Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Catya had called in a favor to secure a driver and a small water taxi commonly used to privately ferry wealthy guests to their lodgings along the canals in Amsterdam.
She’d briefed her driver, Sergey, on the danger and the need to move quickly. A former Ukrainian mercenary, he didn’t balk at the danger. In fact, he rubbed his hands together, eager to step back into the world of high-stakes and risky pursuits.
Catya had spent the day in her secret room behind a staircase in the basement of a church, combing through the internet, searching for any sign of Atkins.
She’d put out feelers to her contacts throughout Europe. Each contact promised to be on the lookout for the rogue MI6 agent. Though some had heard of the botched operation in Rome, they didn’t have any idea where Atkins would have gone or who he might be working for.
Every one of her contacts knew about the disk. And everyone warned her that people were willing to kill for the information contained on it. No one knew what the disk contained.
Desperate to find Atkins, Catya checked in with one of the more elusive and somewhat sinister contacts she’d used before on the dark web. He’d been surprised when she’d sent him a message, asking her how she was still this side of the dirt. He'd told her a lot of people wanted that disk and would kill to get it.
And yet, no one seemed to know what was so important they’d sent two assassins to retrieve it from a preschool teacher. He did understand that more than just a bunch of thugs wanted to get their hands on it. The disk had information on it that had people in high places sweating, both in the commercial realm and government.
Catya left her hidden room twenty minutes before eight o’clock, careful not to reveal her little apartment beneath the church. With a handgun tucked beneath her leather jacket and an extra loaded magazine in her pocket, she weaved her way through the streets of Amsterdam. She’d had this particular location for nearly a year, longer than any other place she’d occupied since becoming an assassin.
Part of her hoped that when she arrived at the MX3D bridge, Fearghas wouldn’t be there—that he’d thought better of getting involved and found someplace to hide until this insanity blew over.
She knew him well enough to know he’d be there. The man was one of the good guys. Catya didn’t know what he saw in her. If she could erase her past and guarantee none of the family members of her hits would come after her, she would stay with Fearghas as long as he would have her.
But she couldn’t undo the past, and he deserved a better future than always looking over his shoulder because of her.
She had arranged to meet Sergey on a less busy canal, away from the main thoroughfares crowded with tourists all day and half the night. He was where he said he’d be.
As soon as Catya stepped aboard his refurbished boat with the glossy wooden hull and plush leather seats, she leaned over his shoulder and gave him their destination.
Sergey nodded and drove the boat into the canal, turning at the next watery intersection. As they neared the MX3D bridge, lights shone down on the water from the red-light district. Women stood in windows tempting tourists to stop and gawk or step inside for more sexually satisfying pursuits.
Catya didn’t see the ladies in the windows. Her gaze focused on the walkways and the people crossing the bridges the boat took them under.
When the MX3D bridge came into view, Catya tensed. A small cluster of people seemed to be struggling near the rail. Still too far to make out what was going on, Catya gasped when one individual out of the cluster toppled over the bridge rail and plunged into the water.
“Go!” she urged Sergey, knowing in her gut the person who’d gone over was Fearghas. She shouldn’t have had him meet her in such a public place.
Two of the people he’d been wrestling with, what appeared to be a man and a woman, leaned over the bridge and fired handguns into the water. The third man ran to the end of the bridge and hurried down to the water’s edge, brandishing a pistol.
Tourists and residents screamed and ran.
As Sergey neared the bridge, he pulled back on the throttle and slowed the boat almost to a stop.
Catya pulled her gun from her shoulder holster and aimed at the man near the shore. She took him out in her first shot. He clutched his chest and dropped into the water.
Catya spun toward the two still unloading their weapons into the water below, before they realized somebody had taken out their cohort.
One of her bullets slammed into the woman’s shoulder. Her gun fell from her hand as she staggered backward.
The man ducked below the ridge rail, out of sight.
Sergey gunned the throttle, sending the boat under the bridge.
Catya shoved her gun at Sergey. “Defend yourself.” She quickly shrugged off her jacket and was about to dive into the water when a head popped up beside the boat, and the owner sucked in a breath.
