by Ronie Kendig
“I would have to disagree.”
“But you found me, and I don’t assume you’re out to kill me.”
“Maybe you should.” He cringed at his asinine comment. What was wrong with him? Hang up, you idiot! “I mean, we have no trust—we don’t know each other.” Right. Trust—she backtraced your search somehow, and you want to talk trust?
“Oh, but I do trust you, Barclay.”
Hearing his first name was a mallet upside his stupid head—sounding a dozen different alarms. “Why?” Why had she initiated contact? Why hadn’t he hung up yet? His gaze struck the narrow window in his office door, and he made sure nobody was watching or listening.
“Meet me. We’ll talk.”
His stomach seized. Meeting was a majorly bad idea. “Okay.” He smacked his forehead.
“Wonderful. I’ll text you the location and time,” Alisz said, sounding pleased. “Good-bye, Barclay.”
“Yeah. See you . . . Alisz.” He lowered the phone and pressed the red icon to end the call. Stared at it, disbelieving. What had he just done?
“Alisz?”
Cell jerked toward the door—which now stood open. “What?” How much had Mercy heard?
Her brown eyes were rich with suspicion. “Alisz who?”
“Just this person . . . a woman”—no duh, Sherlock—“I had been . . .” Why did he feel the need to hide? No, he wouldn’t start doing that, not like Leif. “She’s a consultant who works for Hermanns.”
Mercy’s gaze narrowed. “Consultant.” Thick tension pinged between them like a tennis match, and he didn’t know what it was about.
“Art consultant.” He didn’t know that for sure. But it was a decent guess, considering she worked at a gallery. Why was Mercy so . . . uptight?
She smirked. “Didn’t think you’d replace me so quickly, Barc.”
“Never.” Though he grinned, he was irritated, because it was Mercy who had said it wouldn’t work between them. Not to mention the whole thing with her and Baddar. “You replaced me,” he said with a shrug. “Several times.”
She scoff-laughed, leaving the office and calling over her shoulder, “Oh, Barc. You could never be replaced.”
He let out the breath trapped in his throat. Irritation rolled across his shoulders, and he wondered why he felt like he’d done something wrong. Not with Mercy. With Alisz. Was he walking into the den of a Black Widow?
* * *
STUTTGART, GERMANY
Leif sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the Ruger between his palms. Eyes closed, he relived that confrontation with Iskra over and over. Seeing her had sent him into a mental tailspin. Like a chopper that lost rotor control, he was about to crash and burn. Having to run from her, yell at her to leave him alone, get away. Then her getting caught in the crossfire with the Gen2s. A bus had rumbled past the fountain, allowing Leif to drop down a manhole and avoid being turned into roadkill.
He glanced at the still-healing wound in his bicep where he’d taken a bullet before escaping those demons.
Why? Why had Iskra come? Of all people, he’d expected her to understand. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d stolen his satchel, absconding with the book and panels.
He pressed the top of the slide against his forehead, the steel cold against his skin. He’d known walking away in Taipei could irreparably damage their relationship, but after their encounter in the square, they probably didn’t have one. He’d wanted a life with her. That was the whole point of what he’d done—to end this nightmare so they could have a peaceful existence. But the look in her eyes said she didn’t understand. She wanted him to come back, to be who he was before.
Like he told her—that man was done. And he wasn’t going to let people feed him lies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. While he wasn’t sure who he was right now, he knew one thing: he didn’t want to be a pawn—not for anyone. Not Dru. Not Veratti, ArC, or its henchmen. Yet he felt like he’d walked right into that exact situation with Hermanns. No, he’d charged headlong. Right into a den of vipers. This nightmare was his own doing.
Iskra’s look . . . she really thought he’d shoot her. That wrecked him.
Maybe there was an easy solution to . . . everything. He slid his finger into the trigger well. Firmed his grip. Lifted the gun, aiming the muzzle into his mouth.
His phone buzzed.
He ignored it, not wanting to end it all, but feeling no other option existed. This … this would be best. For all.
