did something to her. Took the wind out of her sails, as her father would have said. Reminded her that they had made Lily together. That they had made a perfect, beautiful human being.

  It reminded her of other things, too. Of the desolation she’d felt when she’d been without him. Of comfort and security he’d given her. She’d been right — people had been shooting at her since Madrid. But she’d survived it because of him. She’d felt safe in Amsterdam and Germany and Paris because of him.

  She drew in a breath. “I’m scared.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Which is why I’m trying to protect you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m scared of being without you.” She hesitated before continuing. “They came for me in Madrid, Farrell. Not you. Me. You just happened to be there. They came for Lily and me on the street in London.” Saying it out loud, detailing even some of what had happened in the past few months, suddenly made her profoundly tired. “The only time I ever feel safe anymore is with you.”

  He closed the distance between them and pulled her against him. This time she fell into his arms, letting them enclose her in their perfect, impenetrable fortress.

  “I don’t know what’s coming,” he said into her hair. “It could be nothing. It could be something. I just want you to be safe.”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t feel safe alone in the hotel. Not after Madrid. Not here.”

  She hadn’t realized it was true until she said it out loud, but she’d been unnerved since they arrived in Chamonix earlier that day. It had been a low-level kind of disquiet, the kind of awareness an animal must feel when in its predator’s territory. The thought of waiting in the room alone while Farrell was out here, putting himself in the path of Levchenko, didn’t sit well.

  “I can’t say that I blame you. I just…”

  “What?” she prompted.

  “I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  It was the only time she’d ever heard him express doubt. The only time he’d seemed less than all-knowing.

  “What kind of mistake?”

  “I promised to keep you safe, Jenna,” he said fiercely. “For you and for Lily.”

  “I’ll be safe with you,” she said.

  His expression was clouded with indecision. “It’s not going to be this way all the time, Jenna. I want you in my life — not my business. It’s dirty and it’s dangerous and it’s not what I want for you.”

  “But this isn't just your business,” she said, thinking of her father. “It’s mine.”

  He nodded. “This time. Only this time, Jenna.”

  Twenty-Five

  Kane was quiet as they parked the car off the darkened road a quarter mile from the Levchenko property. He’d been less than thrilled when Farrell explained that Jenna would be joining them.

  Farrell didn’t blame him.

  Nico Vitale, former head of the New York branch of the Syndicate, had a blind spot when it came to Angel Vitale.

  And it had cost him.

  But Jenna wasn’t Angel. Jenna had been on the run with him since Germany. And while she wasn’t trained, per se, she knew what it meant to be under threat. Knew how to fire a weapon. He’d made sure of it after Germany.

  Most important of all, he simply wasn’t willing to leave her, alone and scared, in the hotel room.

  Kane would have to deal with it.

  They got out of the car and moved to the trunk of Leo’s car where they dispersed flak jackets. Farrell strapped the smallest one on Jenna, then donned his own as Leo unzipped a navy duffel bag.

  “Jesus,” Kane said, looking at the weapons inside the bag. “I’m glad you didn’t get caught speeding.”

  “I don’t speed,” Leo said, handing him one of the guns.

  Kane took it and checked the ammo. “That’s comforting.”

  Farrell took two of the guns from the bag. He holstered one and handed the other one to Jenna. She wasn’t a great shot, but she knew how to use it, and she was decent enough that she could protect herself if the situation called for it.

  “For an emergency,” he said, slipping the weapon into place in the flak jacket. “That’s all. Otherwise you stay behind me, and you do exactly what I say.”

  “I will.”

  Leo closed the trunk. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” said Kane.

  They stepped out of the brush and onto the road, staying near enough to the foliage at the side of the road that they could take cover if necessary. The metallic tang of rain was in the air, and a thick cover of clouds eliminated any light from the moon above them. A river burbled from somewhere in the woods at the side of the road, and the trees rustled with small creatures scurrying through the branches.

  They walked silently — Farrell in front, Leo behind him, then Jenna. Kane covered the back. They’d been moving for about ten minutes when an overgrown drive appeared on their right. They crossed the street and turned onto the dirt road, staying to the side in case they needed cover. The little bit of light they’d had immediately disappeared when they stepped into the shelter of the trees on either side of the road.

  Their footsteps crunched on the rocks underfoot as they started up a small incline. It wasn’t until they crested the hill that the house came into view. They stopped in unison, each of them looking at the dark, two-story structure about a quarter of a mile up the road.

