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The sun had barely risen in Miami, and Lucy Chen was already having a bad day. When she walked into her kitchen, dead tired, and found Sam Axe waiting for her, she knew it was only going to get worse.
He stood when she halted in the doorway, and when she said nothing, he gave her a big, cheesy smile. “Lucy! How are you?”
“Uh huh. What do you want, Sam?” she asked, heading for the cabinet where she kept extra first-aid supplies. It was a two- aspirin morning, and she needed it bad. If she didn’t have work to do, she’d wash them down with some whiskey. But she needed to be clearheaded now. Lives were at stake. “How did you get in my condo?”
“Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
She raised an eyebrow as she shook out a couple pills and then swallowed them dry. “Is that what you are?”
“No need to be rude.” He paused and absently smoothed out the wrinkles in his Hawaiian shirt. “Hey, you got any coffee in this place?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t help yourself.” The coffeemaker sat in plain view on the counter, with a bag of dark roast next to it. She fixed the coffee how she liked it—plain, black and so strong it could curdle your taste buds if you weren’t used to it. As she waited for it to brew, she tapped her fingers on the counter top and took a closer look at Sam. He was scruffy and rumpled—even more so than usual. With his wrinkled shirt, tired eyes and hair that was flattened on one side and poking out on the other, he looked like a man who hadn’t slept—really slept—in days.
When the last drip fell into the pot, Lucy fixed two cups. She didn’t bother asking if he wanted cream or sugar. He wasn’t a guest, and she was tired of waiting for an explanation as to why he’d broken into her home.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “And cut the bull this time.”
“So much for hospitality,” he grumbled. But he took the coffee and settled back on a stool. “You know my partner, Jesse?”
She nodded. “I heard you’d gone into business with him.”
“Well, there’s this case, and—”
“Sam, please.” She rubbed her temples, wishing her headache and the dread in her stomach would go away. And take Sam with them. Of all mornings, he would choose today to show up at her door. “Cut to the chase.”
“Okay. We need money. Fifty thousand dollars.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Afraid not, sister. We could use some extra manpower, too. Maybe some guns and—”
“I’m sorry, Sam”—though not really—“but I can’t help you. Whatever your problem is, you’ll have to solve it yourself.” She had her own problems. Big ones. And, really, there was no time for this. “If that’s it—”
“I’m sorry too, ” he said, and he sounded as if he meant it. He carefully set down his cup and pulled a phone from a pocket on his shirt. “Remember, this wasn’t what I wanted. I tried to play nice.”
She raised her eyebrow again, but he just slid the phone across the counter.
A photo filled the screen. Her. Late at night—late last night—making her way from her office building to a dark late-model sedan. Lucy could feel the blood drain from her face. From her entire body. As she swiped through dozens of photos, each one more revealing than the next, cold fear settled in her stomach next to the dread, so freezing and bitter she could taste it.
“Where…how… What is this?”
This time it was Sam who raised an eyebrow. “It looks a lot like you meeting with a member of the Serbian mafia. And don’t even think of deleting them. I already sent copies to Jesse.”
Lucy closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, hard. Her fingers clenched on the cold edge of the granite counter top. She would not cry. She did not cry. She wasn’t that type of woman. Even in the worst situations when she’d been a spy, she’d kept her composure. But that cold fear was creeping up, pressing against her solar plexus, and the dread bit at her insides.
“Lucy,” Sam said, his voice soft. “What’s going on? The Serbian mafia? Really? This isn’t like you.”
She ruthlessly shoved her emotions back down and raised her chin. Without a word, still unable to speak, she stalked from the kitchen and grabbed a manila file from her purse in the living room. He’d shown her pictures; now she’d show him some.
When she came back, she tossed the folder in front of Sam and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Open it,” she barked out. She had to be hard, solid like the granite counter top, or she’d fall apart. She watched his face as he flipped through the photographs. When he got to the last one, he cursed beneath his breath and looked up at her.
Careful not to glance at the photo, lest she fall apart, she said, “Now you see my problem.”
“Who is she?” he asked, his voice even softer than before.
Before she could stop herself, her gaze dropped to the final photo—a dark-haired beauty tied to a chair, a terrified expression on her bruised face. “Angeline,” she said, her voice so low Sam had to lean closer to hear. “My girlfriend.”
“Shit,” he said. “They’re blackmailing you?”
