“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Because there are others like me. We’re everywhere, Verena. Everywhere.”
Verena didn’t know what the hell to think anymore. Three minutes ago, she’d been a breath away from being handcuffed and hauled off by theGuardia Civil. Now four cops were sprawled dead across the deck of theVeloce. At least one more had dropped on the patrol boat. And the woman who had executed four of them, and Burton, stood calmly in front of her, a suppressed pistol still in her hand.
A concert pianist, she’d claimed.Right.
Verena thought about squeezing the trigger, but her gut told her otherwise. The woman had warned her she’d be dead within a week if she did so. And Verena believed her. There was something terrifyingly competent about Mia Hernandez, but there was something else too. She just couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was. Yet.
She looked the woman over. She was much smaller than Verena. Her chestnut hair was slicked to her face with sweat and blood. Still, her golden skin shimmered in the moonlight. But it was her eyes that stopped Verena. Mia’s eyes weren’t cold. Not dead. In fact, they were surprisingly kind. Too kind for someone who’d just killed five people without blinking.
So why am I not dead?
Could Mia have been sent by Verena’s employer to rescue her and her team? Unlikely. The way Mia had offed Burton said otherwise. And there was the fact that her employer’s number was no longer in service. No, Mia Hernandez wasn’t a rescuer. She was damage control. She’d said as much herself, hadn’t she?
“Ticktock, Verena,” Mia said. “Whatever you’re going to do, decide now. I’m four seconds away from making the call for you.”
Four. Not three. Thankfully.
Verena lowered her gun, half expecting the other woman to shoot her. But she didn’t.
“Throw that pistol overboard,” Mia said.
Verena tossed it over the gunwale on the starboard side. Then, taking Verena by surprise, Mia handed her suppressed pistol to her.
“Now, kill that reporter,” Mia said, her eyes flicking toward the stern where Hobb was on his knees.
She followed Mia’s gaze. The reporter was tied up, his mouth duct-taped, his eyes wide with panic. He was making noise, garbled pleas behind the tape, and tears were running down his cheeks.
She didn’t look at Mia. She didn’t need to.She’s testing me.
It wasn’t lost on her that she’d been fired from the LAPD for having killed the two men who had executed her partner. And now, here she was with real blood on her hands. Still, killing the Guardia Civil officer might have been self-defense, depending on how one chose to frame it, but this? What Mia was asking of her was something else entirely. This was cold-blooded murder. She’d already crossed a line when she’d accepted the position to lead Blackstone Security. Since then, she’d done things she never imagined she’d be capable of. Illegal things. Morally gray things. She’d been on a slippery slope for a while now. She knew that. But since the operation in Manchester, it hadn’t just been steep, it had become slick with oil. She’d ordered people killed, hadn’t she? Was there really such a difference between giving the order and doing it herself?
Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m in too deep now. I passed the last exit ramp a long time ago.
Her finger hovered on the trigger, and she closed her eyes, but only for a second. Then she opened them, leveled the pistol, and fired, sending four rounds into Hobb’s chest. The reporter slumped to the side.
Three would have done it, she knew, but three felt careless. Four was safer. Cleaner. Five would have been too much.
“Good,” Mia said, as if Verena had just passed a field test. “Give me my pistol back.”
Verena did.
“Now, get theVeloceready to move. I’ll scuttle the patrol boat, then we go. I want to be out of here in ten.”
Verena nodded, her ears still ringing from the shots she’d fired at the Guardia Civil officer. “Where are we headed?” she asked.
“A few miles off of Ibiza. That’s where we’ll sinkVeloce. Once that’s done, I’d like to pay a visit to someone in Valencia.”
Verena almost asked why. But she already knew. They were going after the yacht broker. The one she’d used to charter the Azimut.
“Ten minutes. Understood,” Verena said. “I’ll be ready.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Istanbul Airport
Arnavutköy District, Turkey
