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“More like a nightmare,” I grumbled, not amused by any of this, but especially not the fact we’d had to wear kilts to blend in to infiltrate our target location. A story for another day—or for never. All that mattered was the plan worked, and we thankfully hadn’t needed backup since that backup had only just walked in.
“You’re a little late to the party,” Griffin said as Easton Holloway joined us. “But I know how you Air Force boys are—you hate getting your hands dirty.”
“You’re a funny fucker, aren’t ya?” Easton replied while nearly tripping over one of the dead men. “You two made a hell of a mess in here.”
“In our defense, they started it.” Griffin shot him a smug smile as I took a knee by one of the dead terrorists—the only way I liked them. “Watch it, man, you’re in a skirt. I don’t need to see what you’re packing underneath.”
I ignored Griffin’s joke and went for the briefcase cuffed to the man’s wrist.
“Wait, I gotta know, how’d you two wind up in kilts?” Easton started laughing despite the grim situation. “When you called me for an assist at the last second, you said nothing about dressing up.”
“Don’t ask.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Griffin’s bright idea to get us inside the building unnoticed, particularly since it’d worked. That admission would only make him more insufferable. Cocky fucker. I could practically feel Griffin’s triumphant smirk as I went back to the task of opening the briefcase, using the target’s thumbprint on the biometric scanner.
“Is it in there?” Griffin asked, coming up next to me.
I removed the item from the case and held it up, searching for the tracker my inside guy had hidden there. The figurine of King Ur-Nammu from ancient Mesopotamia might have been tiny, but the little object was worth a lot. It’d been minutes away from being sold to some rich dick to help finance an embassy bombing.
My team had been following a trail of stolen artifacts being traded to the highest bidders to finance ISIS terrorist activities. While the smugglers were my targets, there was a happy by-product of chasing down possible leads to find Rebecca’s killer—killing men like this and stopping them from killing people.
“Got it.” I removed the tracker and tossed it to Griffin so there’d be no evidence of how we’d sourced their meetup when the authorities showed up even later to the party.
The artifact tracker was an idea I’d actually borrowed from a woman nicknamed Red Robin Hood. Becoming something of a legend in the underground world, she stole back artifacts taken by the wealthy and elite and returned them to their original owners. Last I heard, she’d changed gears (and targets) and now sought out other kinds of traffickers. Those smugglers were up next on my list if nothing panned out with my current hunt.
“Who are we giving credit to for this hit?” Easton asked as he removed the duffel bag of cash one of the dead guys had used as a shield before I’d double-tapped him in the head—killing his chance to kill innocent people next week as planned.
I stood and handed the artifact to Griffin, knowing he’d make sure it made its way back to the right people. “Me.”
Easton laughed. But I wasn’t kidding. This was a decision I’d been coming to terms with for quite some time. “You’re serious?”
“When is he ever not serious lately?” Griffin reminded him.
Easton dropped the bag of cash, eyeing Griffin as if curious whether he was clued in. He was. So was Camila. They were the only two people aware of stage two of my plan.
I should’ve had my revenge by now. And the fact the truth was buried beneath so many layers of fuckery told me one thing for certain—her murder had to do with my work at the Agency. I’d predominantly hunted smugglers and traffickers while at the CIA, so I’d created a list of targets from my time there to go after.
Thankfully, I’d been able to recruit veterans from around the world to help, and I compensated them a lot better than their respective governments ever could. But I knew I might lose some of my team for this next phase of the plan. Not everyone wanted to be associated with an enemy of the United States.
“Well?” Easton prompted, waiting for me to continue.
“I need the world to believe I’m a criminal. More than that, actually,” I began, hoping I was right in this thought process. “I need people to think I’m the criminal other criminals fear. That means letting people believe I’m also a ruthless killer.”
Easton looked around the room at the dead bodies. “The CIA is already pissed you went rogue. You’re on their radar. You really want to end up on their hit list, too? The FBI’s? Interpol?”
“I have no choice. The only way I’m going to figure out who was behind Rebecca’s death is to put the fear of the devil in everyone. Good and bad guys. I need to become?—”
“A monster?” Easton cut me off.
“Your names don’t need to be dragged through the mud with the authorities. Just mine.” I handed my rifle over to Griffin. “You’re free to go if you don’t want to be part of this.”
“I’m already in this deep.” Easton shrugged. “As long as you don’t ask me to cross the line and kill anyone who doesn’t have it coming, I’m not going anywhere.”
Let’s hope the others feel the same. “Thank you.” I nodded, then took the bag of cash and tipped my head toward the door. “I’m going to make sure the bank’s CCTV cameras across the street put eyes on me leaving. You two go out the back. I’ll meet you at the safe house.”
A worried expression crossed Griffin’s face, but he knew my mind was made up. There was no going back. So, he quietly left, and I did the same.
Once outside, I made sure the bank’s security cameras had a nice clean image of me and there’d be no question I’d killed those seven men, before I started down the street.
A cathedral near a flickering streetlamp caught my attention, stopping my feet and my thoughts. Dropping my focus to the duffel bag of cash in my hand, I took the five steps up to the door, prepared to leave the half a million pounds there. But as I started to lower the bag, the door opened.
