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First, though, I need to get Sara.
She’s more important than anything.
Esguerra himself greets us when we land, his face set in hard, savage lines as he watches the guards drag Novak off the plane. The Serbian is barely walking—they didn’t bother feeding him or treating his injuries on the flight—but it doesn’t matter. He’s not long for this earth.
Esguerra won’t just kill him—he’ll take him apart.
Slowly.
Piece by piece.
I’d feel bad for the bastard, but he brought this on himself. If he’d confined himself to making inroads into Esguerra’s business, he’d have lived much longer—at least another year or two. But he went after Esguerra’s family… after Nora and her child.
There’s no love lost between me and Esguerra, but I do like Nora.
“Where’s Kent?” I ask when Esguerra comes up to me after ordering the guards to take Novak to the shed. “Did he go back to Cyprus?”
He nods. “He left right after you did.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I decide against prying further. I still haven’t forgiven Kent for what happened with Sara, but at the moment, I have bigger fish to fry.
“Did you reach out to them?” I fall into step beside Esguerra as we head toward a waiting limo. “Your CIA contacts?”
He casts me a sideways glance. “I did.”
“And?” I step in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Did they agree?”
His jaw flexes. “Let’s talk about it in the car.”
Shit. That doesn’t sound good. “Let’s talk about it now.”
His eyes glint dangerously. “Fine. Here’s the deal—the only deal they’ll make. You and your team will get amnesty for your crimes and immunity from further prosecution, provided no further crimes are committed. Whoever slips up will be arrested and prosecuted for all crimes, past and present.”
I consider that and nod. “Sounds fair.” I’m almost certain I can live as a law-abiding citizen—or at least give the appearance of one. We’ll need to be careful not to get caught when we finally locate Henderson, but I’m sure I’m not the only enemy the former general has. Alternatively, we can make it look like an accident; there are all sorts of ways to carry out a hit without it looking like—
“And there’s one more thing,” Esguerra says. “One other condition that’s nonnegotiable.”
“What?” I ask, my stomach tightening with a premonition as my hands curl at my sides. This better not be what—
“That retired general, the one you’ve been hunting,” Esguerra says, confirming my hunch. “You have to let it go. For good. Your immunity is contingent upon his continued health and well-being. If he or anyone close to him so much as gets food poisoning, the deal is off, and all four of you will be on the Most Wanted lists again.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I suppose I should’ve known this was a possibility, given Henderson’s connections, but I somehow blocked it from my mind. I was so focused on eliminating the main obstacle to a life with Sara—my fugitive status—I didn’t even consider that it might come at a price.
Well, a price aside from the end of my business and the risk I took by approaching Esguerra. Those costs I knew and was prepared to pay. But this? Out of everyone on my list, Henderson is the one most directly responsible for the tragedy that befell my wife and son. He’s the one who gave the orders that resulted in the village massacre.
If anyone deserves to pay for Tamila and Pasha’s deaths, it’s Henderson.
He can’t be allowed to go back to living his normal, happy life after what he’s done.
“I can’t take that deal.” My voice is harsh and guttural. “You know I can’t.”
For the first time, some semblance of human emotion warms the blue ice of Esguerra’s gaze. “I know,” he says quietly. “I figured as much. But they won’t budge on it, Peter. I tried.”
I pivot on my heel and stride toward the limo, the rage and grief I thought I’d buried bubbling up like magma in my throat. I breathe in, trying to calm myself, but instead of tropical vegetation, I smell death and ashes, charred flesh and stale blood. I taste metal on my tongue and see a pile of corpses, of body parts two meters high.
And that little hand, curled around a toy car.
I barely remember the first few days after the massacre. I know I got away from the task force soldiers who dragged me out of the village, but I don’t recall how or when—or if I hurt anyone as I escaped. I assume I did, because my own people started hunting me soon after, even before I killed my superiors for ending the investigation within weeks.
Vengeance was all that kept me going in those days—and in the months and years that followed. I promised my dead son and wife that their killers would pay with their lives, and I kept that promise.