  It was the same house he’d seen in the aerial photographs they’d pulled from the satellite. In daylight it had looked simply abandoned, now it looked down right ominous.

  “You sure there’s not a camera around here somewhere?” Kane joked.

  “Haven’t you heard? Mockumentaries are dead,” Farrell said.

>   “Fine with me,” Kane said. “As long as we’re not.”

  “It looks empty,” Leo said.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Kane said. “This is our last lead. We’re out of time.”

  “Take nothing for granted,” Farrell said. “Follow SOP for clearing the building.”

  He waved them forward with a hand signal and started for the house, careful to stay to the edges of the field surrounding the property until the last possible second. When they had the shortest possible path to the house, he made a beeline for the house, crouching as he crossed the overgrown grass between the woods and the building.

  He had to resist the urge to look back, make sure Jenna was still behind Leo. It gave him fresh sympathy for Nico. He’d felt sorry for the bastard at the time. Pitied him for being so blinded by his love for Angel that he would put himself in so much jeopardy.

  Now he understood. He would do everything Nico had done and more to keep Jenna safe.

  He didn’t breathe easy until they’d reached the shelter of the house. They flattened themselves against one of the exterior walls under a second floor balcony. Farrell caught the scent — smoky and dry — of the wood stacked nearby.

  He lifted the tarp, hoping to see whether it was freshly cut, but it was too difficult to tell in the barely-there light leaking through the cloud cover. He made eye contact with Jenna, relieved to see that she seemed fine, then waved everyone forward, heading for a door at the back of the house he remembered from the photographs.

  They stayed close to the house, ducking below the first floor windows as they continued toward the back of the property. He kept his ear tuned for anything that would indicate the house was occupied — a television. running water, creaking floorboards. There was nothing, but he was careful not to let his guard down as they eased around the corner.

  There was a large bank of windows at the back of the house, and Farrell lifted a hand to stop the forward motion of the team before they could cross into the line of sight of anyone who might be on the other side of the glass. He kept his weapon in position as he eased into the frame, trying to look into the room beyond.

  The room was dark, only the smudged outline of a table near the window, and beyond it, a refrigerator and stove, a bank of counters and cabinets.

  A kitchen then.

  He looked at Kane, indicated that the kitchen appeared empty, then crouched below the window as they made their way to the door on the other side of it. Kane, Leo, and Jenna moved past him, and he stood near the door, formulating a plan for entry if it was locked.

  When he reached out to try the knob, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t.

  He eased the door open, and then slipped inside, keeping his back against the wall, forcing himself to trust that Jenna would do the same. She was smart, a quick learner. She’d stayed on her toes in Denmark, in Germany, in Paris. The reminder gave him a boost of confidence. She would be okay. It didn’t look like anyone was here anyway.

  Kane closed the door quietly behind him, a reflex designed to make sure no one would spot intruders in their house if they returned home while Farrell and the others were inside. It was a detail, a small one, but it spoke volumes about Kane’s experience.

  The kitchen was cold, as if the heat hadn’t been turned on in some time. Dirty dishes littered the counters, and when Farrell ran his finger along the counter, it came away with a thick coat of dust.

  He pulled Jenna up next to him, relieved at the solid feel of her arm in his hand. She was real. She was still okay, had made it to the house without a scratch. He motioned to Leo and Kane to search the second floor, then waited while they left the room on silent feet.

  When they were gone, Farrell looked at Jenna, indicating that she should stay behind him, then started down the first floor hall. The floors were solid, and he was surprised to find that they didn’t creak underfoot. Unusual for an old house, unless it had been recently renovated, and if it had, someone had done it and then left in a hurry.

  He started in the foyer at the front, glancing briefly up the stairs leading to the second floor before turning into a large living room with big windows. The whole place had an air of desolation, the energy of something long ago abandoned, the lack of human presence. He searched anyway, careful to check the coat closet when they moved back into the foyer.

  Beyond the foyer was a room that looked like a den — a large couch and chair, coffee table, old television. There were no pictures on the stone mantel, bland art on the wall that reminded him too much of Adrian Rousseau’s office at CBT.

  Who were these people?

  When he’d cleared the den, he continued to a small bathroom off the hall, then returned to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he heard Leo and Kane descending the stairs, and not being very quiet about it either.

  The place must be clean.

  “Nada,” Kane said, stepping into the kitchen. “Three bedrooms, two baths, no sign of anyone.”

