Covert Vengeance Read online

  Loyal Unto Death. This is the price of betrayal.

  Another Valkyrie had done it.

  He’d dropped to his knees, gathered Zoya’s broken body to him and howled like a wounded animal. Then he’d been forced to do the unthinkable and dispose of his beloved’s body as though she was one of his contracts rather than give her the dignity of a proper burial, and run.

  But the running was almost over.

  Tomorrow, he’d slip over the border and aim for his destination. Damascus. Where Amber Brown was suspected to be. The body of a local gun for hire found in an alley yesterday soon after her purported arrival into the city gave him hope that the trail was still hot.

  He didn’t know what she was doing there, and didn’t care. His mission was simple: find her, capture her, then pay her back tenfold in the anguish she’d caused Zoya and him, before killing her.

  She was good. Smarter even than Zoya and the others, though it galled him to admit it. For weeks he’d been hunting her. He’d almost had her once, but she’d managed to evade him. That had made him realize he couldn’t do this alone.

  So he’d gathered all his money, every cent of his and Zoya’s cut from the fateful joint op that had led to her downfall, to make sure her killer wouldn’t get away this time. If he didn’t capture Amber personally, one of the others would. Three of the best hired killers in the world.

  Men whose names sent ice sliding down the spines of people in the business.

  Whoever captured her was to bring her directly to him, alive. Only he would have the satisfaction of watching her writhe in agony. Of watching the life slowly fade from her eyes.

  Realizing his muscles had drawn tight as cables, Yury consciously eased them and rolled his head from side to side as he drew in a slow, deep breath. The pain inside him remained, sharp and hot as ever.

  Zoya was gone, but never forgotten. She was all that kept him going now. Only the deep, burning need for blood vengeance kept his shattered heart beating.

  I’m going to kill her for you, he vowed. I’ll make her beg for death and laugh at her suffering.

  This time Amber Brown would not escape his wrath.

  Chapter Three

  At a shrill beep from Lady Ada, Amber tossed the handheld radio aside and quickly moved to the desk where the laptop sat. Surveillance footage she’d managed to hack from CCTV cameras around the old palace showed a convoy of four vehicles leaving the dilapidated building.

  Their departure could be mere standard operating procedure, to avoid threats. Or, it could mean that someone had connected her to the dead man in the alley yesterday.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip as she stared at the screen. The vehicle windows were tinted, and it was too dark to make out who was inside them anyway. “Who are you, and where are you going?” she murmured, her fingers moving over the keys as she raced to access the cameras in the network.

  She was ninety-percent certain it was the terrorist group she’d sold Hannah’s information to weeks ago.

  Another stab of guilt knifed through her. If Hannah had been captured, it was Amber’s fault. She’d given these ruthless bastards everything they needed to hunt Hannah down as the Valkyrie had been trying to escape across the border.

  Amber was going to get her back. But as good as she was, her attempt to follow the vehicles to their destination was futile.

  The CCTV system only encompassed a few square miles. She tracked the convoy to the edge of it, then lost sight of them. “Dammit.” She could hack into a satellite feed, but it required a lot of covering up, and the one she’d accessed earlier was currently out of range anyway.

  Where were these guys going? Were they coming back? Did they have Hannah or not?

  She switched the feed back to show the exterior of the once grand palace. From the angle of the cameras it was impossible to tell if the building was now vacant, or if a skeletal security force had been left behind.

  Well, that had to be her starting point. If she was lucky she might find clues that would allow her to get a better picture of who was involved and whether they had any captives, as recent chatter she’d intercepted suggested.

  She shut down Lady Ada, then hid her and her other electronic gadgets in places people were unlikely to look in case anyone broke in while she was gone. Tucking her phone and weapons into various pockets and holsters, Amber tugged a long tunic over her head and covered her hair with a black headscarf. It was getting dark out, which would help conceal her fair skin.

  Outside the air was warm, the sky turning from lavender to plum as she exited the building and made her way down the street to where she’d left the motorbike she’d rented. Yesterday’s events had made it necessary to ditch her car and get new wheels. She preferred the bike anyway because it was small, fast and maneuverable, and the helmet concealed her face.

  The local shops were emptying and the restaurants filling up as she passed through the winding streets toward her destination. She drove around the area in circles first to check if anyone was following her. Satisfied she was still undetected, she parked three blocks away from the palace and took off her helmet.

  Here we go.

  She kept her head down slightly as she walked, her posture submissive and nonthreatening to draw as little notice as possible. The foot traffic was lighter here, mostly men. She stayed in the shadows of the buildings as she walked, her senses attuned for any trouble.

  The crenelated roofline of the old palace stood out above the other buildings, its once proud façade now pockmarked with shell and bullet holes from the savage fighting that had plagued the area. It was now controlled entirely by the Syrian military and government. That was both a blessing and a curse, since it increased the overall safety, while also making it harder for her to do this op.

  She turned right up the street across from the palace and kept walking, angling her head only slightly to get a better look at what she was dealing with. Security lights marked the scarred exterior every fifty meters or so and she spotted several cameras. Two armed soldiers stood inside the main gate.

