Not that he’d never doubted himself before. He had. Plenty of times. But this time… This time it wasn’t only his neck on the line. It was Sonya’s too. Sonya…
The only woman he’d ever loved.
The need to tell her was suddenly an overwhelming pressure on his heart. If this was to be their end, he wanted her to know how much she meant to him. How much she’d always meant to him.
Of course, telling her meant coming clean about his true identity. It was the only way she’d believe him since the man she knew as Angel Agassi had only known her for two weeks.
“Sonya?” He found her hand in the darkness.
Funny. While there’d been bullets flying at his head, his heart had remained steady as the old grandfather clock his mother had kept in the hall of their home in Tel Aviv. But now that he was ready to confess everything? The silly organ went buck wild.
She turned and flung her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.” He hated the anguish in her voice.
“Sonya, I…” He had to stop and clear his throat. “I want to tell you—”
That’s all he managed before a fresh barrage of hot lead slammed into the old turbine.
Chapter 33
The muffled pop of gunfire coming from inside the building was music to Grafton’s ears.
Until he saw two of his men slip from behind the plywood covering the front door, that is. They set off running in his direction, and he couldn’t miss the determination wrinkling the team leader’s brow. Deadly intent shone in Harold’s dark eyes. He looked like a man on a mission.
Charles on the other hand?
Well, poor Charles was a little worse for wear. He held onto a wound on his arm, and slick, wet blood seeped between his thick fingers.
Apparently Angel was still alive and kicking.
Bloody hell!
“What are you two doing out here?” he demanded, no longer amused by the gunfire. Although he did thank his lucky stars that the spot was so far removed from the main thoroughfares and set well away from the nearest neighborhood, because at least he didn’t have to worry that the ruckus would bring the authorities running.
“We’ve lost two of ’em,” Charles panted, but Grafton wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain in his arm or because he’d run the distance of the large courtyard and car park. Charles was a smidge thick around the middle, no doubt better at brute force than winning endurance races.
“Two of whom? What are you on about?”
“Two of the men.”
“Two of your men?” Grafton turned to gape at Harold. The man resembled a squirrel. Beady eyes. Bushy hair that was prematurely gray except for a few streaks of brown. He was whip-thin. A stark contrast when standing next to Charles.
“Your men.” Harold had the cheek to correct him. “But we’ve a plan. Agassi and the woman are holed up in a dark engine room. No way to escape.”
“Unfortunately, not being able to escape hasn’t precluded Angel’s ability to do damage.” Grafton motioned to Charles’s dripping arm, not liking that only two men remained inside the circus to cover Angel. Two against one. Two against a dangerous and well-trained one. A sick sensation settled like a stone at the bottom of his stomach.
“The asshole is using the torch function on a mobile,” Harold explained. “When we try to enter the room, he blinds our night-vision goggles and gets off a shot.”
“Then what, pray tell, is your brilliant scheme to deal with him?”
“Frag grenades. I’ve two in my rucksack in the car.”
Grafton turned toward the rental Benton had had ready for the team when they landed at the airport. Good ol’ Benton. He seemed to be the only one Grafton could rely on to do his bloody job. “Then why are you messing about chatting me up? Go! Go!”
He shooed Harold and Charles toward the rental, but the men had only taken a few steps before two loud cracks echoed into the night. At the start of the gunfight inside the circus, the nocturnal insects had lowered the volume on their pulsing chorus, as if they knew dark deeds were afoot and awaited the outcome. These two new sounds startled them into silence. It was eerie. Like a switch had been flipped. Grafton could hear the wind rattling the leaves of the trees, the subtle drone of the cars on the motorway in the distance, and the squeak, squeak, squeak of the sad little swings at the back of the building as they were pushed by the breeze.
To his astonishment, he watched as Charles and Harold toppled backward almost simultaneously, landing on the cracked concrete, neat holes through the centers of their foreheads. Blood pooled behind them, creating macabre halos that were shiny and dark, reflecting the moonlight.
