He studied her face, waiting for a playful smirk that never came.
She’s serious.
“Wow. You’re like a family-values propaganda poster, aren’t you?”
She laughed, then turned serious. “They probably miss you, that’s all. You have any siblings?”
Not willing to share any more personal details with Mia, he scrolled through a few messages, then said, “Apparently, my father thinks Monday’s meal-kit potatoes were fifty grams short.”
“Meal kit? I will never understand Americans,” Mia said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Going to the market for fresh produce is half the pleasure of cooking.”
Kross didn’t disagree with her, but before he could reply, his work phone buzzed twice, signaling the reception of a text message. He reached for the device and checked the screen.
49234. An urgent code that meant he had to call back his employer.Immediately.
Kross got up, a dark pulse of anticipation running through him.
Mia gave him an annoyed look.
“Am I boring you?” she asked.
“Far from it. But this is work, and it pays for all this luxury,” he said, gesturing to their breakfast and the ocean view.
“I thought your job was to drink whiskey and watch beautiful women play piano?”
“Just give me a minute,” Kross said, shaking his head.
He stepped inside the hotel suite and closed the patio door behind him. The interior was as luxurious as the balcony view. It had hardwood floors, plush furniture in tones of beige and gray, and a massive bed draped in Egyptian cotton sheets. Kross allowed himself a smile as he looked at the bed, which was unmade with its sheets tangled, the sight reminding him of the several passionate lovemaking sessions he had enjoyed with Mia.
He’d been in Palma for almost a week, and it was the first time his employer had tried to contact him, which was fine by him. He had needed the rest. They had put him to good use in Manchester the month before, and he had started to believe they had sent him to Palma as a reward for his performance in England.
Kross recalled the fate of the British forensic accountant who had been a little too diligent in scrutinizing his employer’s financial records. The man’s frantic pleas—when Kross had secured the electric clamps to the accountant’s nipples—were still vivid in his mind.
The accountant had spilled the beans even before Kross had turned on the power. Of course, Kross had to inflict some pain to confirm the man had been telling the truth. The accountant had received an anonymous tip, letting him know exactly what to look for in his employer’s financial statements. Though the accountant didn’t know the name of the person who had reached out to him, he had provided Kross with the email address from which the tip had originated. Information Kross had then shared with his employer.
Kross was a top performer when it came to making people talk. It was one of his specialties. After serving two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan as a Green Beret, he had left the army to start working as a freelance contractor for the CIA, where he’d become an enhanced interrogation expert.He had enjoyed the work a bit too much, apparently, because he’d been let go after two years.
Thankfully, he’d quickly found another organization that needed his skill set. One that paid a lot more than the United States government. Kross dialed the number he was to call back.
Someone picked up on the first ring. “I’m listening.”
He recognized the voice instantly.Verena Kaine.
Kross had met her twice and found her to be a bit weird, but she hadn’t tried to micromanage him, so she had that going for her.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, looking at Mia who was gazing at the ocean with a cup of coffee in hand.
“Sorry to cut short what I’m sure was starting to feel like a vacation,” Verena said, not sounding sorry at all. “I need you to kill someone for me.”
“Who’s the target?”
“Not sure yet, but I suggest you start making your way to Port de Sóller.”
Chapter Nine
Port de Sóller
Mallorca, Spain
