He pulled the door closed, then the doors on the other side of the car opened and closed. Once they were all inside, Richter loosened the blade, pressing it against my cheek instead. “Drive.”
The car sped off, and Richter put the knife away. “You did well, Ms. Laurent.”
This was my one chance.
I slammed my elbow up into his face, felt the crunch, and yanked the door handle.
But it didn’t open.
“Stupid bitch.” Richter spat blood that landed on my shorts, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pressed my face to the glass. “Say goodbye to your boyfriend.”
Chapter 33
Galahad
“Grace!”I was running before I knew I was running. Through the gate, onto the road, the car accelerating away from me, and her eyes remained locked with mine through the car window like I was her fucking anchor. “I’m coming! I’m coming for you, do you hear me?”
The car gained a length. Two. Richter’s hand was still in her hair.
Plate. Get the plate.
The operator part of me caught up to the rest of me, and I had my phone out, video on, sprinting through the dust. Camera up. Frame the plate. Hold it. Hold it. Three more strides. Four. The plate started to blur, my lungs gave out, and I dropped to a walk, then a stop.
I stood at the bend in the road, holding the phone up.
The car was a black square shrinking into Prague traffic.
Gone.
I stood at the edge of Henri’s property, dragging in air that wasn’t doing anything to calm me. I tilted the phone. Scrolled back. The first three seconds of video were sharp enough I could read the plate. Whatever else I’d failed at, at least I’d done that.
Now what, asshole?
I texted the image to Merlin and ran back toward the house, past Radek, who sat on the flagstones with Aleš, who was beginning to stir.
Inside the dining room, Dr. Caulfield’s equipment sat on the table, as though he’d excused himself—for a fucking glass of water with goddamn lemon slices!It was a ploy. It was all a fucking ploy, and I missed it. I’d been so wrapped up in the smile on Grace’s face that I’d created the gap that let Richter in.
I grabbed the hard-sided case with his testers in it and hurled it against the wall. Glass shattered. Metal clattered across the floor. Not enough. I grabbed his leather notebook and threw that too, its pages fluttering as it joined the heap on the floor.
“Garrett.” Arthur was suddenly in front of me, gripping my shoulder. “Stop.”
I shoved him away and threw Caulfield’s stupid little velvet mat. Paced to the garden doors and back. To the table and back. My whole body was vibrating with a rage that needed to be let out, and standing still wasn’t fixing anything. “I’m going after them.”
“You don’t have any way to track the car.”
“I’ll find them.” Back to the doors. A stupid fucking bird chirped at me from the garden, and I could have shaken its tree until the damn thing shut up. “I’ll track Richter. Find Kessler’s location. I’ll?—”
“And do what?” Arthur stepped into my path on my next circuit to the table. “Storm whatever location he might be in? No intel, no backup, no extraction plan?”
Fuck. He was right.
Fuck!
The tactical part of my brain—the part that had kept me alive through my tours in the Middle East and my years of private security—knew solo extraction against an unknown target wassuicide. But the rest of me wanted to put my fist through the wall, through Arthur, through anything that stood between me and Richter’s car. “Get out of my way.”
“No.”
Merlin came through the garden doors at a run, with his phone to his ear. “—got a photo of the plate. I’m sending it to you now. Yeah, forward it to Morganna, tell her we need everything she can pull ASAP.” He spotted me and held up his hand while he finished. “Registration, traffic cameras, rental records, anything. Thanks, Tristan.”
