“What are you doing here?” Aiden yelled, aiming the gun. When Shen didn't answer, Aiden dropped a bare foot down across Shen’s stomach, hoping to feel a rib crack. Maybe he was hearing things, but he couldn’t tell if Shen was groaning or laughing.
“I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.” A tongue snaked out to lick the blood trickling from his busted lip. “Other than the whole ‘fucking my fiancé’ thing.”
Aiden growled and cocked the gun, satisfied at the sound of a round being chambered. “I think it would be best for you to shut up, shitbag.”
“Oooh! Shitbag! Good one!” Shen’s hacking laugh grated on Aiden’s nerves. “Is that some kind of universal cop lingo? ‘Freeze scumbag!’ ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’ Jesus Christ, man, I’m trying to kill that stupid bitch and the best you got is—”
Aiden pressed his foot down, pinning Shen's injured shoulder between his foot and the grate. “If you do not shut up, I will kill you. I promise you.”
Shen’s face screwed up in pain, but that didn’t stop the laughter bubbling over his lips. “Kill me? You?” Shen crowed even louder. “If you didn’t have your badge shoved up your ass, I would believe that. You are weak!”
Aiden felt his grip on sanity slip a little. Damn the badge, damn the law. His trigger finger itched.
Shen continued to laugh.
Aiden had heard enough. He tried not to be unnerved by Shen’s absence of fear. Jail hadn’t taught Shen anything. There was no redemption for him, no saving. No remorse. He pressed his foot down harder and Shen clawed at his ankle in agony. Aiden only let up to kneel down and wrap a hand around the other man’s throat. He squeezed callously while Shen looked up at him through stoic eyes.
Aiden pushed the barrel of the gun into Shen’s mouth. He could do it. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger. Then it would all be over. Shen needed to die.
“Aiden…don't…”
The red haze dissipated and Aiden looked over his shoulder. Jin was standing there, her eyes trained on him.
“Why are you still here?” he growled. “I told you to run.”
Jin scoffed. “Safety nets don’t run.”
Aiden’s gaze dropped to what she was holding in her hand. Clutched between her slim fingers was the Bersa Thunder they kept hidden behind the sofa bed, aimed at Shen. A young man with an unfamiliar pair of dark eyes stood behind Jin, gazing at Aiden through the black curls skimming over his forehead. The bottom half of his face was covered in a dark neoprene ski mask. He had what Aiden presumed was a supporting hand on Jin’s shoulder. Aiden couldn’t afford presumptions. The only thing keeping him from aiming his weapon at the stranger was that said weapon was currently lodged in Shen’s mouth.
“Step away from her,” Aiden ground out through clenched teeth.
The man’s eyes widened, and he moved away from Jin, throwing his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got the wrong idea! My…my…I-I'm Rooke. I’m here. To help.”
“Help?” Aiden spat in frustration and suspicion. “Who sent you?”
He chuckled nervously. “Um, God?”
Aiden’s glare darkened, and Rooke took another step back, slipping on some of the shattered glass scattered across the floor before he regained his footing. “I can elaborate but we need to get out of here.” Aiden didn’t move, so Rooke—slowly, very slowly—put his firearm in his belt holster.
Suddenly, Rooke looked past Aiden’s shoulder and pointed. “Hey! What is he—”
Aiden looked down and saw Shen holding up two bloody fingers. A signal?
Bullets sparked off the fire escape. Rooke and Jin tore for the living room while Aiden backpedaled and dove through the window. The crisp sound of a communicator rang out over the sound of the bullets. “Rooke! They are moving in on you! Go, go, go!”
“You heard the man!” Rooke wrapped a hand around Jin's wrist, turned and ran. Aiden followed them through the apartment to the open front door.
“Rooke!” buzzed through the communicator. “Stay clear of the elevator. Three marks headed straight for you.”
Rooke cursed under his breath. “What about the stairwell? Can we—”
The pop of a pistol was loud.
