CHAPTER 5

Excruciating pain coursed through Agent Garner’s body, causing flashes of white behind his eyes each time he tried to move. Shallow moans escaped his dry mouth. He forced his hand under his chest and keyed his radio, then squeezed his eyes shut and used every bit of remaining strength to focus on timing his shuddering breaths.

“This is…Agent Garner…adjacent building, third floor. Two agents down. Agents…down.”

CHAPTER 5

“Paul!” Kelly froze, hearing his distress call over the radio.

Her team had just captured Manual Ochoa, Angel del Cruz, and two of Damon Ochoa’s brothers. And they, too, had an agent down.

Antonio Ochoa had fired three shots into the back of a rookie agent partnered with Kelly’s team. The first shot lodged in his armored vest. The second entered in under the arm and ripped into his lung while the third made its way through his neck, hitting the carotid artery.

Wild-eyed and gasping, he lay choking on his own blood as Amelia shoved a thumb into his neck wound to slow the bleeding. Agent Mike Sinclair tore through gauze packages trying to staunch the wound in his agent’s side.

Kelly held her breath, waiting for the radio to tell her something, anything, about Paul’s condition. His voice sounded fading. He struggled to talk, to breathe.

“Kelly, go,” Amelia yelled. “We got this.”

Kelly darted out of the suite and down the hall toward the exit. She took the stairs two and three at a time, racing to the parking garage, holding her breath as if it might stop time. Hoping that each breath she refused to take might somehow be given to Paul.

Her shaking hands fumbled the car keys, dropping them before getting the door unlocked, and then missing the ignition three times before getting the car started.

Her government-issued Acura rocketed out of the garage and across the front drive of the Seville, forcing a pair of bellmen and a valet to dive for the sidewalk. Racing through the downtown streets of Columbus, dodging in and out of traffic, Kelly’s entire being trembled.

“Dammit, Paul. Don’t you die on me.”

CHAPTER 8

Sara adjusted the oxygen hose in Paul’s nostrils and made sure his IV tube was securely in place. She covered her mouth with her hand when she raised the bed sheet. “Oh, Paul.”

She twisted away from the blood-soaked bandage and surgical incision at the base of his spine, and froze. “Kelly. I-I didn’t see you, I didn’t know anyone…” Sara wiped her eyes. “The nurse said no one was here.”

Kelly closed her laptop. “I’m sorry, Sara. I should have said something when you came in.”

“It is what it is.”

“Did you bring the girls?”

“Of course, but I made them wait in the reception area. I wasn’t sure what kind of state Paul was in. You never called me back.”

Kelly’s stomach knotted. “I’ll go sit with them and give you some privacy.”

She was nearly out the door when Sara called to her.

“They think the world of you.” Sara smoothed out Paul’s hair. “I hate admitting it but it’s the truth. If only I could remove you from Paul’s life, I would have him back.”

Kelly glanced back over her shoulder, gaze lowered, unnaturally still.

“Usually, little girls have their favorite aunt or teacher, or a superstar they idolize.” Sara smirked. “Not my girls. No, their favorite person is you.” She tried clearing her throat. “You’re all they talk about. You’re their Lara Croft, their Katniss Everdeen. If you weren’t with Paul it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Take your time, Sara. I’ll be outside.” Kelly motioned again for the door.

“Would you let them see their father like this?”

Kelly thought for a moment. “I honestly don’t know. You’re their mother, so it’s your call to make. I’ll go along with whatever decision you make in their best interest.”

“You will, huh? Whatever decision I make in their best interest? I want you to remember that, Kelly Reed. I want you to honor that vow. If you do nothing else for me, I want you to go along with whatever decision I make for them.”

Kelly squared herself with Sara. “I will. You have my word.”

CHAPTER 16

The Smuggler’s Inn—a fitting name for the back end of an old gravel lot, six-pump choke-n-puke on the highway west of Columbus. The truck stop’s L-shaped building cradled a stucco matchbox where the front desk and manager’s office resided. In the womb of its gravel lot, a wretched little diner with five booths and a dozen stools squatted like a neon gargoyle. Its only traffic was drunken teenagers in search of greasy hamburgers and runny eggs.

Outdated over thirty years, its hourly rate was an industry bargain, where every room was a honeymoon suite boasting oversized mirrors and holdover blond furniture from the seventies. Gold-flake shag worn thin behind the doors and alongside the beds by truckers and penitent hookers provided a lost sense of dignity. The smell of diesel, stale piss, and burnt heroin mingled beneath the mix of Lysol and moldy air-conditioner breeze. The scanty, threadbare rooms were well acquainted with johns and hookers, dope-sicks looking for a place to find a vein, and teenagers wanting to hook-up. Through the thin walls you could hear a father’s heart break in the moan of a sixteen-year-old girl wearing a cum-stained prom dress.

CHAPTER 28

Kelly picked up Andrei’s knife. Her steps firm and heavy, she eased behind him and seized his thinning locks, pulling his head back.

With what life was left in Andrei’s vacant eyes, he looked up at Kelly, sniggering, gurgling. “What are you waiting for? Finish it, bitch.”

Amelia shouted, “Kelly, No!”

Kelly didn’t breathe. Her eyes pierced straight through his as she drew the blade sharp. Andrei’s throat opened, spilling the warmth of his blood over Kelly’s hand, sanctifying her wrath.

CHAPTER 36

The howling winter wind whipped through the tight-packed street and narrow alleys, silenced only by the sudden blasts of police siren’s and the annoying garble of radio chatter that, along with the flashing lights, brought the disrepute neighborhood of boutiques to life like a sleazy carnival. Hail pelted the homicide detectives and FBI agents hiding beneath overcoats as they attempted to interview horrified customers.

The front door of the small delicatessen was propped open to air out the overpowering stench of spilled bowels. A thick glob of blood coated the interior door handle and dripped into a shoe-imprinted puddle.

Special Agent Sommers stood near the register with his legs planted wide and hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat. He stared grimly through the meat cooler’s display glass.

A crime scene investigator took photographs of the cooler’s contents. “That, my friend, is a photo to frame for the office break room.”

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