Riley (The Kendall Family #3)

by Randi Everheart

  “So the jihad is off.”

  Thomas shrugged, indifferent and seeming a little amused for some reason. “Presumably.”

  Riley still thought it would be best to stay away from Comus for a long time just so no one bothered hanging around, waiting for him to appear if they hadn’t heard the job was done. He needed to call Quinn and find out if any of them had reported anyone suspicious lurking nearby.

  He asked, “Did Yasin contact just you for the job?”

  “No.” Thomas smirked. “I heard about the hit and was eager to have an American killed, so I contacted—”

  Riley punched him in the jaw, sparing the nose because he was sure the guy couldn’t take much more of that. The satisfaction felt the same, he noticed, and Thomas was clearly dazed and a little more frightened after that one. “You were saying?”

  Sullenly, with blood dripping from his nose, and his lip split and already swelling, Thomas answered, “I told him my price and guaranteed success without it being traceable back to him.”

  “Apparently you were wrong about that.”

  Quietly, and without attitude Riley noticed, Thomas said, “Apparently I was.”

  Jordan remarked, “So you’ve gone from killing terrorists to killing for them.”

  Thomas shrugged. “The money’s better.”

  Riley clenched his fist. Maybe killing this guy was best after all. Anyone sponsoring terror deserved death. He wouldn’t feel bad about killing him or Abu Yasin. Doing the world a favor would feel good. “Where is Yasin? How do I find him?”

  “I’m sure your government knows. Oh, but you aren’t here with their permission, are you?”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that? Where is he?”

  “I already told you he’s here in Paris.”

  Riley glared and Thomas’ eyes darted to the bloody fist. The Marine asked, “Has being cute gotten you anything but punched in the face? I want a fucking address. And you might want to cooperate for another reason.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “When he learns I’m still alive, he might come after you, unless I kill him first.”

  “So I can keep the money and my head? Is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Thomas sighed and seemed to consider that. Then he smirked. “777 Rue Deville.”

  “Why the smirk?”

  “Just because you know the location doesn’t mean you’ll succeed. I’m hoping he’ll kill you both when you try.”

  “So charming.”

  “I’m French.”

  “If we die, he kills you next.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Maybe I’m more persuasive than you think.”

  Riley resisted the urge to bash him again. Maybe killing him was worth it. What if his kids turned out to be assholes? This guy almost had to rub off on them, didn’t he?

  “So now that we’ve established the reasons for the hit on Riley,” Jordan began, eyes hardening, “why did Jake try to kill me?”

  Thomas grinned at her. “Old lovers’ spat.”

  Jordan punched him in the nose again and Thomas let out a yelp of pain, then sat breathing hard through his mouth a few moments while she glared. “I don’t need reasons to keep doing that,” she observed.

  Sudden anger appeared in Thomas’ eyes and he snarled, “I should’ve fucking killed you the moment you came back.”

  “Yeah,” she snapped, “you should have.”

  Riley asked him, “Why so passionate?”

  Thomas’ cold eyes never left Jordan’s. “Does it matter? Pride? Lost revenue? The damage done to my reputation for not controlling my bitch? Any of them would be enough.”

  “And Jake?”

  “The same. And of course, you gave him that lovely scar. He’s been wanting payback.”

  Jordan said, “When I killed him in Maryland, I finished what I’d started here. Why kill me there instead of here?”

  Thomas glared as if he resented the reason he was to give. “Too obvious I killed one of my own. And you were always on guard. Hard to track, too.”

  She suspected he wanted to kill her in the open for all to know but that it wouldn’t help with those still working for him. “You weren’t hard to track at all.”

  Riley asked, “Why do it on her mission to kill me?”

  Thomas shrugged. “We’d know exactly where Jordan was and at a specific time. Easy to put a bullet in your head. Jake was eager to be of use. He planned your execution with relish.”

