Vale nods once. “A surviving faction. Smaller cell. More aggressive. They’re trying to recover leverage after Zurich.”
“Leverage,” Cal repeats. “What kind?”
Vale flips open the case.
Inside is a photo.
Female.
Thirtys.
Dark hair pulled back.
Sharp eyes.
Blood on one side of her face.
Even before I pick it up, something in my chest goes hard and cold.
No.
No damn way.
I stare at the image.
Every sound in the room drops away.
Because I know that face.
I know the mouth that used to curve when she thought I was being too serious.
I know the eyes that once looked at me like I was the only man in the room.
I know the woman in the picture.
And she was never supposed to be seen again.
“Ava Mercer,” Vale says.
The name lands like a bullet.
Jonah looks at me. “You know her.”
Not a question.
I keep staring at the photo.
“She’s dead.”
Vale’s voice stays level. “Apparently not.”
That gets me looking up.
“What is this?”
“She surfaced forty-eight hours ago in Vienna,” he says. “Our source lost eyes on her two hours later. Three men ended up dead in the apartment she fled.”
Ronan pushes off the wall. “Three trained men?”