Aiden cried out and slumped against the wall, holding his side. He’d been shot before, the pain was familiar to him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. The pain blinded him and for a moment the only thing he could feel was searing burn in his side.
He blinked through the pain and saw Jin and Rooke whip around. He turned to see Shen, his face covered in blood, his left arm hanging limply at his side, and a gun clutched in the other.
Jin’s reaction was instant. She raised the Bersa and fired. Aiden had no idea if she hit Shen or not, because Rooke grabbed Jin and shoved both her and Aiden into the hallway.
The three took off in a sprint. Their neighbors were hanging out of their apartments, frightened by the gunfire, slinking back behind their doors as they passed.
Rooke fumbled for the communicator button on his flak jacket. “We’re out!”
Aiden heard another unfamiliar voice yell back through the static buzz. “End of the hallway, stairwell is on your left. Three flights, and then go east to the other end, to the service entrance. I’m alerting Key to your new position. He should be waiting for you there.”
“Got it! Moving out!”
“Rooke?”
“Yes, Tahir?”
“Come out alive.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Spring Street, Manhattan
October 4; 11:44p.m.
Jon had a very specific itinerary for tonight, one scientifically guaranteed to capitalize on every entertaining aspect of the city. Avoid whatever goodie-two-shoe escort the FBI sent his way. Leave hotel. Stop by Aiden’s. Go drinking. Find woman. Beat chest. Bed. Sex. Sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. Said itinerary would have been flawless if Jon had any luck. But he didn’t.
Instead of enjoying what New York had to offer, Jon was behind the open door of his SUV with his gun pointed at the personification of his derailed plans, a man pointing a gun back at Jon dressed like a rogue ninja—black on black leather, a ski mask covering the bottom half of his face, and the braided hilt of a sword jutting over his shoulder. And seriously, in any other situation this would have been really cool. But it wasn’t any other situation.
The man, whose olive green eyes glared at him, stood there with all the aloofness of a statue, had his Glock drawn and aimed at Jon’s head. It was sudden, unprovoked, and made no sense. That is, until Jon heard the gunfire above him.
Jon favored Aiden’s apartment building with a quick glance, dangerous considering his current company. This allowed the armed man to edge closer. Jon noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and realigned his aim. “Nice try. I'm not going to say it again. Drop the weapon! Now!”
“You're not helping right now,” the armed man admonished.
Jon looked at him like he'd lost his entire mind. “What do you mean help? I don't know if you know, but you’re pointing a gun at a federal agent. I can start spouting laws and section codes and numbers, or I can sum it up with a ‘If you don’t put that damn gun down you’re going to jail for a really long time!’ Now, I'm not exactly sure what kind of help you're looking for, but you might have the concept screwed up, pal.”
The man removed the mask, a frown wrinkling smooth tan skin, and rolled his eyes. “Do you ever stop to inhale or maybe think?” he asked incredulously before holstering his firearm.
Jon shrugged. “I tried it once. Overrated.”
The man didn’t look to be in a joking mood and that pleased Jon for an unknown reason.
“I’ll make this simple. In about sixty seconds a young woman carrying a pretty big gun is going to come flying out of that building”—the man pointed to a building on his right—“and soon afterward, three people are going to come out of that building”—he motioned to the left—“two of whom you know personally. They'll need your help. That’s
why you are here.”
Jon narrowed his eyes, still not too ready to believe the words of someone who had been aiming a gun at his head a moment ago. Another round of gunfire rang out above them, and he almost took the bait as his attention edged upwards. “If what you're saying is true, then I’m calling for help.”
“You still think that’s necessary?”
Jon opened his mouth to speak and heard the faint whine of police sirens.
The man narrowed his eyes. “Exactly. And by the time your little squad of super cops shows up, we'll all be dead. Trust me, we don’t have long.”
Jon glanced up at the floors above him. “Tell me why I shouldn't arrest you and figure out what the hell is going on by myself?”