  “And yet I executed him,” Jordan observed, “and used the intel on him to trick you. Not sure why you feel so cocky.”

  He smiled, blood on his teeth. “Maybe I know something you don’t.”

  She sighed and Riley pulled her back a bit, the action suggesting the interrogation was over. That Thomas could hear their words didn’t matter much.

  He said, “Not sure there’s much else we need to know.”

  “We can’t confirm the intel.”

  “I think that was always gonna be a problem.”

  Jordan observed, “You know, we could always turn him in to the police. An investigation would turn up all sorts of things, I’m sure, especially if we make sure his phone is discovered. Evidence of an unsanctioned hit being ordered, paid for, and communication with a known terrorist. He’d go away for a long time.”

  Riley nodded in approval, noticing out of one eye that Thomas’ shoulders had been moving quite a bit as if testing the bonds. “Good point.”

  Suddenly a roaring Thomas leapt up from the chair, having freed his hands while Jordan wasn’t standing behind him watching anymore. A fist swung at Riley, who moved to block, but the punch was just a diversion. Thomas lunged toward Jordan and snatched the gun from her waistband. He brought it up to fire at her even as she began to twist out of the way, eyes wide with fear and realization.

  But Riley had always been fast. In one smooth motion, he yanked his gun from behind his belt, whipped it around, and fired at the same time Thomas pulled the trigger. Four gunshots sounded and both Jordan and Thomas fell to the floor.

  Chapter 17 – The Terrorist

  For a moment Jordan didn’t know what to think. She didn’t feel like she’d been shot, knew she’d really just lost her balance in her haste to dodge a bullet. That four gunshots had gone off and she hadn’t been struck seemed inconceivable. Maybe adrenaline was masking the pain. Her eyes darted to Thomas, who lay on his side, a bullet hole in his forehead and two more in his chest, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.

  “Jordan,” began Riley, bending and gripping her arm, “are you hurt?”

  She turned to find his intense gaze scrutinizing her. “I don’t think so. You fired three?”

  “Yeah. He got off one. Let me look at you.” He hauled her to both feet and began patting her down. “Nothing hurts,” she remarked as he continued. The exam slowed as both realized she hadn’t been hit in any serious way. Riley began looking for flesh wounds or torn clothing, but she was intact.

  He let out a big breath. “That’s a relief.”

  “No shit. I’m glad you’re such a fast shot.” They stood looking at each other for a moment, then turned to look at the body, where blood was soaking the carpet. “Well,” Jordan began, “I don’t feel guilty about killing him now.”

  “Me either.” They began to laugh. Riley said, “We should get the fuck of here. Now. Let’s clean up and go. No mistakes. Those gunshots were heard, I’m sure.”

  She agreed and paused to plant a kiss on him.

  A minute later and they’d swept the place clean of anything they’d brought. Before going, they removed Thomas’ wallet, phone, and anything else identifying him, though his fingerprints would do that fast enough. They didn’t care about him being identified as much as themselves, so they quickly donned their disguises, then masks, a bag of supplies, and left the condo. In the hall, someone quickly slammed a door and the pair sprinted for the staircase, taking it two steps at a time while clutching al
l they’d taken from the condo. A siren began blaring in the distance so they abandoned the car, which had been rented while disguised and using a fake name, and ran for the Paris Metro. They ditched the masks and gloves first, down a sewer. A few blocks later, the wigs came off, and the pair disappeared into the night.

  Back at the hotel, they went into their room, shut the door, and turned to each other, finally having a moment to talk alone.

  “I think we need to clear out of here,” Riley suggested.

  Jordan nodded. “The gunfire changed things. Now people are looking for someone. Let’s give them no one.”

  “Agreed. Where should we go?” He moved toward the closet, pulling out the locked bags, in which they’d stored all the supplies they hadn’t taken with them on the mission. The last thing they’d needed was a maid entering the room to find weapons all over the place.

