The television station aired a shadowy image of a person dressed all in black slipping into the apartment building, captured by a surveillance camera.
“If you know or recognize this person of interest, notify the police. There is a one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward posted for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the one responsible for the senator’s death. So far, all the police have to go on is the video and a black onyx stone left on the kitchen counter in the senator’s apartment.”
Keira’s hand shook as she closed the lid of her laptop. A combination of dread and rage flooded her thoughts. The perp’s clothing, the way he’d entered and left the apartment complex and the signature black onyx stone were hallmarks of the work of Onyx.
Just not this Onyx operative. Who would know the difference? She had been sent to do the job. She had been part of the Onyx collective. Part of the organization, as Morales had put it, was being recruited and trained to provide Strickland a private army to eliminate his opposition.
Keira refused to be manipulated and coerced into doing their dirty work anymore. To keep Strickland and his cronies from continuing to play God by brainwashing young women and girls, she’d have to collect enough information to nail the bastards.
On the wall over the desk, she’d tacked photos of the key players, the locations and the connections she’d been gathering for months before the senator’s murder.
“You trained us to be invisible. To trust what you told us as truth. To trust the mission.”
Keira shook her head and cursed as she stared at the faces on the wall.
It was all a lie.
Now, they’d sent in the clean-up crew to set her up to take the fall for Morales’s death.
Her burner phone chirped. The sound, suddenly breaking the complete silence, made her jump.
Keira stared down at the text message sent from an Unknown caller.
They’re coming for you. Move now—Your friend
Instinct kicked in. With less than ninety seconds to react, she dove into action.
Keira grabbed the jug of accelerant, doused the wall, the desk and the floor. She set the timer on the detonator, shoved it into a lump of plastic explosives, grabbed her pre-packed go-bag and tucked the burner phone into her pocket. Rather than go down and out, she pulled her hoodie up over her head, slung the go-bag strap across her body, then climbed the twenty rungs of a metal ladder and exited through the maintenance door to the rooftop.
Fifteen steps to the edge of the roof. An eight-foot drop to the rooftop of the adjoining building. With her bag slung behind her, Keira leaped from the safehouse roof to the neighboring roof. When her shoes hit, she tucked her arms against her sides and let her knees bend to absorb the impact. A moment later, she rolled on her side and came back up on her feet. Twelve strides running across the roof as she’d practiced half a dozen times. On the far side, she’d find the exterior metal ladder that was retracted when not in use but could be easily extended to reach all the way to the ground. She slung her leg over and started down the ladder. When she reached the next section, she flipped a lever and released the extension. It slid downward, stopping two feet above the ground. Keira hurried the rest of the way down and jumped free when she had only four feet remaining.
Keira shot a quick glance at her watch. Eighty-five seconds. Five seconds faster than before. Two minutes now until show time. She slipped across the street and found a shadowy position in an alley behind a large trash bin and waited, her gaze trained on the building she’d vacated. As she waited, she wondered who was behind the text message warning her to get out. As far as she knew, she had no friends. Refusing to perform her given mission, she’d cut all ties with her trainer and other trainees. She was truly on her own.
After a minute passed, Keira wondered if she’d been fed a false alarm.
At that moment, a sleek black SUV charged down the street, coming to a hard stop in front of the warehouse. Four men in tactical gear climbed out of the SUV. Not police. Not federal.
Two more dark SUVs skidded to a halt behind the first, adding eight more men to the team gathering in front of the warehouse. A fourth black SUV arrived.
Her breath caught, and her jaw hardened when she recognized the two men who emerged.
Marcus Kaufman and her mentor, Viktor Rousseau.
Viktor stepped into the middle of the team of mercenaries.
Though she couldn’t hear his words clearly, she could read Viktor’s lips as he told the men, Find her. She must not leave Texas alive.
Armed with military-grade rifles, the men in combat gear ran toward the warehouse. They used a crowbar to pry open the door and rushed in.
Viktor joined Kaufman and spoke a few words Keira couldn’t hear. They were standing too close with their heads averted for her to lip-read either.
Marcus nodded once, his eyes narrowed at the building.
Using her cell phone, she zoomed in and snapped a photo of the men at the exact moment Marcus turned away.
The two men climbed into the SUV.
Twenty seconds…
