The Red Cobra (James Ryker #1)

‘Yes.’


‘Have I made myself clear?’ Winter said, once again wielding the position of command. ‘You see her, you kill her. Don’t even think about it.’

‘Understood,’ Ryker said.

And it was true, he understood the instruction just fine.

Whether he would actually follow it, he really couldn’t be sure.





CHAPTER 27


Moments after putting the phone down, it buzzed again. Ryker looked at the screen. It was Lisa. For a fleeting moment, he debated whether or not to answer. As much as he missed her and wanted to talk to her, his mind was becoming consumed with the investigation at hand. That was his nature. His work for the JIA hadn’t just been a job, it had been his life – something he lived and breathed twenty-four hours a day. And he could feel himself being drawn back into that mind-set, that way of living.

But as comfortable and normal as that felt for Ryker on many levels, he knew he had to resist going back to being like that. What was right was that he and Lisa stick together and be there for each other no matter what. He was all Lisa had in the world. She had no job, no friends, no family. Ryker on the other hand did have something else in his life. He had an ally in Peter Winter. And because of that, Ryker had a job. Maybe not the same job he used to have, but the JIA still needed him and apparently had no qualms about using Ryker for their shadowy operations. Winter had come knocking and Ryker had agreed to his request for help. Ryker couldn’t let that decision drive a wedge between him and Lisa.

He answered the phone. ‘Hi.’

‘Hey.’

In an instant, Ryker felt more relaxed at the familiar sound of her voice. ‘What time is it there?’

‘Early. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry, we should have spoken sooner. I tried calling.’

‘I was worried about you.’

‘No need to worry. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You been for a swim?’

‘Not today. Not yet.’

There was a moment of silence, and Ryker felt awkwardness seeping back in. Was she being deliberately cagey with him or was he imagining it?

‘Have you found her yet?’ she asked.

‘No. Not yet.’

‘How long will it take?’

‘I don’t know. Days. Maybe longer.’

‘I miss you. I miss you so much.’

‘Yeah. I miss you too... I’ll be back soon.’

‘Not soon enough.’

Another silence followed. He could hear her slow and steady breathing, He wanted to tell her more, about what he was doing, where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t. And he really didn’t know what else to say to her. What did they even have to talk about? Their lives out on the run were quite unremarkable.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘I’m just about to arrive somewhere. I’ll call you again later, yeah? We can talk properly then.’

‘Of course.’ She sounded dejected. ‘Speak later.’

‘I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

Ryker ended the call and put his phone down on his lap, feeling agitated – with himself more than anything – by the stilted conversation. How could talking to the woman he loved make him feel so uncomfortable?

As Ryker neared Marbella, he did his best to push the thoughts of tension in his home life to the back of his mind. He passed by the construction site where the day before he’d been knocked unconscious by a bent policeman. And what of the two heavies who’d been sent after him? They’d vanished it seemed.

Moments later, Ryker pulled up outside the tall metal gates of the complex where Eva Kozlov lived with her father. Ryker was hoping Andrei wasn’t home. If he was, Ryker was certain he’d not get very far. Kozlov, like Walker, would hide behind his well-paid lawyer as long as he was able to. Eva on the other hand... she was hardly going to betray her father just like that, but Ryker knew she liked to play games. She had to be his best bet for getting the investigation moving.

A solitary uniformed guard sat in the wood-panelled security hut outside the gates. He came out to greet Ryker with a look of mistrust on his face. Maybe he was like that with everyone. Or maybe he was like that only with people who drove cars worth less than a hundred thousand euros.

‘I’m here to see Eva Kozlov,’ Ryker said to the guard in English. It was an assumption that the security detail on an estate where there likely wasn’t a Spanish-born resident would have at least passable English. Ryker’s assumption was confirmed when the guard spoke.

‘And you are?’

‘James Ryker.’

‘Okay, but what is your business here?’

‘I’m working with the Policia National.’

That seemed to knock the guard back a step, though the cynical look remained. ‘ID?’

Ryker reached into his jeans pocket for his passport. He showed it to the guard who looked at it sceptically.

‘I didn’t say I was a policeman,’ Ryker said, guessing that the guard was wondering why he was showing a basic passport rather than an official ID card. ‘Just that I’m working with them.’

‘Okay. Let me call through and see if there’s anyone home.’

The guard wandered back to his box-hut, sat on his swivel chair, and picked up a phone. Ryker could see the man’s lips moving as he spoke to someone on the other end but could hear none of the words.

Less than a minute later, the guard was back at Ryker’s window.

‘She’s home,’ the guard said, his voice stern. ‘And says you can come in.’

Ryker held back a wry smile. It looked like he’d been right about Eva.

‘Third house on the left,’ the guard said.

He went back to his hut and seconds later, the double metal gates silently swung open.

Ryker drove through, feeling as though he were entering another world. Everything about the estate screamed wealth. The perfectly trimmed grass verges. The spotless tarmac and pavements, with not even a hint of scuffs or scratches or chips. Trees and flowers that didn’t seem to have a leaf or a twig or a petal out of place. It was like a fantasy. And then there were the houses. And the cars. The whole estate and what it stood for seemed so far detached from the reality of life that lay beyond the gated walls.

Ryker saw no one other than the occasional uniformed worker tending the estate as he drove along the road to the Kozlov’s residence. He parked his car next to two shining SUVs in the driveway then got out and headed to the front entrance complete with Romanesque pillars.

Ryker knocked loudly on the thick door and it was opened a few seconds later by an unfamiliar man. He was a similar age to Ryker. Not as tall, not as wide – physically he didn’t look much. But he had a hard face with a scar that ran across his left cheek up to and over his eye, and a steely glint in his stare that told Ryker he wasn’t someone to mess with. Ryker knew the type. He’d seen it before: every time he looked in a mirror.

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