  She joined him, getting to work. “We avoided my apartments over concern about Thomas, but he clearly didn’t know I was back so I doubt anyone has checked them out, if they even know they exist. Let’s scope one out and then stay there tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  Within ten minutes, they’d gotten everything ready. Jordan called the front desk and told them they’d check out early in the morning, as they previously had claimed they’d stay several days. An emailed bill to her later would be fine. This way, there’d be no real record of the time of their departure, except security cameras. Leaving now would be suspicious if anyone thought it was for good, as no one checked out at night. A last sweep of the room and they were gone.

  A half-hour later, on the far side of Paris, they pulled up to a long apartment complex and wasted no time getting to her place on the eighth floor, where they dropped the bags and spent a few minutes quietly sitting beside each other on an old couch with overly soft cushions. Riley noticed the place didn’t look that lived in, there being no plants to die while she wasn’t around to water them. There was just enough furniture and magazines, and food in the fridge, to be functional and not call too much attention to the lack of clutter. He doubted this really exhibited her style, if she had one. He could wonder about that later. Something more important was on his mind.

  “Let’s check his phone,” Riley suggested, digging it out of his pants.

  “Shit,” Jordan swore, still tense. “They can track that to this location.”

  Riley grunted. “Didn’t think of that. They won’t be looking today, though.”

  “Yeah, but we should get as much intel as we can and then get rid of it. Good thing this place is in a fake name or they’d get my identity.”

  “Any chance this is a burner phone that isn’t registered to Thomas?”

  Jordan perked up. “Yeah, could be. Just to be safe, we’ll ditch it and then wipe this place down for fingerprints before going to another place of mine.”

  “That could take a long damn time. Your DNA will be here.”

  “Yeah, but they’ll have nothing to match it to.”

  “Not sure about that,” he said, concerned. “They can also track the phone to the hotel and we didn’t wipe that down.”

  Jordan swore again, then pounded a fist on the couch. That prompted Riley to squeeze her hand. “I guess we can hope enough people check in by the time they think to do that, that there won’t be many of our prints or much DNA still there.”

  “It was a five-star hotel,” he observed. “They get cleaned even better than regular ones so we’d probably have some luck there. By the time they figure this out, it might be a moot point, and I’m not sure if they can really track a phone to a specific room.”

  “I don’t know either. I think we need to get the hell out of Paris ASAP. Kill Yasin quickly and go.”

  “Agreed.”

  Jordan nodded and turned on the news, which she had to interpret for Riley, as it was in French. There was no report of the shooting yet, but then it was prime time and the evening news was a ways off. Violent crime likely happened often enough to not be worth interrupting regular broadcasts, but shootings outside the United States weren’t nearly as common. Jordan was sure it would be reported later.

  Riley leaned back into the chair. “I’m gonna take a shower to remove any blood evidence or gun powder residue.”

  “Smart idea. I should, too.”

  “You’re welcome to join me.”

  She patted his leg. “No sex, remember?”

  “Yeah, I know. You feel okay in here?”

  “I don’t think anyone’s paying attention to us, but I’ll keep an eye out while you shower.”

  Riley agreed and soon stood with water pouring over his features. He didn’t feel entirely relaxed and thought he might not enjoy sex just now anyway. He’d always had a safe haven to go to after a mission, and this time he also felt like he’d committed a crime, which technically he had, kidnapping someone. That Thomas had tried to assassinate him didn’t change that much. At least he hadn’t killed the guy on purpose. Still, the police had no reason to believe him. In fact, if he and Jordan were identified and brought in anyway, he didn’t see them getting out of serious trouble. Despite her assurances that this place was safe, he really wanted to be gone. He’d sleep lightly tonight, for sure.

  His spirits rose later that evening. He did some online research and discovered that cell phone tracking can only track calls within such a broad radius, like a mile, that the cops would never figure out where they were. Looking at Thomas’ phone, he saw the GPS features had been turned off, which was good, because those signals could be tracked to within fifty yards, but the cops needed the chip in the phone. For that reason, Riley disassembled it and flushed the chip down the toilet.

