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Somewhere In NOLA
Same Time
She was getting edgy.
The guys who took Remington and that whore, Calyx, had yet to check in.
That was off.
Did they drop the ball?
Did they make a mess of the simplest of tasks?
God!
Artemis hoped not. There was a lot riding on this, and the last thing she needed was to be hunted down by a pissy Russian mob man, hellbent on payback.
Picking up the phone, she called a few of her killers, and hired them for a job.
“I need you guys to go to the warehouse, check to make sure it’s safe, and let me know if the package arrived.”
There was no hesitation.
Apparently, someone wanted to make money.
“Got it, Boss.”
“The guys handling the delivery didn’t contact me yet. I need to know where they are.”
She sent money, ensuring that they’d do it.
God.
This venture was getting expensive.
Artemis couldn’t drop the ball. She’d gotten paid upfront by Alexsandr, and he’d want his money back if this went south. She needed that nest egg to retire.
The heat was on, and she was burning that candle over a fucking bonfire.
Truthfully, she was running out of resources. Artemis was down to the bottom of the barrel. Using up the biggest resource wasn’t a good thing.
The head of the CIA had been in her pocket after sleeping with her. She had video and photographs that she was using as leverage for information.
Wouldn’t his wife be shocked?
His kids?
The whole world?
Bob didn’t want the pictures of him licking her boots to get out, and that meant she’d get what she wanted. This was likely the last favor she could get from him.
Shit.
The heat was on.
Artemis knew who to blame.
