Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
During her time on the mountain, she’d had visitors. The explosion that ripped through her back had been a bomb she’d set for the Taliban fighters who’d tried to capture her.
She’d killed three men.
I pocketed the phone, my body numb. This woman had been to hell and back, and she’d made it. A hardened survivor.
“Is everything all right?” Gio asked.
Hearing the Italian brought me crashing back into the present. I blinked slowly, tucking the thoughts away for later, when I could process them away from Abramo eyes. Gio stood before me, drumming his fingers on the strap of his laptop bag, impatiently waiting for my answer.
“It’s fine. How was your flight?”
“Better. I didn’t have to wear an oxygen mask this time.”
He slid into the awaiting limo, and I followed him into the back seat, ignoring the emotions inside me that wanted attention. The impulse to come up with an excuse so I could sneak off and call her was shockingly strong.
“I appreciate the way you handled the Renzo thing with my father.” He said it like a casual thanks and not like I had saved his short Italian ass. “I don’t know that much about you, but you seem . . . loyal.”
“It’s no problem,” I said. “And I am.”
“Good. Tell the driver to take us to this restaurant.” He pulled an address up on his phone.
When the car turned out of the airport, I focused on my mission. “Can I ask what the plan is?”
“Mr. Dunn believes he has an emergency meeting with his head of Italian distribution.”
Jesus, the Abramos could pull strings fast. “We go in with him?” Right through the fucking front doors of Osterhägen?
He flashed a lazy smile. “No. Apparently, Mr. Dunn is proud of his city and likes to show it off. He takes his one-on-one meetings at this Munich restaurant.”
I’d had a lengthy discussion last night with Daniel about the situation, and once Hendrix, the field office director got involved, I knew I was screwed. Or, more specifically, the Dunns were screwed. Again.
I was attached to Gio, not Vitale, so the faster I got him back to Rome, the faster I could try to maneuver. The goal was to be installed in Renzo’s place, because chatter indicated the Serbians were planning something. The clock was ticking on getting useable intel, but Gio wouldn’t leave Munich until he had his answers.
It put me in one fucking awkward position.
But if I could take the Abramo danger away from the Dunns, I’d take it off Olivia, too.
“What about the Hayward woman?” I asked. “Is she going to be there?”
“If she isn’t, we’ll persuade him to call his American whore and have her join us.”
The SIG Sauer burned against my ribs, whispering to me, but I ignored the impulse. At least I could avoid the ruse of having to intimidate Shawn into summoning Kara. While Gio checked his phone, I texted Shawn. I explained what was scheduled to go down, and that it would be better if both Jason and his fiancée were there. Jason was the head of Osterhägen security, after all.
And he would be good backup if I lost control of Gio, or lost control of myself.
It was a private, intimate room at the restaurant. The focal point was a stained-glass window that threw different colors of daylight across the white linens on the table. Gio had ordered wine for himself while he waited alone, seated at a large round table across from the door where he’d stationed me.
Kara and Shawn came in first, followed by Jason, and they froze when they saw the unexpected Italian waiting for them. Shit, I needed this to be a smooth, quick meet. I was depending on my friends, as was the Agency, to pull this off.
I shut the door, closing us in as Gio stood. His lips drew back into a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Have a seat, Herr Dunn,” I said in English, and turned to Jason. “Give me your gun. This won’t take long unless you want it to.”
Jason’s attempt to draw on me had been telegraphed, and I appreciated the performance. I yanked the Glock from the marshal’s holster and jammed it in the back of my pants.
“Who is this?” Shawn asked. “I have a meeting with Michele—”
I held open my suitcoat to give him a view of my SIG, then gestured to Gio. “No. Today you have a meeting with this man. I’m going to search you, and then you’ll sit and answer his questions.”
“If we don’t?” Jason’s voice was dark.
Don’t oversell this, cowboy. The faster we got through this, the less time anyone had to screw up. “Then I put a bullet in each of you.” When no one moved, I took that as their agreement. “Get out your phones, put them on the table, and slide them over to him.”