Page 75 of The Specialist

He held his nose, the blood spurting between his fingers. “You don’t get to call the shots.”

“When it comes to this, I do. Get the fuck out before I practice my skills on you. Toes hurt when they’re blown off one by one.”

He climbed into the truck, driving out too fast, his tires squealing when he hit the loose gravel outside. The garage door slowly closed behind him, and Marcus and Julian immediately covered everything that had been brought. We took it to a small room, locking it inside. If there were any listening devices in it, they wouldn’t do them any good. I wouldn’t use anything they sent either. I couldn’t trust it.

We didn’t speak until we were headed back to my old workroom.

“So, None,” Julian began. “You gonna make us some food?”

“Sure, Wipe,” Marcus said. “Need to keep the boss’s strength up. Lots of noses left to break.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered, but I smiled, the levity of the moment much-needed.

Damien and Matteo looked up as we walked in. Damien waved me over.

“I think I found her.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sofia

The building was silent, the only sound was my rough breathing. I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, my head still aching. They had untied me and left me. I heard them lock the door, and for a while I heard other sounds, and I knew it had been rigged. There were wires. Explosives. Traps.

They left a couple of bottles of water. Tossed in some granola bars and set down a bucket before shutting the door, their laughter muffled but still reaching my ears. A red light blinked in the corner and I knew they were watching me, but I was sure I was alone in the building.

Earlier, before they had wired the place, I had crept carefully to the side of the room, staying away from the door, to where I saw the hole. The floorboards around it were weak and unstable. I had peered over the edge, realizing it did me no good. The floors underneath it were damaged and missing in places as well. If I fit through the hole, at best, I would break my legs, and at worst, die a slow death on the ground from my injuries after I fell down a couple of stories.

I wiped away the tears that seemed to flow constantly, tucking my hair behind my ear. I drifted my finger over my lobe, touching the earring there. Egan’s gift. I frowned as I thought about his words. I didn’t have an ear infection, so I didn’t know what he meant. And he kept tapping his ear in an odd gesture when he talked to me. I wondered if somehow he could find me with these earrings.

I traced the earring, feeling nothing. I removed it, peering at it, but I saw nothing except the pretty stones. I did the same with the other one, noting how unsecure it was. The back had come away, hanging loosely on my ear. I was surprised it hadn’t fallen off completely, given what I had endured. After looking at the gems and not seeing anything, I slid it back into place, making sure the backing was tight. I didn’t want to lose them even if they didn’t help Egan find me.

I tried not to think about the fact that I might die wearing them. I refused to. Egan would figure this out. I hadn’t seen him, but somehow I knew Damien was there, which was why I had shouted out a few words in Italian, hoping he would understand. It had been my only shot—and I hadn’t been able to warn Egan about the bomb Ivan told me was in the building. Ivan had slapped me again after demanding to know what I said, and I had lied as I looked him in the eye.

“I said you were a worthless piece of shit.”

That earned me another slap. My face ached from the blows. I hoped Egan made him hurt when he killed him later. The doctor in me was shocked at the feelings of revenge. My oath meant nothing at the moment. I could suddenly understand Egan’s calling. I wanted nothing more than this man and the people he used to die. The world would be a better place.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and rested my head on my hands. I shivered as the shadows grew darker, the room colder, and my hopes dimmer.

“Please, Egan,” I whispered. “Find me.”

* * *

EGAN

I bent over Damien’s laptop. “What do you have?”

“There are a lot of businesses in the province with the name Sterling in them. Many of them closed in the past few years, but one stuck out. Just outside Toronto. A shipping company that was next to a printing business. Sterling Shipping. Sterling Printing.”

“Sterling. Paper,” I repeated. “Yes.”

“Both businesses closed. Both are still standing, but one seems more logical.” Damien showed me an image. “A small warehouse. Deserted.”

“That works,” I said, my heartbeat picking up.

“We need some heat imaging and visuals.”

My phone beeped, and I grabbed it, staring at the screen. “My beautiful, smart woman,” I breathed. “She figured it out. Her tracker is working.”