  While in the bathroom with Jordan, who was still showering, Riley filled her in on that.

  “That’s great news!” she said, pulling back the curtain to beam at him.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t already know that.”

  “Why?”

  “Your training didn’t cover that sort of thing?” He tried to get a peek behind the curtain and she obliged. The sight of water pouring over the magnificent figure made his cock stir and he knew he had to leave.

  She frowned. “Actually, no. I wonder...I bet they kept me ignorant of certain things on purpose. Fuckers.”

  “They’re dead now.”

  She grinned. “Yes, they are! I almost didn’t realize my two biggest enemies are gone, with us running like that.”

  He ogled her. “Too bad we can’t celebrate. Soon though.”

  “Yes. Give me a kiss!”

  He planted one on her and then got out before he stripped naked.

  While she finished, he spent time discreetly watching the area through the windows. Then he ducked in and told her he was going to get familiar and would stay in touch. He just needed to feel safe. A thirty-minute stroll around the area convinced him their location hadn’t been pinpointed yet. Or if their identities had been discovered, the police hadn’t come here yet and likely never would thanks to the cell phone tracking discovery. That was a big weight off their shoulders, but they were hardly in the clear.

  The evening broadcast did indeed include news of the shooting of an unidentified man who appeared to have been interrogated. Two suspects were reported leaving the scene, but while the genders were accurate, the descriptions were off quite a bit thanks to the disguises. The broadcast helped both of them relax and they fell asleep not long after.

  The next day saw them driving to the area around Yasin’s reported place. This side of town was a bit rundown, with faded paint on signs, cheap cars, and even cheaper men loitering on street corners. The snipers avoided driving down the street in question, and instead did tightening circles of the area to ascertain what was on all sides. An escape route began to form in their heads, depending on where they’d shoot from and if the intel checked out.

  And it did. The number of turbaned, bearded Muslims increased as they neared the two-story complex that served as the Islamic Jihad League’s b
ase. The place wasn’t huge and had discreetly armed men, the bulges of their guns’ shoulder harnesses visible under robes, at every door and even down the street. Others could be seen in some of the windows. An air of danger hung about the place, and Jordan and Riley agreed that even driving by would attract too much attention. Another thing both agreed on was that the guards never looked up, and a courtyard inside the gates offered a likely place to kill anyone coming or going.

  They returned to Jordan’s place to prepare for the mission’s work. First on the list was researching Yasin to find a photo, which wasn’t hard. He hadn’t done enough to get on something like an FBI watch list, but his identity was known to Parisian authorities. Several photos were found, each showing a portly, bespectacled Muslim in his thirties. While the long beard and mustache made him look similar to others, Riley was used to noting the specifics in someone’s face to make sure he’d acquired his target.

  They used Google Earth and satellite photos to plan multiple escape routes and choose the right place to do the job. All they needed was the right sniper perch, but there were few buildings tall enough in the neighborhood, leaving one across the street as their best option despite the risk of being caught afterward. The shot would be easy. The flight, not so much.

  The challenge now was having no real idea when the target would leave the building. Or arrive if not there while they watched. For that reason, they planned for a long vigil, taking turns watching if need be. They decided to wait until early the next morning, while it was still dark, and get into position when fewer people were around to see them. Before the sun rose, they had ascended to their sniper perch.

  “If something happens,” began Riley, looking through the scope while Jordan munched on a croissant, “just run and don’t worry about me.” Below them, everything seemed quiet, a dozen security guards monitoring the grounds and streets but never looking up, like yesterday. No one knew they were there and none of the nearby buildings were taller. No one would spot them from above unless a helicopter flew by, but that wasn’t likely.

  “Fuck that,” she replied. “We’re together in this, baby. For good.”

  “That mean you’re coming back to Comus with me?”