Shutting my office door, I hit a button to turn on a low murmur, so from the hall, it sounded as though I was on a call. Then, I headed to the safe and punched in the code, entering and setting my briefcase on a table in the center of the room. I hit the combination to release the catch and it sprang open. The case held my Beretta 9mm and my Sig P226, as well as an extra clip for each magazine. It also had some other small gadget weapons and a compartment for my identity papers and cash.
The identity papers inside were still good, so I stowed them away and grabbed a new passport, driver’s license, and a variety of banknotes for several countries, not knowing where my next assignment would be. I refilled both magazines and clips, grabbed a boot knife, and a few other ‘toys,’ before locking up and heading to my car.
I slipped inside my Aston Martin and chuckled, shaking my head like I did every time I got into my car. I wasn’t happy with Evie’s choice of vehicle, it worried me over her safety. But, what I’d never admit to her, is seeing her in it was an incredible turn on. She had a wild side most people didn’t get to see and it was sexy as fuck.
I begrudgingly accepted her choice and the matter was settled. Then, on our first anniversary, I found James Bond’s car sitting in my driveway. It was equal parts joke and a thank you for backing down over the car issue. Though the real joke was lost on her, giving her spy husband the same car driven by the ultimate covert agent.
I left the house and drove to an office building downtown, parking in the garage underneath. The structure housed several law offices, some legit, and others a front for offices of clandestine operations.
On the first floor, I flashed a badge for Webster, Shaw & Associates before entering the elevator behind the reception desk. It only took a minute after hitting the down button for the car to stop and the doors slid silently open to reveal a large room full of desks and computers. As usual, there was a low buzz of noise from my co-workers chatting, strategizing, and computers humming.
“Justice.”
I turned and saw Colin walking up to me, his hand outstretched. I grasped it and returned the greeting with his code name. “Outrigger. What are you doing here? I thought you were on a long-term, covert assignment in India.”
Colin was an American citizen, but he’d been raised in England and was permanently stationed there a few years before. I’d still worked with him on several missions until he went dark. All I knew was the assignment was in India, but the details were kept classified.
He let go of my hand and grimaced. “My cover was blown and I lost the target. They brought me back to brief you on the situation before they send you on a retrieval.”
Retrieval missions were pretty straight forward—capture, interrogate, and pass the prisoner off to another agent. Sometimes, it was easy, taking only a day or two. Other times, it could take weeks to track down the target. If this guy was aware he was being pursued and had gone on the run, it meant I was looking down the barrel of the latter. Fuck. I’d been home for less than twenty-four hours and I was being sent back into the field. How was I going to explain this to Evie?
Colin started to relay information about the op as we made our way to a conference room across the way. When we passed by the office of our chief analyst and resident tech genius, Martin, I popped my head in to say hello. As a senior field officer, I often ran a team for ops, and Martin and I worked closely together. However, on solo ops, such as the one I was about to embark on, Martin was often my life-line. The difference between ending up back in bed with my wife or in a box, six feet under.
He mumbled something resembling a greeting, without looking up from whatever he was working on. I laughed and continued on to my meeting. I followed Colin to the room and we both took a seat at the large, oval table. Our superior, Howard Donovan, was already seated, looking through a file, and his head lifted when he heard us enter.
“It’s about damn time, Justice.”
I held tight to my patience and swallowed a sharp retort. “I’ve only been home for a few hours, Donovan. Barely enough time to greet my wife properly”—my eyes narrowed in irritation—“and leaving her in bed this morning was not on my to-do list. The list was one fucking word long, Genevieve.”
Colin snorted, trying to contain his laughter and Donovan rolled his eyes. “Let’s get on with this, the sooner we finish briefing you, the sooner you can complete the mission and get back to practicing your talents as a Raven.”
It was my turn to scoff. “My seduction skills don’t need any fine tuning, just ask my wife. She’s the only one who will ever be the recipient anyway. But that’s beside the point. Just so you know, when this mission is over, I’m taking a month off.”
“Done.” Donovan nodded then slid a file my way. The manila folder was stamped with CODE-WORD CLASSIFIED, which explained why it was only the three of us in the room. Only a handful of agents in my office had a code-word clearance. Inside was a dossier on the target, Mark Sai, code name: Heron, with a picture and as much information as we could gather on the man.
“You think he’s hiding out in Rome?” I shot an irritated glance at my boss. Evie and I vacationed there frequently, which means I spend a great deal of time there as myself, as the real me, Alex Shaw, contract attorney and devoted husband.
Donovan sighed. “The higher-ups are putting their foot down. They want you for this assignment and they don’t care about anything else.”
“I’m going to have to be twice as vigilant, and it’s going to slow me down.”
Donovan shrugged, and I knew it was the most I was going to get out of him on the subject. At least Evie wasn’t going to be there with me. Every once in a while, the jackasses I answered to would send me on a mission while I was in the middle of traveling with my wife. Never in Rome, though.
There wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I went back to skimming the file. One line in particular stood out, “What the fuck?” I growled. “He was an agent-in-place?” The background stated he had tried to defect half a decade before but had been convinced to continue working for the foreign government, similar to being a double agent, but he was a civilian. Losing an asset like him meant we were running blind, not knowing who he was informing on or what they were being told.
“I was his case agent,” Colin informed me. “I don’t know if he exposed me or someone in his chain of command got enough information to piece together the clues and blew my cover. Either way, Mark got spooked and took off.”
“We need to know what he’s shared and how much of it is fact versus fiction,” Donovan added.
A mess of this caliber wouldn’t be contained to our department, and I needed to know what else I was up against. “Is there a kill order?”
Donovan nodded. “I heard they gave the job to Scarlett.” Fuck. It wasn’t just a retrieval, it as a damn fucking race to the finish line. Scarlett was practically a myth around here. Rumored to be an agent for dark ops, the operative was a fucking ghost, going in for the kill, accomplishing it, and disappearing without a trace. We’d gathered enough intel to recognize Scarlett’s work back in London, four years ago. The agent had slit the target’s throat before we could get him in a room to interrogate him. “Why can’t you guys work the fuck together? I shouldn’t be hampered by my own damn agency, Donovan.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his face impassive. “That’s above my pay grade.”
I shook my head solemnly, “You’ve just killed my hero-worship of you, dude. I can’t believe you’re a slave to the man like the rest of us schmucks.”
“Get the fuck out of here and do your job, Justice,” he said gruffly, but there was a layer of amusement in his tone and laughter in his eyes.
I gathered up the information folder and strode to the door. “A month, Donovan. And I’m leaving my fucking phone in my safe.” I yelled over my shoulder before exiting the room.
***
I slipped silently down the hallway of the Rafaello Hotel in Rome. My des
tination was room 501, the top floor, with windows facing another building.
It took me three fucking days after arriving in Rome, but I’d finally tracked Heron to this hotel. I waited another two days, watching his routine and plotting the best time to do a snatch and grab. At one point, I sent a weasel agent from another department scurrying back home. I wasn’t fool enough to think there weren’t more, though I’d yet to encounter another.
I was getting more and more impatient with this assignment. When I’d left the agency after my meeting with Donovan and Colin, I went home to face my wife. To my surprise, Evie was up and packing a suitcase.
“I got a call about a Rembrandt I’ve been trying to acquire. It’s in Port Elizabeth,” she informed me, her expression wary and her tone thick with apology.
I walked up to her and pulled her into my arms, kissing her soundly. “One of my clients breached a fucking contract and I’ve got to go to Brazil and straighten it out.”
She wrapped her arms around my middle and hugged me tight, her cheek resting on my chest. “Aren’t we the jet-set couple,” she murmured sadly.
Lifting her chin with finger, I placed a soft kiss on her nose, then another on her sweet lips. “I’m taking a month off after this trip. How about we go back to Fiji?”
Evie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?” she asked excitedly.
“Really, baby. No phones, no internet, only you and me—“I rubbed a hand over her stomach—“and the kid I put inside you.” I winked and she laughed, hugging me close once again.
Reaching the correct room, I pushed away the emotions invoked by the memory. I needed to focus. Unlatching my hidden shoulder holster, I pulled out my M9 and put my ear to the door. It was silent, which wasn’t surprising because it was the middle of the afternoon and I’d learned it was when Heron slept, keeping a vigil at night. I’m not sure why the idiot thought the light of day would make a damn bit of difference.
I tried the knob, because, well, you never knew with these dipshits. It was locked, but the movement of the door indicated he hadn’t dead bolted it. Rather than kick the door in and make a raucous, I shoved my gun into the back of my waist band and knelt in front of the door to pick the lock. The click of the tumblers was inordinately loud in the surrounding silence.
Retrieving my weapon, I slowly pushed the door open, grateful for well-oiled hinges. Gun aimed in front of me, I stepped over the threshold, sweeping the room with my gaze only to discover an empty bed. I heard a rustle in the bathroom and stepped back against the wall, blending into the shadows as much as possible.
Heron exited the bathroom in nothing but a towel, and I rolled my eyes heavenward. I really didn’t want to grab this guy without clothes. Situations like this never ended well for me, considering I usually have to wrestle the target to the floor in order to subdue them. Apparently, Lady Luck was with me because Heron didn’t seem inclined to walk around in the buff, or to notice my presence, as he went about getting dressed. If all I had to deal with was a glimpse of his saggy, white ass, I could deal.
Once he had on jeans and a shirt, but before he could put on shoes, I stepped from my hiding spot and quickly stalked up behind him. He was staring out the window, squinting at something, and didn’t even notice my approach until he felt the cold steel of my Beretta, pressing against his neck.
“What do you say we skip the tussle and go right to the part where you give up and I drag your ass out of here?”