The phone buzzed again with another call.
He just wanted to be left alone. End the tether ArC had on him.
A series of beeps—a text this time.
Then another buzz. If he hadn’t put scrambling software on his phone, he’d have ditched it long ago. He suddenly wished he’d tossed it in Taipei.
Groaning, he lowered the Ruger. Puffed out a breath. Glanced at the screen.
I know you’re there. Pick up. Metcalfe up, pup.
At his brother’s taunt, he nearly smiled. Canyon always had to be the one to butt in, tell him what to do. His brother’s life hadn’t been pristine, but he’d always been direct. But he couldn’t fix Leif’s problem. Not this time.
You know what you’re doing is wrong.
Classic Canyon bait. Antagonize to force the person to engage.
Tell me how to explain this to Mom.
Low blow, using their mother. But this was no different than any other op their mother wouldn’t be told about, so again—not working.
You’re an operator, so you know I’m blowing smoke.
Leif sniffed a laugh.
Give me something, man, or I’m coming after you.
That wasn’t smoke. That . . . that was a promise.
THIRTEEN
STUTTGART, GERMANY
Heavy guilt had driven Iskra away from the square that day when Leif vanished, apparently—hopefully—still alive after facing those shooters. Why had she been so quick to think poorly of him? Maybe because of Mitre and how ArC had broken him. Her brother had been her friend and hero, yet so callously turned from her. Why would she expect any less of Leif?
But she should have known Leif had stronger mettle. She was no better than the others, than Reaper, who surrendered their belief in him, trading it for doubt and accusation. They all thought his actions were a clear demonstration of his intent. Yet they had been wrong. So very wrong.
This reminded her of when she was a little girl and asked why God allowed bad things. Her mother had always said, “God’s character does not change because we are hurt by a situation that does change.”
The same was true of Leif. His character spoke of a higher road. And in the heat of the moment, in a split second of panic, she had let fear override and assume the worst.
Face in her hands, she fought tears over not giving him the benefit of the doubt. He was hurting and wanted answers. And she had stolen the one thing that held answers. Her gaze strayed to the satchel.
Her phone vibrated, startling her. She glanced at it, and her heart tripped at the text.
Give it back.
She picked up her phone and dragged the satchel across the hotel bed. Held it tight against her chest. It was her only way back to him.
Only when you return what I want.
I told you, he’s gone.
Then you have a problem.
No reply came, and Iskra’s heart treaded the chasm she had created. She couldn’t leave it there.
You trusted me, and I failed you. Let me fix that.
Minutes ticked by with only remorse for company.
Please. Talk to me.
No more texts came, and Iskra knew she had failed Leif again. What if this was the key? By taking the book, she prevented him from getting answers. But if she handed it back, he would leave her again.
* * *
REAPER HEADQUARTERS, MARYLAND
She would not be Sharon Carter and kill the beloved Captain America at point-blank range. But maybe she could do it from across the world. And
not really kill him, but maybe lojack him via the system.
But first . . . first Mercy had to resolve a nagging suspicion about Barc’s newfound Alisz. Who could very well be a megaton pile of trouble. She didn’t want to be right. Yet Barc was way too good at ignoring painful events and missing the entire lesson that should come from them. She’d been right about Mei but had only scolded him. If she was right about this one . . . well, she’d have to intervene.
Fingers dancing on the keyboard, she dug into the system. Bypassing security measures and ethical measures—moral ones, if someone wanted to be technical about it—to find the logs from Barc’s phones.
The timing of this encounter couldn’t be coincidental. No way Alisz had shown up on her own merit, just out of curiosity, with the entirely too gullible Barclay Purcell. And someone Mercy knew years ago had been masterful at posing as a demure Little Bo-Peep who’d lost her sheep and needed someone to help her find them. Then she’d turn into the vicious wolf that devoured everyone. This Alisz had the same bad wolf breath.
