Chapter Fourteen
Port de Sóller
Mallorca, Spain
The firefight that had erupted across the bay between the police and Verena’s second two-man team had done him a favor.
The chaos had thinned the crowd, and most of the dock had emptied except for a few curious onlookers.
Kross kept walking, trying to blend in with what little foot traffic remained.
He replayed the engagement in his mind, frame by frame.
His first shot had been perfect. He had dropped the woman in the green blouse with a well-placed shot close to her heart. He’d followed with a second shot, this one aimed at the woman in the pink blouse, a second later.
That was the moment everything had turned to shit.
The man with the blue shirt had moved at lightning speed.
He had tackled the woman out of the line of fire just as Kross had pulled the trigger.
The bullet meant for her had caught another man in a white shirt instead.
Kross wasn’t proud of that, but he wouldn’t lose sleep over it either.
In his line of work, a certain number of collaterals were to be expected.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the man in the blue shirt. How had Blue Shirt reacted so damn fast? How had he seen it coming? There had been no muzzle flash to warn him and no sound to tip him off.
He acted on pure instinct.
Kross remembered what Verena had told him about Blue Shirt.
He neutralized two of my officers earlier today. Left them zip-tied on the beach, one of them with a sock in his mouth.
Whoever that man was, and despite his nonchalant demeanor, he was a trained operator. Of that Kross was sure.
Kross had remained in position, waiting, watching.
He’d seen one of Verena’s two-man teams close in.
Then the lead man had dropped, shot through the chest. The second had dived to the side, only to reappear with a hostage.
Kross had taken his third shot when a civilian—probably the kid’s father—had charged in with a knife.
Kross had aimed fast, and it hadn’t been a great shot, but at least his round had nicked the man and stopped him in his tracks.
But it hadn’t been enough, because at the same moment, the hostage taker had collapsed, picked off by Blue Shirt.
Kross hadn’t seen him fire his weapon, but who else could have killed Verena’s men?
That was when the first police vehicle had arrived, and instead of retreating, Verena’s second two-man team had panicked and opened fire on the officers.
Bunch of fools!
Kross, who had already fired more rounds than he had wanted to, had no intention of adding cops to his list of targets. That was how you ended up dead.
Or hunted for the rest of your life.
Kross had taken a room at a small hotel in Port de Sóller earlier in the day, just in case.
It had been the right call. On his way to the hotel, he ran a mini surveillance detection route, half expecting to be intercepted.
Mallorca wasn’t a place used to gunfire and dead bodies.
The police would be crawling all over town within minutes.
There would be roadblocks and plainclothes officers posted everywhere.
He had to get to the hotel quickly and find a way to dispose of the rifle.
And the Glock too.
He’d have to stay in Port de Sóller for a few days at least. Until things quieted down a bit. That meant he’d probably never see Mia again.
He sighed.
Despite what he’d felt earlier when he’d taken position inside the sailboat’s cabin, maybe it was time for him to call it quits.
He’d had a good run. Better than most, to be honest. His numerous contracts with Blackstone Security had paid well, and though he wasn’t a rich man, he had more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life.
No more risks. No more close calls.
Once he was confident that he hadn’t picked up a tail, Kross entered the modest three-star hotel where he had booked a room. Having checked in earlier, he crossed the lobby without stopping by the reception desk. He took the stairs to the fourth floor and walked down the hall, thinking of Mia.
He’d only known her for a day or so, and while he was at least ten years her senior, she hadn’t seemed to mind.
He could see himself settling down with someone like her somewhere in Europe.
For him, it would certainly not be the white-picket-fence version of settling down, but something close enough.
He could tell that Mia was clever, intuitive, and that underneath her playful exterior there was .
. . something else. And he wanted to discover what it was.
He would text her after he had updated Verena. He’d tell Mia that something had come up and that he’d be back in a few days. In the meantime, she could stay in his room if she wanted, all expenses paid.
How can she say no to an offer like that?
Kross smiled as he slid his key card into the lock, then he stepped inside his room. He shut the door, locked it, then switched on the light. A soft glow spilled from the two bedside lamps.
He froze.
Mia was sitting on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, smiling. She wore a black baseball cap pulled low; every strand of her hair was tucked neatly beneath it. A silky camisole clung to her frame, paired with fitted jeans.
She looked casual. Relaxed. And completely out of place.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked.
It wasn’t her words that made his gut twist, but the suppressed pistol in her hand.
He staggered back, stunned. “What—”
But he never finished. Two bright flashes exploded in front of him.
And then nothing. Just blackness.