Chapter 27
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up, instantly awake.
By the time she silenced the noise, Jillian was out of her bed and moving over to sit next to Carly.
On the computer’s screen was a feed from one of the security cameras inside Stone’s Key West house, installed on Saturday by a CIA team. It was focused on the now opened door to the patio, through which four men had just passed, guns in their hands.
“What are they wearing?” Jillian said.
“I think they’re trying to blend in,” Carly said. “That’s the way everyone dresses on the island—the men, I mean.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“I didn’t say it was a good look,” Carly said, bumping her shoulder against her friend’s.
Carly switched camera views to follow the men through the house as they checked every room.
The guy Carly pegged as the leader did not look happy when they finished. He said something to the others that was too low to pick up on the hidden microphones, then they left as quickly as they arrived.
“I was starting to think our plan wasn’t going to work,” Jillian said.
Carly had begun to have her doubts, too.
Stone had seeded the idea that Felicity was in Key West to Pryce on Saturday afternoon.
That should have been more than enough time for whomever Pryce was working for to organize a team to check the Key West house that night.
But no one had showed up. Carly was sure it was going to happen on Sunday, but again, the house had remained undisturbed.
It turned out Monday night—or technically, Tuesday morning—was the winner.
She grabbed her phone and called Felicity, who, unlike Carly and Jillian, was staying in Stone’s main house instead of the apartments above the garage.
“Did we catch our fly?” Felicity asked as soon as the call connected.
“Fly?” Carly asked.
“I didn’t mean that literally, dear. Like the saying you catch more flies with honey.”
“Oh, I get it. Yes, we caught our fly.”
“Tell me.”
Carly relayed what had just happened.
“I was starting to worry it wasn’t going to work,” Felicity said.
“You’re not the only one.”
“I’ll call my number two at MI6. I think it’s time we have that chat with Mr. Pryce. And Carly?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Excellent work.”
“Thank you, Dame Felicity.”
“Tell Jillian the same.”
“I will.”
Bronsky was impatiently pacing through his Helsinki safe house when his phone finally rang.
He snatched it up, hoping it would be Manny Lloyd telling him that Felicity was dead for real this time.
“Yes?” he answered.
“It’s me,” Manny said. “Sorry to tell you this, but your info was bad.”
“Bad? What do you mean?”
“She wasn’t there. No one was.”
“No one?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Could she just have been out?”
“It was three in the morning. I doubt she would have been hanging out in a bar. Plus, there were no signs of anyone staying there.”
“Shit.”
“Sorry it’s not better news.”
“All right, thank you,” Bronsky said, not meaning it.
“Mr. B.,” Manny said.
“What?” Bronsky did not like being called that.
“Final payment?”
The Russian snorted derisively. “Sure. I’ll send it today.”
“Send it now. I’ll wait.”
Bronsky had half a mind to tell Manny where to go, but he couldn’t afford to anger the person who had recommended Manny, so he made the transfer.
“Done,” he said, then hung up.
As much as he wanted to blame Manny for the mission’s failure, he couldn’t. Manny was right. If Felicity wasn’t at the house, there was nothing Manny could have done.
Where Bronsky disagreed with Manny was about the information from Pryce.
Bronsky didn’t think it was bad, per se.
It was possible Pryce had misunderstood Barrington.
Perhaps Felicity hadn’t gone to Key West yet.
Or maybe she had been there when the call was made but had left before Bronsky was able to pull a team together to go after her.
Perhaps now she was staying at one of the lawyer’s other homes.
The thought made him pause, and after a moment, a smile grew on his face.
He checked his notes again. Barrington had homes in New York, Paris, London, south England, Los Angeles, Maine, and Key West.
He discounted the two in the U.K. right off the bat. Felicity’s face was all over the news in her home country, so it would be more difficult for her to operate there.
Paris was possible, but still too close to home, in his estimation. New York was too crowded, plus Barrington’s home was near the U.N., so there was a chance of being seen by someone in one of the many diplomatic missions who worked in the area.
Which meant the most likely place would be one of Barrington’s other U.S. residences—L.A. or Maine.
First up, find teams to check the two locations, and second, arrange for his travel to the States. Because this time, when his team found her, he would make sure he was there to watch her take her final breath.
He grabbed his phone.
Andre Parker was ripped out of a dream by the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand.
There were only two numbers authorized to bypass the Do Not Disturb mode he always turned on before he went to bed. One was his mother’s, but she’d died in her sleep two years ago.
The other was Richter, a job fixer and someone Andre had known since he was a teenager.
He accepted the call. “What?”
“Oh, good,” Richter said. “You’re up.”
“Only thanks to you. What do you want?”
“I got a job I need you for.”
“Did you forget our last conversation?” Andre asked.
The last time they’d talked, Andre had told Richter he was retiring. What he hadn’t shared was that doing so was only possible because of the payout he’d be getting from Oliver Humphrey for the yacht job.
“I thought you were joking.”
“Not joking.”
“Bullshit. You can’t give up the life that easily. You like it too much.”
“What can I say? I’m done.”
“But I got a job you’re perfect for.”
“Sorry.”
“Come on, Andre. We go way back. Can’t you do this for me? It’s a hundred grand for a few days of work, at most.”
That caused Andre to pause. While he’d be getting millions from Humphrey, when that would happen was still unclear. And it wasn’t like he was doing anything other than sitting around and waiting. Another hundred grand couldn’t hurt.
“What’s the job?” he asked.
“Ha! I knew I could count on you.”
“Did you hear me say yes?”
“Nope, but I know you’re going to.”
“Just tell me about the job.”
“You’re gonna love it.”
“Richter!”
“Okay, okay. So, there’s this British official, some woman, she’s supposed to be dead.”
“Supposed to be?”
“This is where the fun comes in.”