Mercy used the phone records the Agency kept to find the number Cell had been talking to. That’d been easy, but it didn’t give her vital records. Thus, she kept digging. Barc found Alisz via Hermann’s gallery in France . . . but that was just a name. So for Barc to find Alisz’s number meant it’d been listed somewhere in a casual, I’m-not-a-serial-killer kind of way. Like maybe a student record—that had been a favorite tactic back then. Of course, at their current ages, pretending to be a student grew more difficult to substantiate. So what had Alisz—
Ah. A flat lease.
Made sense. Mercy scanned it, checked out the email address tied to the lease. The cosigner . . . she stared in disbelief at the name. Her stomach churned. No no no. This could not be happ—
A rabbit hopped across the screen.
Mercy shot backward in her chair, her heart thundering.
The rabbit went up on its hind legs and turned to face her. With a sickening laugh, it jumped toward a hole in the ground. “Off with her head!” a shrewlike voice shrieked as the rabbit slid down the bottom of the screen and disappeared.
Mashing the power button, pulse pounding, Mercy searched for her phone. She had to talk to Iskra. She spied it and—after a glance to be sure the system had powered off—she lunged for the device. Snatched it up. Dialed. It rang with lethargy. “C’mon, c’mo—”
“He’s here!”
Mercy froze, her own panic temporarily stymied. “Who?”
“Leif! I tried to stop him. He was livid, shooting, and I thought he was going to kill me.”
Mercy couldn’t process the words. “What?”
“It was a mistake,” Iskra breathed. “After I escaped, I glanced back. There was someone shooting at him. He”—a sob wracked the line—“he wasn’t attacking me. He was protecting me. I thought he was trying to kill me, and I—oh, Mercy. I betrayed him. He’ll hate me.”
“Betrayed?” She scrambled for understanding. “You’re not making sense, Iskra. How did you betray him? He left us, remember?”
“I stole his bag.”
“What bag?” Silence struggled through the line, disconcerting Mercy. “Iskra? You there? Where’s Leif now? What’s going on? You need to come back.”
“No,” Iskra growled. “I’m not leaving until I find him and get Taissia back.”
Right. Of course. “But what if he leaves Germany?”
“He won’t,” Iskra said, thick conviction in her voice.
“How do you know? I think we have to reconsider everything we thought about Leif after all this.” Mercy could not see Leif as anyone’s lapdog, nor as someone who was going to sit idly by. “I guess it makes sense that he’d stay in Germany, since Hermanns is there—”
“Rutger knew giving Leif the book would buy his soul.”
Realization hit. “That’s what’s in the bag?” Mercy gasped, standing. “And you have it now?”
Silence gaped for several long seconds. “Is there a reason you called?” Iskra asked coolly.
“You have it,” Mercy muttered. “Oh my gosh. Dru—”
“If I leave Germany, I leave him—lose him. I will not do that. Not after all he has done for me.”
“But we need that book.” Mercy shoved her bangs off her face. “I get it. I’m pretty tightly wound right now, too. Things here are so messed up, with Dru, the attack, and—”
“What attack?”
Mercy widened her eyes. “That’s right—you weren’t here. I thought they would’ve briefed you. Dru was attacked in his home. He brought the guy in, and they’re trying to extract information from him.”
“An assassin?”
“If he is, he’s not very effective. I mean, Dru was busted up but alive.”
“How did they find him? And why Dru, if Leif is here with Rutger?”
Right. Because if ArC’s guy had Leif in his clutches, why go after Dru? “Good question, especially since Leif has the book—or had it—and Rutger has Leif. Annnd, now we have a bigger witch to fry.”
“Witch? I do not understand.”
“It’s the reason I called you. Barc has stepped in it again, this time with someone he found through that art gallery where your brother nearly ran you down on his motorcycle.” Slow down, Merc. “Okay, let me back up. So I know this girl, and I’m telling you, she’s a very big problem. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got ArC on speed dial, if not hot-wired right into her skull.”
“How do you know her?”
