“Don’t tell anyone about this or how I reached out to you. Nobody can know.”
Meaning I can’t tell my boss, Todd Allen, or anybody at the CIA I’m helping her. I could get in trouble, but it’s one of those situations where you do it first and ask for forgiveness later. Besides, Sienna’s been my co-operative on numerous cases over the years. She’s always been behind the scenes, keeping me out of trouble. Now it’s my turn to keep her safe. If she’s in some kind of danger, I’m going to help.
ONE
PARK
December 18
Rule number one:never get caught by your opponent.
In my line of work, I can see why that rule is so important. Especially right now, when I’m getting kicked in the stomach by some guy with a flame tattoo that crawls up his neck to his cheek.
The force of his kick sends my body slamming against the tiled wall of the mall bathroom. Why do so many fights happen in the men’s bathroom? It smells like urine in here—not a pleasant place to be. But then again, getting kicked in the groin isn’t pleasant either, and that’s the next place he aims. Luckily, I spin to the left, and he ends up jamming his foot into the wall.
He pulls out a knife and whips around to face me, waving it in front of my face. I dodge the blade and lunge for him, going through a sequence of punches and hits until I’ve completely taken over the course of our fight. Then I finish him off with his own knife, like I’m some sort of hired assassin.
Okay, it sounds bad, but I’m not abadguy.
It’s not like I kill people for the fun of it.
I have morals.
This is just my job. Some slay numbers. I slaypeople—but only the ones the government tells me to. Or, in this case, the ones Siennaneedsme to.
I’m not known as one of the best operatives in the CIA for nothing. I know it sounds cocky, but it’s true. Although, that title isn’t holding up as well right now, at least not with the Director of the CIA, Todd Allen. I used to be Todd’s number one officer, but after the botched job in France last year when I was supposed to recover leaked nuclear codes but got ambushed mid-job, his opinion of my skills has gone down.
That was the first assignment in my ten-year career that I didn’t finish.
That’s probably why Todd kicked me off the case and reassigned me to smaller jobs. Things like spying on crooked government officials or high-powered attorneys that are committing federal crimes.
It’s been awful.
But all of that changed when I received Sienna’s package two days ago, and now I’m back in the game.
I place the hired thug’s dead body in one of the stalls, sitting him on the toilet, so he doesn’t look suspicious. Then I search his pockets. There’s another knife, a tin of Altoids, and a cell phone with a password. I debate taking the phone, but it probably has a tracker on it, and being tracked is the last thing I want right now.
I pat down the inside of his jacket, looking for the item I came here for. My fingers graze over the fabric until I feel something hard. Then I take his knife and cut a slit in the inner lining, tearing it wide open.
Glued against the jacket’s lining is a small computer chip, no bigger than those colored dot stickers.
Bingo.
I grab the chip, but it sticks to my index finger from the glue he used to fasten it to his jacket. I have to forcibly peel it off my skin and stick it to the inside of my pants pocket. That’s when I hear faint voices in the man’s earpiece.
“Fabrice? Fabrice?”
How ironic that a man, whose name sounds like an air freshener, was killed in a smelly men’s bathroom. This place could really use some Febreze.
The one-way conversation in the earpiece continues, and the voice warns Fabrice about me.
“Watch out for the man in the boxy, gray shirt and black jeans.”
I glance down
Boxy shirt? This is a custom-tailored, fitted shirt that cost eighty-five dollars. I didn’t pick this thing up at Old Navy. I’m officially offended.
Rule number two: always make sure you have a disguise to throw your opponent off.