The man leveled a glare at him dipped in pure ice and a shiver flitted down Jon’s spine. “Because then you’re jeopardizing my mission, and I can’t let that happen.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
October 4; 11:25 p.m.
Tahir starred at the screens in complete shock.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
This was not the plan. Tahir understood exactly what Rooke had said. Three cameras—one from the clothing store, one in the stairwell, one from the voyeur guy across the street. That would have given them a shot of the front door to the building, the stairwells leading up to Jin and Aiden’s floor and a clear shot into their apartment.
For minutes, the screens were devoid of any dangerous activity. A few people walking up and down the street, and an old man trying the closed door of the shop on the ground floor of Jin and Aiden’s building before walking off. It was peaceful. No signs of Shen anywhere. That didn’t mean she was going to let down her guard.
Tahir closed one eye, and peered through the scope as she angled the rifle toward the street. If Shen was coming, he’d come for the door first. She counted to three before she moved back from the scope to eye the feed on the three screens. As she did, the screen jumped from street level to the window. Tahir’s brow dipped. Everything looked fine…except for one thing. Aiden’s face.
Tahir put her eye back to the scope.
One second.
Two seconds.
Shit.
She saw it. She saw what had Aiden looking like that.
Tahir scrambled for her communicator button. “Breach! Cut the power!” The only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heavy breathing as she stood completely still. Three shots broke the quiet and Tahir’s heart dropped to her feet. Running on pure adrenaline, she lined the inky blob of her target in the crosshairs and pulled the trigger.
Tahir watched Shen stagger forward, his hand flying to his shoulder, and closed her eyes, trying to think.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
The plan had been simple. Keep Shen from the inside of that apartment. To do that, first they had to change how Shen approached the apartment in the first place. Second, they needed to put a barrier between the front door and the maniac. If he did manage to get inside, Tahir was positioned to keep him outside the bedroom. It was a chance for Jin and Aiden to truly escape. Fate would readjust for Jin, and they would decide back on Caeli how to deal with Shen if he survived. That was the plan.
However, that plan depended on Jin and Aiden having some sense. Which, apparently, they didn’t.
From across the street, Tahir saw Aiden fly out of the darkness of the bedroom and tackle Shen. Tahir wanted to scream, she wanted to punch Aiden in the face herself. Key was right, Aiden was a hindrance.
“Why didn't you run, you idiot?” Tahir raised her rifle, unable to get off another clean shot as Shen and Aiden wrestled on the fire escape.
Out of the corner of her eye Tahir saw movement on one of the screens. Although the stairwell cameras were dark, the emergency lighting at each floor highlighted moving bodies as they climbed up the stairs.
“You gotta be kidding me!” Tahir pressed her thumb against the communicator button, but sudden gunfire overhead ripped a startled yelp out of her. Time to go!
All hell had broken loose. Tahir detached the rifle from the sniper bipod and slung the heavy gun across her back. She grabbed Rooke’s laptops and threw them into her duffle bag before she backed out of the room, tripping over cords and cases as she flew out the door. She twisted the dial on the communicator again and landed on Rooke’s frequency.
“Rooke! They are moving in on you! Go, go, go!” Racing down the steps, Tahir made it to the second floor before Rooke's frantic relay buzzed through.
“We’re out! Where now?”
“End of the hallway, stairwell is on your left. Three flights, and then go east to the other end, to the service entrance. I’m alerting Key to your new position. He should be waiting for you there.”
“Got it! Moving out!”
Tahir began to take off again but paused, thinking. She buzzed Rooke again. “Rooke?”
“Yes, Tahir?”
“Come out alive,” she commanded before she continued down the stairs.
Tahir saw the double set of steel doors, dug her shoulder and burst through them. She was halfway down the brick steps when she had to stumble to a stop.
“Key,” Tahir cried as she spotted her leader. Across from him was… Jonathan Kim.
“Jonathan Kim?” The question echoed off their Causatum chamber walls as she, Key and Rooke discussed their gameplan for their Status Three. The clock was ticking. They only had so much time between each Status before the timeline restarted.
