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“Act normal. We’re a boring couple, leaving a boring dinner—that’s it. Nothing to see here. Slow down, and for the fucking love of God,stop crying.”
A blacked-out Lexus slowed to a stop next to the sidewalk. Sirens wailed in the distance.
I opened the door, guided Courtney inside, and after a quick look over my shoulder, ducked in after her.
“Go,” I said as I tapped the back of the seat.
Once we were a safe distance from the chaos, I leaned back and adjusted my cuff links.
2
Justin
The Lexus descended into a secret underground tunnel that led to a small parking garage with an elevator.
The spots were filled with every make of luxury car imaginable—Porsche, Jaguar, Maybach, Bentley, Benz, and two armored Range Rovers that cost $500,000 a pop. Unsurprisingly, the newly constructed skyscraper above us was rumored to be one of the most expensive buildings in all of Tokyo.
“He’s waiting for you,” the driver said, rolling to a stop in front of the elevator.
My target waited until she received an invitation from me to exit the vehicle. She stayed at my hip as we stepped into the elevator.
“Thank you,” she whispered as the doors slid closed, staring at my profile as she’d done the entire drive.
In the light, Courtney’s reflection in the mirrored elevator doors looked ghostly. Her long, skinny legs and bare feet were pale and veiny, bruised and scarred, and she was at least twenty pounds lighter than in the photos that had been splashed all over the news for months. Her blond hair was dirty, with greasy strands crowding her face as she studied the jagged scar on mine.
I looked away.
We were greeted in the foyer by a tall, lanky Japanese man I didn’t recognize. He wore a pinstriped black suit and a gold watch the size of a satellite dish.
“Mr. Montgomery. My name is Aiko,” he said as we shook hands. “Can I get the password, please?”
“Not until you give me yours.”
The corner of the man’s lip quirked. “Astor warned me about you—that you don’t trust anyone.”
“History has taught me not to.”
“Understood.”
Aiko supplied the correct password, and I returned the favor by giving him mine. Each job has its own set of unique passwords so that we know who the good guys are and the bad.
“I trust that everything went smoothly?” Aiko casually asked, guiding us into another mirrored elevator.
Smoothly?
I wondered what my target thought of such a foolish question. Did she think everything had gone smoothly when the US government waited months before opening an official investigation into her disappearance? Only to fail, and hire us?
Had it gone smoothly while she waited, being sold from man to man, being forced to have sex at all hours of the day and night? Or when, with every thrust, she wondered what kind of STD she was getting or if she would wind up pregnant?
Had the endless hours gone by smoothly while her soul was slowly being sucked from her body, trauma invading her brain like a deadly virus, while she waited for her country to save her?
No, I can say with all confidence that not a single one of my missions, not as a Navy SEAL or as a mercenary, had gone smoothly foranyoneinvolved.
The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and we stepped onto the gleaming marble tiles of the forty-second floor.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling, long tendrils of crystals cascading like rain. Expensive leather couches stretched over a gaudy plum-colored rug that probably cost as much as the armored cars in the parking garage. Even the scent being piped in from the air ducts was lavish. The space was opulence in its most ostentatious form. Just like my boss.
There was no signage on the walls or any identification whatsoever. Only those who were invited were lucky enough to visit this floor.