  “Fuck,” Farrell said. He was glad nothing had gone down with Jenna here, but they needed something, some kind of clue that would lead them to a break. They needed to find Levchenko and the others behind the virus, and most important of all, they had to find the virus itself, figure out what the plans were for dispersing it.

  He leaned on the counter. “So we search the place. Not for Levchenko, but for anything he might have left behind — records, paperwork, receipts. Anything that might tell us where he’s gone.

  “This place is like a hotel room. It’s a long shot.” Kane looked at his wrist. “And we have less than twelve hours.”

  “I know,” Farrell conceded. “But it’s all we’ve got.”

  “Farrell.” It was Jenna, and he knew even before he turned to face her that something was wrong. She was standing next to the stove, the kettle in her hand. “It’s warm,” she said. “The kettle’s warm.”

  Realization moved through him in a flash.

  The vineyard in Arbois.

  The unlocked door at the back of the Levchenko house in Chamonix.

  The dirty dishes in a house that seemed vacant.

  The warm kettle.

  “Get down!”

  He shouted it as he threw himself at Jenna, knocking her to the floor and pinning her body under his as the first bullet shattered the kitchen windows.

  “What the fuck?” Kane yelled.

  “Sniper,” Farrell said, trying to conserve words. They’d been set up, lured into the house that Levchenko probably knew like the back of his hand. A place where they would be fish in a barrel for the fucking sniper firing at them from outside.

  “Sniper?” Leo said. They hadn’t had a chance to tell him about their race through the fields in Arbois, the invisible gunman who’d given chase. “Why didn’t someone tell me there was a sniper?”

  “Didn't know he’d be paying us a visit,” Farrell said.

  He worked the problem: Jenna in the house with Kane and Leo, all of them the target of someone who could probably see them a lot better than they could see him. In fact, there was every possibility the bastard had infrared, which put them at a serious disadvantage.

  “Can you cover me?” Farrell asked.

  Jenna grabbed his arm. “Cover you? Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to get this fucker,” he said, looking into her eyes. daring her to try and stop him. It was one thing to say she accepted his work, his life.

  It was another to live it.

  He waited while she processed her choices: fight him and prove that she wasn’t able to accept the danger inherent in his work, or let him go. The moment seemed to thin and slow, and Farrell’s stomach sank. This was his one non-negotiable. He could only be himself. He didn’t know how to be anyone else.

  Then she leaned forward, kissed him hard. “Be careful.”

  He nodded, relief flooding his body even though he had no right to be relieved under the circumstances. He turned his attention to Kane and Leo, their eyes white in the dark kitchen.

&nb
sp; “He’s not going to fire again right away. He’s going to wait, see what we do. It’s a game, and he enjoys playing it. But if you fire in his direction or put something into his line of sight to fake him out, he’ll shoot. He’s a good shot, but not perfect. I just need you to let him get off a couple rounds to give me a sense of where he’s hiding.”

  “Start there,” Kane said, pointing to the woods directly behind the kitchen. “That’s where I peg that shot he got off.”

  “Thanks,” Farrell said. “And for god’s sake, keep Jenna out of the line of fire.”

  He glanced at her one more time, then crawled for the hall. When he reached it, a barrage of gunfire came from behind him, followed by the nearly-silent thud of the sniper’s bullets embedding themselves in the kitchen walls and cabinets.

  Leo and Kane would only be able to distract the shooter for so long before he or she figured out there was a reason. Farrell used the time to sprint for the front door. Trying to make a break across the open field was a no go. You didn’t have to be an expert to shoot a man running out in the open, and if he did that, it would limit the amount of cover Leo and Kane could offer without the risk of shooting him.

  He stopped at the front door, waiting in the silence. He couldn’t be sure there wasn’t someone else covering the front of the house, but it was a chance he’d have to take. The person who had been shooting at them since Arbois had chosen this method for a reason. Farrell was guessing it was because the man was alone.

  He waited for the next round of fire from the back of the house. This time there was no cacophony, just the sound of splintering wood and one burst of shattering glass. Leo and Kane must have used something to draw the fire rather than waste their ammo firing into the darkness beyond the broken window.

  He used the opportunity to ease open the front door, then kept his weapon drawn as he made a break for the woods at the front of the house. He wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if he’d been hit on his way there, but the surrounding woods were silent, and he reached the cover of trees as the sniper fire from the back of the house came to a stop.