  Around back there were no guards visible. The rear door appeared to have an electronic keypad lock on it.

  Excellent.

  She continued past the palace and doubled back using a different route. The rear entrance was still unguarded but she was unsure of how many guards were inside, or exactly where the security cameras were. She wouldn’t know what she was truly up against until she went inside.

  Choosing a path that allowed her to mostly blend in with the shadows, she darted across the street and raced for the rear door. Pulling a device from her pocket, she attached the magnetic surface to the keypad and hit enter to unscramble the digital code.

  The heavy steel-plate doors unlocked. She slipped the gadget back into her pocket and drew her silenced pistol, easing the door open a fraction of an inch to peer inside.

  The interior was dark, and thankfully, empty.

  Sliding inside, she quietly shut the door behind her and glanced around, getting her bearings. Waiting. Listening for anyone coming toward her.

  Her boots were soundless against the floor as she crossed the room, rocking her weight from her heels to the balls of her feet. The silence was eerie. There were no sounds at all, not even the echo of distant voices from another floor.

  What little furniture was left in the room was bare except for a small table covered with radios and walkie talkies. There were enough of them that taking one shouldn’t draw attention. She tucked one and its charger under her tunic and kept going.

  Moving faster now, she swept the rooms on this floor, looking for evidence. The men who’d been here hadn’t left much behind.

  She paused briefly to take a few pictures of maps and other documents left lying around so she could check them later, but didn’t hold out much hope that they’d be of use to her. If they’d been left behind, they probably contained old intel.

  She stopped when she spotted a gated-off doorway in the center of the building.
It led down a set of stone steps into pitch blackness. Her internal radar started pinging. Not from danger. From the certainty that she might find what she was looking for down there.

  The old gate squeaked slightly. She froze and waited, but no one came to investigate.

  Once inside she paused to pull out her mini NVGs, then descended, pistol firm in her grip. The deeper she descended, the colder and darker it got. It was so dark her NVGs were practically useless so she used a penlight to look around.

  At the bottom, she found what she’d expect in a place like this.

  Cells. Ten of them, two rows of five stacked along the north and south walls.

  All of them contained handcuffs and chains anchored into the concrete walls and floor. And judging by the smell of urine permeating the dank air and the spatter of blood she found on the floor of one cell, someone had been here recently.

  Then the beam of her penlight illuminated something bright in the corner of the cell. She walked toward it.

  Golden blond hair. A pile of it. Long strands, maybe shoulder-length.

  Hannah. The fine hairs on her nape prickled.

  It had to be her. Was she still alive? Had they disguised her and taken her out of here in the convoy?

  Guilt slammed into her, twisting her stomach into knots. This was her doing. Although she hadn’t liked Hannah, when Amber thought of what the woman had probably endured because of her, she felt sick.

  At a faint sound from above Amber instantly shut off the penlight and rushed to the base of the stairs, holding her pistol in a double-handed grip. Someone was moving around up there. Maybe more than one person.

  From her hiding spot she watched as a soldier appeared in the opening above. He paused, all of him visible in the light, and he seemed to peer down into the dark stairwell.

  Amber slowed her breathing and slid her finger onto the trigger. Waiting. Ready.

  The man pulled a radio from his belt, announced, “All clear,” in Arabic, then walked off.

  She exhaled slowly, waited for his footsteps to fade into silence before ascending the stairs. She was still in the clear, but likely not for much longer. Time to leave.

  She rushed up the stairs, checked to make sure she was alone, then raced to the rear door. Cracking it open, she paused to glance outside.

  Clear.

  She slipped out and raced back the way she’d come, angling across the street and only stopped once she’d reached a different building to hide in a recessed doorway.

  Glancing to her right, her heart jolted when she spotted the man standing across the street from her. He stood completely still as he openly watched her, his posture and expression relaxed. But everything about him screamed danger, from his powerful build to his utter stillness and the intensity of that stare.

  Who was he? Had he seen her leave the old palace?

  She immediately reversed course and headed the other way up the street, subtly reaching beneath her tunic to draw her pistol again. All the while she kept her ears attuned for the sounds of him following her, and scanned her surroundings for other danger.

  A single gunshot rang out from the right. Shards of plaster exploded a foot above her head.

  Amber ducked around the corner, pressing her back to the rough wall as she risked a glance over to see who’d taken the shot. Not the man who’d been staring at her. The angle was wrong.

  Movement in the shadows across the street. She swiveled to face it and dropped to a crouch, her weapon up and ready.

  The muzzle flash gave him away as a second shot rang out. Amber returned fire, then got up and ran, unsure whether she’d hit the shooter.

  Shouts sounded behind her. She kept running, raced around the corner of the next building and turned left, then zigzagged her way through the streets. Going for her bike now was too risky. She had to find a place to hide until it was safe to go back for it.

  Another shot zipped past her, striking a nearby car with a bang that struck sparks. She whirled to return fire and squeezed the trigger. The thin man chasing her grunted and doubled over.

