Holy fuckballs! How did that happen?
Grabbing his leather jacket off a hook on the wall and shoving a black stocking cap down over his ears, he gritted his teeth and wrenched open the front door. As expected, the icy breath of a Midwestern February blew across his face.
Sipping boat drinks, baking in coconut oil, and charming a pretty tourist who’d break my recent streak of abstinence.That’swhat I should be doing right now, he thought grumpily.
After zipping his jacket, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and started making his way across the grounds toward the gates. There was no snow on the pavement, but the frosty blacktop still crunched under his boots. He craned his head over his shoulder when he heard footsteps pounding behind him.
Fisher was in the process of pulling on his own stocking cap. And Eliza was hot on Fisher’s heels, hastily doing up the buttons on her camel-colored peacoat.
Sam stopped and waited for them. When they caught up, he gifted them with his best frown of disapproval.
“What?” Fisher blinked. “Ya didn’t think we’d let ya meet a woman who looks likethatall by yourself, did ya?”
“I’d hoped,” Sam muttered. “’Cause in my experience, women who look like that can be trouble.”
“Women who look like that arealwaystrouble,” Eliza corrected. “Which is why you need backup.”
Sam shook his head. “Made Marine Raider quicker than any other recruit, did countless tours in countless war zones, and been running missions for Madam President for over three years now. But sure. I need help handling one high-heeled female.”
“Woman, if you please,” Eliza corrected as they resumed their journey toward the front of the property. “Femaleis derogatory. It reduces a woman to her sex instead of viewing her as a whole person. Do you ever refer to other men asmales? No. You call themmen. You respect their whole personhood.”
Sam frowned as he considered her words and couldn’t find fault in them. Still, he couldn’t help pointing out, “You just said women who look like her arealwaystrouble. Now you’re defending her?”
“Sure.” Eliza hitched a shoulder, her warm breath frosting the air. “One doesn’t cancel out the other. I can agree she’s trouble and also believe words and labels matter. Which is why it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to rip off Fisher’s arm and beat him with it every time he calls me doll face.”
“I don’t mean to give offense.” Fisher’s Louisiana drawl sounded particularly thick in the cold night air. “Yahavea doll face. All pale and big-eyed and—”
“Sam?” The mystery woman standing beyond the gate called and Sam was struck by the depth of her voice. Had he not been staring right at her, seeing the swell of her cleavage above the neckline of her dress, he would’ve sworn she was a dude.
“Huh.” He heard Fisher whisper from beside him.
“Do I know you?” Sam didn’t have to raise his voice. Like the Big Apple, there were parts of Chicago that didn’t sleep, parts that partied all night, every night. But Goose Island wasn’t one of them. The streets might as well have been rolled up after 8PM for all the use they got.
“No.” The woman shook her head, causing her long, black hair to swish over her shoulders. “But you know my best friend. And she needs your help.”
Apprehension lifted the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck. When he picked up his pace, Fisher and Eliza matched his steps. “Who’s your friend?”
“Hannah Blue,” the exotic beauty said. “But I think you call her Hurricane Hannah.”
Sam’s boots glued themselves to the pavement at the same time his heart tried to exit his body through his throat. “Toran!” he called to the big, ruddy Chicagoan manning the guardhouse. “Open the gates!”
3
Southpark Hotel, Austin, Texas
“She has been arrested.”
Vincent Romano sat back in his chair and let loose with a small sigh of relief. “That’s good. So the plan is still a go?”
The immediacy of the response that came through his cell phone’s speaker comforted him further. “Yes. I am waiting for my contact to give me the go-ahead. But there appear to be no further impediments in our path.”
“Right.” Vinny nodded even though the man on the other end of the call couldn’t see him.
What was Yang, exactly? Hishandler? That’s what all the spy movies called guys in Yang’s position.
Then again, all the spy movies Vinny had ever watched revolved around the CIA. And Yang? Well, he worked in some capacity for aChineseintelligence agency. Although, Yang was coordinating with his counterpart in the U.S. government, which probably meant the termhandlercould still be applied to him.
Look at me,Vinny thought with no small amount of pride.From a two-bit criminal hacker to a government asset in the span of a few months. Nanna will be so proud.