She drew in a breath. “I shared a room with her when we were with that woman I told you about who took me in after my parents’ death—Mina. The things she did to us girls belong in some twisted science-fiction movie. She should be locked—no, she should be shot!” Surprise coiled through Mercy at how much venom still bubbled in her veins toward that cruel woman. “Alisz and I were her favorites. Alisz was essentially my dark side. She’s . . . bad, Iskra. And I’m scared. Scared for Leif. Scared for us.”
“How do you know it’s the same Alisz?”
“At first, it was just a really strong hunch, but I found her coding—she always used a white rabbit. It’s her. No doubt.”
“Talk to Cell. He likes you. Tell him he must cut this person off.”
“He won’t listen.”
“Give him the chance to make this right, then, regardless of what Barclay says, you need to inform the director. Everything must be done to protect Reaper and Leif right now.”
Nodding, Mercy sighed. “I know you’re right, but this is all so wrong. We’re all betraying each other or stabbing each other in the back in one way or another. I have a bad feeling about where this will lead.” She cringed, realizing how many times that had been said in Marvel comics as a harbinger. Trying to stay positive, she looked across the hub to Barc’s office. And failed at the positivity. “I’ll call when he’s cut me out of his life.”
Iskra laughed. “Give him more credit.”
“You haven’t dated this guy or hacked his computer. I know what his villainous side looks like.”
“But he is good—and he trusts you.”
“Only when I agree with him.” She shrugged. “Okay, bye.”
Ending the call, she drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. There was nothing to do but do it. But what would she say to him? “Don’t trust Alisz, she’s evil personified—she’s really Mary Alice Walker, aka Typhoid Mary.”
The parallels were startlingly terrifying. Mina had often pitted Alisz against Mercy. Forced them to vie for food and clothing. Compete until they were both so desperate to eat they didn’t care who they hurt. They could both fight. Both hack. That last confrontation . . . Mercy couldn’t take it anymore, and Alisz had seized on her weakness. Mercy went a week without food for that mistake.
Sick to her stomach, she made her way to Barc’s office and rapped on the doorjamb. Only the ticking of his keyboard responded. “Barc?”
He shifted. “Hey.” His gaze swiveled between monitors.
<
br /> “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure.” He pecked away, his gaze never lifting. “What’s up?”
“Alisz.”
Fingers freezing, he looked at her. “What?” The question had an edge to it, like a guillotine blade ready to chop off the objection she posed. “Don’t.”
“She’s not—”
“It’s all over your face—whatever you’re about to say to warn me off.” He nodded at her. “Just don’t. I know what I’m doing.”
“I doubt that,” she said softly, easing into his office. “At least, not with regard to her. She won’t help you.” When he kept working, she moved closer, hating to see his trust sorely misplaced. “Alisz is a lure. She’s trained to do this. To bait you—”
“She’s got full scans of the Book of the Wars that we weren’t able to secure. Also, she found video of Leif with Rutger Hermanns, one we couldn’t find. A feed that gives us a starting point on locating him.” He leaned back and considered her. “That’s a lot more than anyone else has given us lately.”
“It’s all bait, Barc. Where do you think she got that intel? How did she know you’d want it?” She tapped his temple. “Think! Isn’t it convenient that she just happened to have it?”
“Someone had to have it.”
“You are not this stupid! She’s a plant,” Mercy growled, his calmness infuriating. “Alisz wanted you to find her because she has intel that only ArC could’ve provided, and they want an operative in our organization. This is what she’s trained to do. To lure you in—”
“Good-bye, Mercy!” He returned to his keyboard. “It’s not the first time you’ve called me stupid.”
The truth cut deep, making her ache for her careless words. “I—”
“Why can’t you believe that I might be smart enough to have actually earned this job? That I’m good at it? That I know what I’m doing?” He stood and motioned toward the hub. “I was Special Forces, too, ya know. I worked with the best of the best. I’ve been on two teams that saw the most evil of creatures and events. So don’t tell me I’m stupid or not thinking it through. I have.” He pitched his pen down on the desk. “But she’s the only one giving me actionable intel, and I need it. We need it.”