Tahir looked up at the three screens, each one showing a different angle of an FBI agent. He had an athletic build, broad shoulders covered in a white shirt, a stiff black blazer, and a no-nonsense tie. There was something cocky in the way he stared at the camera—the slight slant to his lips, or the arched brow, Tahir didn’t know. She glanced down at his profile.
“French-Korean. Nice,” Rooke said from the chaise.
“He’s short.” Tahir snorted, unimpressed. “Who is he?”
Key looked at the three screens with a hand fisted on his hip. “He,” he said, walking to the screen and tapping on it, “is my secret weapon.”
“Having a secret weapon that’s a secret from your team usually doesn’t work in team settings. Why is he so special?”
“Simple. Relations. Jonathan Kim is FBI, assigned to Seoul. He works a joint task force with the Seoul Prosecutor’s Office, their TAOCI division. They handle organized crime—you know, the mob bosses…kingpins.”
“That’s great. That also has nothing to do with us,” Tahir commented dryly, spinning her chair away from the screen and back to a map of New York City.
“You’re more of a tactical person, Tahir, that’s why it’s not clicking to you. Aiden Choi used to work that same task force with Jon when he lived in Seoul,” Rooke mentioned.
Key grinned and winked at Rooke. “That’s why you are my favorite.” Tahir rolled her eyes. “Aiden Choi and Jonathan Kim were childhood friends. Actually, Jonathan Kim is Aiden Choi’s only friend, besides Jin. He was top of their class at the FBI Academy. Master marksmen, a qualified profiler, and an expert in human trafficking investigation. Even though his record doesn’t highlight most of this, Jonathan Kim can be an integral part in keeping Jin alive.”
“Two is better than one?” Tahir asked over her shoulder.
“Exactamente,” Key said, looking pleased. Olive-green eyes glanced at the screen and Tahir saw the lights twinkling in his eyes.
“Oh, no. No! No! No!”
“Am I…?” Rooke looked between Tahir who was now standing, and Key who had remained facing forward, his arms crossed. “Missing something?”
“Yeah! You are! Look at his face! He’s all smirky and satisfied, like he’s discovered a gold mine.” Tahir turned to Key. “How long have you been staring at his picture?”
Key rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been staring at his picture. I’ve been doing my research.”
“I am
missing something,” Rooke muttered. “I’ll go see if I can pull up any more information about him.”
As Rooke walked off, Tahir pulled up close to Jon’s picture. “He looks like—”
“—an asshole? Yeah. But from all of his exes I’ve interviewed, he’s like a big…little puppy.”
“You…you interviewed his exes?” Tahir sputtered.
“Of course I did. I’m a thorough researcher.”
“Please…please tell me you didn’t sleep with any of them.”
Key was silent.
“Oh my god.” Tahir rubbed her temples. “Are you sure he’ll cooperate?”
Key scoffed. “You kidding me? He’ll be jumping at the opportunity.”
Tahir scoffed. Yeah. He’s jumping, all right. Tahir pulled her backup gun out of her holster and cocked it. She didn’t have time to fuck around with Mister Opportunity.
Key held a hand up. “Hold your fire.”
Tahir frowned. “But Key—”
“Hold. Your. Fire.”
Tahir hesitated, looking back and forth between the two. Eventually she lowered her weapon.
This was not the plan.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The psycho with the gun—not the copper-haired lunatic with the rifle slung across her back staring at Jon like he was the one in the wrong, the other one, with the green eyes—held Jon with an unrelenting stare. He lowered his firearm, but didn’t take his finger off the trigger. Something was keeping Jon from storming down the street and arresting both of them. Something was telling him to hold his spot. Not to act. But something was not enough.
Why was he listening to this nut in the first place? Slowly, Jon reached into his vehicle for his phone. He had a duty to the law, and Key’s threat wasn’t going to make him forget that.
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