“Catya,” he called out and sank below the surface.
“Fearghas,” she cried out and leaned over the side. She reached into the water, grasping for anything to hold onto.
Her fingers wrapped around his hair and pulled him back to the surface. She tried to grab an arm, but somebody had tied them behind his back. He kicked hard to stay at the surface but couldn’t last long, with heavy clothes weighing him down and without his arms to help him tread water.
Fearghas was too heavy for Catya to haul him up onto the boat. The best she could do was continue to hang over the side and keep his head above water.
Sergey appeared beside her and hooked his hand beneath Fearghas’s arm. Between Sergey and Catya, they hauled him over the side and into the boat.
By then, the boat had drifted out from under the bridge.
Bullets rained down on them from the man on the bridge.
Catya flung her body over Fearghas.
Sergey dove for the throttle and shoved it forward, sending the boat shooting out from beneath the bridge and away from the shooter.
Soon, they were out of range. Sergey only slowed to turn onto another waterway. He kept driving the little boat until they were well away from the attackers. He turned left, right, and left again, twisting and turning through the old city to ensure their attackers didn’t follow them into the maze of canals.
Catya rolled off Fearghas, pulled her knife from the sheath on her hip and cut through the duct tape securing his wrists behind his back. Then she helped him turn over onto his back.
With his hands free, Fearghas pushed to a sitting position and coughed up canal water.
A flood of relief washed over Catya as she stared at the bedraggled Scotsman, her heart swelling with more emotion than she usually allowed herself.
She shook her head. “I told you not to get yourself killed.”
His lips twitched on the corners. “I had everything under control.”
Catya snorted. “I could see that. You’re lucky you didn’t drown or take a bullet.”
“Who said I didn’t take a bullet?” He shrugged his shoulder and winced.
Catya was on him in a second, peeling his jacket from his shoulders.
“I’m okay,” he said. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
Once she had the jacket off and his shirt hem pulled up to his neck, she studied the injury on his arm. “It’s not too deep. But we need to clean it and treat it with antibiotic ointment. The canal water won’t do you any good. It’s polluted and full of germs. The bullet might not have killed you, but infection can.”
Sergey pulled down a darkened canal and brought the boat to a halt.
Catya realized it wasn’t far from where she’d boarded less than an hour before.
“Can you walk?” she asked Fearghas.
“I can,” he said.
She stood and held out a hand to help him to his feet.
He stood, tugged his shirt back in place and gathered his jacket.
Catya turned to Sergey and spoke in his language. “I’m sorry if your boat is damaged. Let me know how much it costs to repair.”
Sergey held up his hand. “I will not take your money. I can take care of the damage myself. I rebuilt this boat with my own hands. I can do it again.” His brow dipped. “If you ever need help again, you know how to reach me.”
Catya nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”
Fearghas stepped out of the boat onto the walkway beside the canal, turned and held out his hand to Catya.
She laid her hand in his palm and let him pull her up and into his damp arms.
Catya didn’t care that he was soaked and getting her wet. He was there, his body solid and gorgeous. He’d come close to drowning or dying from a bullet wound, but he hadn’t. Fearghas was still the strong and viral man she’d walked away from in Athens.
Though she knew it could only be temporary, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She barely heard the motor of Sergey’s boat as he drove away on the canal.
“I could hold you like this all night,” Fearghas said with a sigh in his Scottish burr, “but we might want to get somewhere safe.”
He was right.
Catya couldn’t forget the reason she’d called him in the first place—her parents’ murder and Fearghas being the next target. Her heart pinched hard in her chest. “You’re not safe as long as they know they can use you to get to me.”
He raised a hand to brush a stray strand of her hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
Tears welled in Catya’s eyes. She leaned her forehead against his chest. “It’s all my fault.”
He lifted her chin. “You didn’t kill your parents. Someone else did.”
“If I wasn’t an assassin... If I hadn’t chosen the path of an assassin, they might still be alive.”
“Weren’t they in the spy business as well? Isn’t that how you came into the same trade?” He gave her a sad smile. “They knew the risks.”