“They tried to bribe me first, but when I wouldn’t give them what they want, they took her. She’s a preschool teacher, Sam. She doesn’t understand this kind of life, these kind of men. God only knows—” her voice broke and she took a moment to compose herself. “If I don’t get them the information they want, they’re going to kill her. Last night, Zoran Ilić gave me twelve hours to comply, or they’ll start sending me… They’ll send her to me in pieces.”
Sam touched her arm but she shook him off.
“Why didn’t you ask for help? Jesse and I—”
“Are here asking me for money, guns and manpower.”
“Good point. So we’re in some trouble—we still know this guy.”
“You know Zoran Ilić, the Butcher of Bosnia?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from dripping down her words.
“We’ve dealt with him before.” Off her skeptical look, he conceded, “Okay, Michael dealt with him, but we can handle this. Look—we need help, you need help. If Jesse and I can get—what as her name again?”
“Angeline.”
“If we can get Angeline back, will you just hear us out?”
A small petal of hope bloomed in her stomach, but… “It’s too late. My time is almost up, and if I’m going to get the information, I need to do it now.”
“What information is he looking for?”
She hesitated and then said, “There’s a file. A list of ex-spies and their aliases, current whereabouts, social security numbers…everything about them.”
“Who’s on that file?”
She hesitated again before saying, “Everyone.” They both knew who she meant—Michael was on that list. It’d taken years for agents to locate him, but they had. You couldn’t take care of a child for long without compromising your identity in some way. You might try to stay off the radar, but sooner or later, the kid would trip you up. Every time.
Sam stood. “Sister, you can’t give him that file.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Just hold on.”
“There’s no time.”
“Hold on,” he said again, his tone making it clear this was no request. He picked his phone up and turned away from her while he dialed. “Jesse,” he said. “We’ve got a problem.”
As he explained the situation, Lucy tried to wait patiently, but it was impossible. Somewhere out there, the love of her life was alone—God, let her be alone—and frightened. She had the knowledge and skills to get her back, and that’s all she cared about.
Michael…she’d always had a soft spot for him, and she always would. But he was more capable than anyone else she knew of taking care of himself. If someone tracked him down and went after him, he’d survive.
Angeline might not.
“I’m going,” she said.
Sam spun around. “Just hold on. Jesse has a line on Ilić. Michael destroyed most of his warehouses, but there’s an abandoned office building, and he could be keeping Angeline there.”
“‘Could be’ isn’t good enough. I have less than—” she checked her watch “—six hours now.”
“Let him see if she’s there. If she’s not, I’ll help you get the file.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I believe in true love.”
“Since when?” she scoffed. The last time she’d seen Sam, he’d still been loafing on the beach, taking money from sugar mommas.
He shrugged. “It’s been a while. Give us fifteen minutes. That’s all.”
Time ticked by. It should not have felt so long—being a spy meant being patient. It meant waiting for never-ending stretches of time while doing something tedious—or worse, while watching someone else did something tedious.
But this? This was torture.
Finally, Sam’s phone buzzed. They stared at each other for a beat before he answered.
If waiting for the call was bad, waiting for Sam to tell her what was happening was worse.
Then he looked up at her and smiled. “She’s there… Jesse, how many guards? None? Really? Oh…oh. Oh.”
“What is it? What’s going on?” she asked, but Sam waved her away. “Fine. I’m leaving, then. You can call me when you’re done. If you can break in, you can find my number.”
Sam, still smiling, took the phone from his ear and held it out to her. “She’s safe, Lucy. They had one guard on her and Jesse knocked him out. Here—see for yourself.”
With trembling hands, she took the phone.
A small, strained voice on the other end said, “Hello? Lucy?”
The dread and fear evaporated. Her insides thawed and the tears threatened to spill out again. This time, she let one—but just one. She couldn’t let Sam of all people see her cry. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
After Angeline reassured her seven or eight times that she was okay, just a little shaken up, Lucy handed the phone back to Sam. He exchanged a few more words with Jesse and then hung up.
“They’ll be here in ten minutes. Once she’s here, we’ll figure out what to do about old Goran. He’s still out there, you know.”
“I want him to pay for this,” she growled.
“He will,” Sam said. “Speaking of pay…since we kind of saved your girlfriend’s life…how does fifty thousand sound?”
Lucy rolled her eyes, but as far as she was concerned, when it came to Angeline, fifty thousand was a steal.