That face.
Holy shit. Recognition slammed into her with the intensity of a battering ram. Since he wore a scarf around his neck and a knit cap on his head, she couldn’t spot one of the distinguishing features she’d seen in the file she had on him. But she knew he had a jagged scar around his neck and tended to favor shaving his head.
She knew it was him from his icy blue eyes.
Grisha. A murdering psychopath.
Fear took hold, its unforgiving grip squeezing around her chest like a vise, colder than the winter-morning air.
Though she wanted to run, she stopped and spun around on the sidewalk, raising her bear spray with a steady hand. No one could withstand this if she shot it in their face, and she just wanted the chance to get away. She certainly wasn’t going to take the guy on in hand-to-hand combat. “Get back!” she shouted, her finger steady on the trigger. She was glad she wasn’t outwardly shaking. She needed to paint a picture of calm even if she was trembling inside.
To her surprise, he held up his hands and almost looked apologetic as he watched her. “I don’t want to hurt you, Karen.”
Holy hell, he knew her name. So this definitely wasn’t random. Because why would this guy be in Baltimore of all places, in the same park she ran by almost every day? Did he know who she worked for? God, he probably wanted to torture her for information. She wasn’t going to stand around and ask him a bunch of questions. The facts that he knew her name and was a violent criminal were enough for her to run for her life.
Whirling around, she raced down the sidewalk, her heart beating out of control, the sound of her blood rushing in her ears so loud she couldn’t tell how close he was behind her.
She wanted to pull out her phone, but she’d strapped it around her ankle so it would be out of her way. She couldn’t risk slowing down. If she could just get somewhere public, maybe she could flag someone for help.
As she moved deeper into the park, she cursed herself for coming this way, but he’d been blocking her exit. As she risked another glance over her shoulder, full-blown panic exploded inside her like fireworks. He was about twenty feet behind her and closing. He moved fast for such a big man, and she knew he wouldn’t stop. The range on her spray was thirty feet, so she could take him. She’d only get one shot at this, so she had to do it right.
His expression was grim and he said something to her, but she couldn’t hear anything above the blood rushing in her ears.
She could keep running, but he was going to reach her soon. And she knew without a doubt she’d lose against him in any sort of physical altercation. She’d seen pictures of what he’d done to someone who’d crossed him. This might be her only chance to get away or at least get help. Drawing in a deep breath, she let out a bloodcurdling scream, hoping someone would hear her as she stopped and turned to spray him.
Still screaming, she had started to press the trigger when a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye made her stumble backward.
A man in similar attire burst from the trees lining the sidewalk. There were two of them!
Pressing the trigger, she started spraying wildly as the newcomer tackled her. She flew back against the sidewalk, her head slamming against it as she lost her grip on the bear spray.
“Don’t hurt her!” Grisha shouted.
But that couldn’t be right. Unless he wanted to be the one to inflict pain. She tried to struggle, but the other man was on top of her and had her in a tight grip. She couldn’t stop gasping, her chest terrifyingly tight. She couldn’t breathe through the panic pressing in on her. Every horrible photo and crime scene she’d ever seen at work crashed in on her at once. She didn’t want to be a fucking statistic! She blinked as everything around her became fuzzy. Stay awake, she ordered herself as the edges of her vision started to fade.
No, no, no. She couldn’t be unconscious around these monsters. But she couldn’t control her breathing. It was too fast, too panicked. Pins and needles erupted in her hands and feet. Her eyeballs felt as if they were bulging. The edges of her vision closed in. Her body refused to listen as darkness swept her under.
? ? ?
Wesley glanced at Selene as they neared their destination. The private plane was about ten minutes from its final descent, and he hated that the reason they were returning was that one of his oldest, closest friends had been murdered.
The whole situation didn’t sit right with Wesley, and even though it wasn’t the NSA’s jurisdiction, he’d be looking at all the files to make sure the investigation was handled properly. He owed Max that much. Hell, he owed the man his life.
“You all right?” Selene asked softly from her seat next to the window. Her white blond hair was pulled back from the sharp planes of her face and braided tight against her head.
As if she were his own daughter, the computer genius rarely missed anything when it came to him. She was one of the few people who could read his moods. He could have said he was fine, but there was no reason to lie to her and she’d have known anyway. “No.”
“We’ll find out who killed him.” Her expression turned fierce and determined.
His throat tight, all he could do was nod and stare blindly at his open laptop. Wesley had called Mary Southers before boarding the plane in Berlin and she’d sounded as if she was hanging in there. The woman was a rock, the type who could weather any storm. But losing Max . . . hell, it was just unfair.
Which was a stupid thing to say considering the shit he saw day in and day out. Wesley knew how fragile life was, how bad things happened to good people all the damn time. For some reason he’d just never thought he’d lose his oldest friend.
Max didn’t even work in the field anymore. And that bullshit about a Shia terrorist group gunning for him was just that—bullshit—so putrid it stank. It didn’t even make sense with the intel they’d gathered so far. Not to mention that the news stations had received that tip way too fast. Faster than the DEA, NSA, or CIA had. And that simply didn’t happen. The DEA had done damage control and was currently denying those allegations, but the charges were out there for the public to dissect and conspiracy theorists to latch onto.
Now Wesley had to focus on the attack in the capital more than anything. He’d been in Germany working with their premier intelligence agency on something highly sensitive when a stolen, U.S.–owned drone unleashed hell on a political fund-raiser.
And no one could find the damn thing. Not even his best team of analysts. Whoever was manning it was good, because they’d covered their digital tracks well enough that they hadn’t even left a bread-crumb trail.
Pulling up his e-mail, Wesley started scanning the most important ones first, trying to sift his way through the mess of them. Karen often went through his messages and alerted him of priorities if he was off-line for a job, but this was his most private e-mail account. No one had access to it but him.
When he saw one from an unknown address, he opened it and frowned. It was rare he got spam at this address.
Remember the tip you got on Tasev in Miami? It was from me. I made the call from a pay phone on Bayside Drive and I’m willing to bet you tried to track me even after Max told you the tip was anonymous. We need to talk about Max’s murder. Contact me at this number.
Wesley quickly memorized the phone number. No name, but Wesley didn’t need it.
There was only one man who would know all those details. One of Max’s undercover agents. A man known only as Grisha, though Wesley knew it was just an alias. He actually had a file on the alleged criminal and all his supposed past exploits. He’d had Karen look into the man because he’d wanted to team up with Max on another case. That wouldn’t be happening now.