Her gaze met and held his. “You should never have moved in with me.”
“You never should have left,” he said, his lips thinning into a tight line.
“I had to,” she said softly and stepped out of his arms. “Come. It’s not safe here.” She snorted. “I don’t know if anywhere will be safe for you as long as I’m alive.”
He grasped her arm and pulled her against his chest. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.”
“I have only a day to find Atkins and that disk, or they’ll come for you.” She stared up into his eyes. “I will not let you die because I failed. But now that you’re here, at least I know where you are and that you’re still alive. I hope I have a better chance of keeping you alive as long as you’re with me.”
His lips curled. “And here I thought I was going to protect you.”
Her brow twisted. “I take care of myself.”
“If there are so many people after you and that disk,” Fearghas said, “maybe it’s time to let someone else help.”
“I have found it best to rely on only me. I won’t lie to or betray myself.”
“When you find Atkins and the disk, what will you do with them?”
“Before I kill Atkins, I’m going to find out who sent us to kill a schoolteacher for a disk. I want to know what’s so damned important on that disk that so many people are looking for it.”
“Okay, then, I’m here to help,” he said. “I can contact my people and have them start looking for Atkins.”
“I’ve been searching the internet and the dark web for any sign of the man.”
“Why do you care about finding that disk? You don’t have it,” Fearghas pointed out. “You could walk away and lay low for a while. They would shift their attention to Atkins, who deserves it since he took the disk and ran without concern for you. He would’ve known they were going to kill you after he secured the disk.”
Catya frowned. “I don’t know enough about the people who’ve attacked me, my parents and, now, you. Are they all working for the same people, or are they working for different factions all bent on retrieving the disk for their own purposes?” She took several steps away. “We won’t find the answers here.” Catya looked back at Fearghas. “Are you coming?”
“ Aye, mo ghràdh .” My love. He quickly caught up with her and took her hand in his. “You’ll nae be rid of me so soon this time.”
As much as she wanted to hold onto his hand, she couldn’t get used to having him around. It had hurt her too profoundly when she’d left him in Athens. She hadn’t recovered from the effort it had taken to do the right thing and leave him there.
She’d gone to him when she’d heard he’d gotten out of the military, knowing she’d been the one to put a black mark on his SAS career the night they’d both appeared at the Roxburgh Mansion in Scotland.
Although she had not been the one to set off the explosions that had destroyed the mansion and the people inside, MI6 and Russia’s Federal Security Service had blamed the blast on her.
In turn, MI6 had blamed Fearghas for not seeing through her plans in time to stop the sabotage before it had claimed the lives of some of the wealthiest men in the world.
Catya had been at the mansion because she’d received word that someone had come to sabotage the meeting. Not until she took the blame from both sides had she realized she’d been set up, framed for the explosion. And because someone within MI6 knew Fearghas had been assigned to observe her in the past, he’d been part of the setup.
They’d taken the fall for the real terrorist responsible.
Catya suspected the puppet master pulling the strings occupied a central role in MI6. She’d looked into every database she’d been able to access and tapped on all her contacts but hadn’t found the source of the orders or uncovered the name of the person who’d set the explosive charges.
When she’d heard Fearghas had left the SAS and relocated to Athens, she’d gone to him. She’d told herself reconnecting with the Scotsman was purely a mission to gather any information he might have on the mole within MI6.
What should have been less than twenty-four hours with the man had ended up being several months.
As they hurried through the darkened streets, passing through narrow gaps between buildings, Fearghas squeezed her hand gently.
The same spark of electricity ripped through her system, warming her to her core.
Their relationship had never lacked chemistry. Every time they were together, passion rocketed off the charts.
It built inside her even as she feared for this man’s life.
A man in a dark coat and cap stepped out of a side street ten feet ahead.
Catya stopped abruptly. Her legs braced as she reached into her jacket pocket for the pistol she’d reloaded while they’d cruised through the canals.
The man didn’t turn toward them but crossed the street on which they stood and disappeared between two buildings.
Catya didn’t move for a few moments longer and then turned, taking in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan of the area surrounding her and Fearghas.