  Just as she prepared to squeeze the trigger again, two more shots exploded in the night.

  Amber’s steps faltered as the man collapsed to his knees, his chest covered with blood. She darted a glance to the left where the shots had come from and raised her pistol, ready to defend herself.

  Shock rippled through her when she recognized the tall man who had been watching her across from the palace. Instead of firing at her he lowered his weapon, his arm loose at his side as he stared at her with a calmness that kept her on edge.

  For several heartbeats she held his gaze, weapon ready to fire. Dark eyes. Short, dark hair and goatee. Bronze skin tone.

  Who was he, and why was he following her? What the hell was going on?

  Unnerved, she held her aim at his chest as she committed his face to memory, then backed away into the shadows, ready to shoot if he made any threatening moves.

  He retreated back into the shadows and disappeared from view around the corner. Letting her…go?

  Confused, she whirled and fled in the opposite direction, on guard the entire time she wound her way back to her bike. When she reached it, she half-expected him to pop out with his weapon aimed at her head, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  She jumped on and took a winding route back to her apartment just to be safe, that low-grade buzzing clear in the pit of her belly.

  The apartment wasn’t safe anymore. She needed to find a new place to hide where she could use the radio to find who and where the men in the convoy were.

  Then again, it seemed there was no safe place for her in this city.

  ****

  Now Jesse had one less factor to worry about in this equation.

  Rami Bahar. One of the best hitters in the industry and reported to have tight connections with both the Syrian government and various terrorist groups operating here, was now dead. Jesse had wondered if Bahar had been one of the people offered the contract via the forum.

  Now he was just glad those shots had missed Amber, and that he’d been right there to intervene before Bahar could kill her.

  Damn, she was impressive. He’d watched her slip in and out of the palace with ease. He was pretty sure she would have killed Bahar if he hadn’t stepped in, but Jesse hadn’t wanted to risk it and he’d also wanted her to see him.

  His gut had been right about the contract on her. The moment he’d told Bautista Amber’s name, he’d known from his acquaintance’s reaction that this was big. Jesse just hadn’t realized how big until later.

  The contract on Amber was out of either revenge or fear—or both—and he wanted no part of it. So now he had a new employer, a legitimate one with a far-reaching network of contacts currently trying to identify the person behind the contract. It felt good to be working in black and white for a change instead of shades of gray.

  Jesse checked around him as he crossed the street. By now Amber was long gone, and he had work to do.

  After disposing of Bahar’s body so it couldn’t be linked back to him, Jesse waited until he was safely back in his rental unit in the center of the city before texting his new contact. A woman named Trinity who knew Amber and was close friends with Bautista’s wife.

  And holy shit, the things Jesse had learned over the past thirty-two hours. He hadn’t realized Bautista—an old buddy he’d met during his second deployment overseas—was back in the States, let alone married to a female assassin. Or that there was an entire network of these women, trained by a secret program by the U.S. government.

  Valkyries.

  The whole thing was badass, and he’d only been read into everything because of his security clearance and connections to both Bautista and now Amber. He’d met a few female hitters over the years, a couple Israelis and a Russian, but no Americans. All the American women he’d met during jobs had all been spies, not assassins. Before yesterday he’d never heard of the Valkyrie Program. Now he was even more fascinated about his
current target.

  Made initial contact. Asset safe, he texted Trinity. Exact location unknown. One player off the roster.

  He set the burner phone on the nightstand and opened his laptop to review the top-secret file they’d given him on Amber Brown. She had an incredible story.

  Orphaned at age six, then put into foster care along with her younger sister. They’d been separated and placed into what on the surface looked like boarding schools on either side of the country, but in reality they were pipelines for the Valkyrie Program. Handlers at the schools monitored and identified orphan girls who showed the right aptitude for certain skills, and funneled them into the program to become operatives.

  Officially, Amber was classified as an “electronics expert” among the Valkyries. In actuality, she was a hacker every bit as lethal with a computer as with a firearm or blade. One of the best out there, according to Trinity. When the Valkyrie Program had been revealed in the media storm following the trial of CIA officer Will Balducci, the government had scrambled to shut it down and cover its ass.

  But they hadn’t been quick enough. After her trainer had left her intel about her past and then killed himself, Amber had used her skills to hack into the classified government database and retrieve all the remaining files about the program.

  Trinity hadn’t shared the details, but there’d been some sort of op gone wrong that had resulted in Amber being left behind. In what looked like retaliation, she’d used the Valkyrie files to target some fellow operatives involved. As in, she’d sold information on several of them to their enemies to get them killed. Hard core.

  Except she’d fucked up and sold out someone who might be innocent. That’s why she was here. On a rescue mission to save Hannah Miller.

  Seeing Amber in action tonight had been something else. He hadn’t anticipated the intense reaction he’d experienced when she’d looked at him tonight. In those few seconds when their gazes had locked, he’d felt an undeniable connection deep in his gut.

  The burner phone’s screen lit up with an incoming text. Understood. No new intel at this time.