Page 39 of Targeted By Vengeance

I continued towards her and set them atop the coffee table instead. “Look, I um…I wanted to apologize for the things I said the other night. I…I shouldn’t have bought up your father or forced a gun in your hand.”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, returning her gaze to the computer screen.

“No, it’s not.” I stepped in the space between the couch and the coffee table and kneeled at her side. “You didn’t deserve that. Not after giving the assignment your all. Look, I know I hurt you, and I know I can’t take back what I said. But I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for words you meant. You don’t believe in me, and that’s fine. I get it.”

I gently grabbed her chin and pulled her face towards me. “It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Simone. I know you can do anything you put your mind to. But, you have a good heart. Are you really willing to sacrifice it?”

She ripped her chin out of my grasp and returned her gaze to the computer. “You clearly don’t know me if you’re asking that question.”

I followed her eyes to the profile on the screen. My brow rose at the familiar formatting of the FBI database. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Research.”

“For what?”

“For my own assignments.” She jutted her chin towards the picture on the screen. “This is Marcos Vazquez; he’s the weapons dealer my father was chasing before he died. The one in cahoots with the dirty agents in the department. He’s become a recluse since his wife died a few years ago. He handed off the business to his son and practically fell off the grid. Figured he’d be a good starting point.”

“Starting point? Simone, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Random targets isn’t the training I need. I have all the basic skills and knowledge I need to kill someone. What I need is the desire to carry it through. To let my anger drive me. The only way to do that is to put my energy into those I actually want to harm.”

I scoffed. “No. You’re not going after the men who had a role in your father’s death. Not yet.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” she said. “This doesn’t concern you or your handler, so I can do what I want.”

“The hell you will. I’m not going to sit here and watch you get yourself killed.”

“Then look away,” she snapped, shooting me a harsh glare.

Her words sliced across my chest like claws scratching through flesh. The blow, unexpected and and brutal, left me stunned. Between the pain and shock, I couldn’t think of any words to say back to her.

The intensity in Simone’s eyes dimmed as she realized the damage she’d caused. She averted her eyes and spoke with a softer tone. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me since my godfather tried to kill me, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. As much as I’d like you beside me on this, I don’t need you to be.”

“You’re crazy if you think you’re doing this alone.”

“Then, you need to trust me,” she said, her eyes returning to me, softening as the shield inside them lowered. “And you need to believe in me. Can you do that?”

I stared at her for a moment, taking some time to ponder over the conviction in her voice and the blaze running through her eyes. I was hesitant to admit it, but maybe she was right. Maybe she didn’t need training wheels; she just needed to hit the ground running. And I’d rather be there to catch her if she fell than let her crash and burn. From the look in eyes alone, I doubted she would.

“Yeah,” I replied with a nod. “I can.”

THE AGENT

I always wondered what retirement looked like for the criminals who were never caught. If there was such a thing.

Marcos Velazquez was one of the few to make it out of the game with his life intact. Part of his infamous reputation always included his covert affairs and abilities to evade the authorities. At one point in time, he was one of the hardest criminals in the world to find.

When I was young and my father was chasing him, I thought the man’s hands were buried so deep in crime that he had a connection for every hiding spot in every country. I never thought one of those relationships would be with one of the states’ own federal agencies.

I kept racking my brain for reasons agents would lay in bed with someone like Velazquez. Was the money that good? Was the acclaim for other arrests that loud? Or did he have cards up his sleeve he was holding to use against them?

Blackmail, in theory, would’ve made the most sense as to why the agents would turn their backs to their sworn duty. But, for some reason, I didn’t think that was the case.

My father didn’t specify in his letter how many people were in Velazquez’s pocket, but from the way he knew his actions were being watched and consequences were heading his way, I had to assume there were more than a handful. After all, the agents accompanying Logan that day had no problem assisting him in blowing my car up. Who knew how many more were hiding behind their badges.

As I stared across the lake at the dimly lit estate on the other side, I decided to make it a priority to find out. All of those bastards, whether they played a part in my father’s death or not, deserved to suffer. Maybe not by my hand, but I had other ideas to blow up their lives.