Fearghas pressed his back to hers, doing the same. He had his handgun out, holding it close to his side, hoping the dip in the canal wouldn’t interfere with its operability.
Once she was satisfied nobody had followed, she got moving, determined to get to her place before they ran into anyone else. At the same time, she altered her course, never heading directly to her hideout, taking longer than it would have to go straight there. She hadn’t survived all those years by being reckless.
Except for the months she’d been with Fearghas in Athens. She’d let herself believe they could live a normal life. She hadn’t received any new assignments since the mansion incident. How easy would it be to disappear into a different life, like her parents had?
Then one day, she’d gone to a local bakery for bread. As she’d walked back to Fearghas’s place, her ingrained sixth sense had felt eyes watching her. She’d made several turns, taking herself away from her destination to be sure.
A man dressed in a white polo shirt, khaki slacks and a matching broad-brimmed hat most tourists wore to protect their faces and necks from the sun had followed her, keeping a safe distance for the first few switchbacks.
The next few turns she’d made had taken her out of his line of sight, but he’d closed the distance a little more each time.
Catya had walked faster, turned quicker but hadn’t been able to shake him. At the next corner, she’d run as fast as she could to the next corner, tossed the bread in the road to the right, then turned left and ran to an alley she’d identified weeks earlier for this exact purpose.
Escape.
While her stalker had lost time chasing down the right road, Catya entered the smaller alley, climbed a fire escape ladder to the second floor of an abandoned apartment building and tried to lift the window she’d worked free with a knife the last time she’d been there. The window was stuck again, heat and moisture having resealed the old paint.
Risking the noise, Catya had pulled out her knife and worked the paint free, her heart pounding, her mind counting the seconds it would take for the man in khaki to realize she’d turned the opposite direction and head her way.
Just when she’d thought the man would find her, the window moved, sliding jerkily upward until it jammed.
A six-inch gap was all she’d managed.
Catya had squeezed through the opening. She’d turned to ease the window back in place and had moved it down three inches when the man appeared at the end of the alley.
She’d ducked below the windowsill in a room littered with broken furniture, disintegrating cardboard boxes and the dust of a decade of neglect. She’d waited several long seconds before daring to peer around the side of the window from her position in the shadows.
The khaki-clad man had his back to her and the building she’d hidden in, walking out of the alley. He’d turned and jogged along the road away from her and her hiding place.
She hadn’t been caught or followed to Fearghas’s place that day, but she’d realized it was only a matter of time before she was.
Catya had returned to Fearghas’s place that afternoon, made love to him into the early morning hours and then slipped out before he’d awoken, taking only her weapons, passports, and the gold necklace Fearghas had purchased for her from a vendor in front of the Acropolis. He’d kissed her there in the moonlight, the backdrop of the Greek ruins seeming like a metaphor for things that stood the test of time.
Like their love?
Fat chance. What man could love an assassin who popped in and out of his life, leaving him to guess when he’d see her again?
Fearghas was better off finding a nice woman who hadn’t killed dozens of people and who came from a family of international spies. He needed a woman who could give him several red-haired children and raise them on a lush green plot of land in the Scottish Highlands.
Catya had boarded the first train out of Athens, not caring where it headed. She’d sent a text message to Fearghas letting him know she’d left so he wouldn’t wonder what had happened to her.
Catya: Until we meet again
She’d hoped he wouldn’t do something stupid like try to follow her and bring her back. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t.
The little girl inside who’d believed in fairy tales and shining knights or princes riding white stallions might have wished he would come and whisk her away. He’d take her to a deserted island where they could live in peace and happiness. No one would find them.
The hardened assassin knew better.
After she’d sent the text, she’d destroyed the sim card inside, knowing he could track her or try to contact her for an explanation. She couldn’t let him follow her. Her life choices made her a target that could extend to him. The decision to leave him had hurt her more than any physical pain she’d encountered before. She’d resigned herself to never seeing him again.
Yet, here he was, holding her hand, his touch filling her heart with equal parts of joy and fear.
For the moment, she held tight, knowing she couldn’t hold on forever. Not if it meant he’d meet the same fate as her parents.