Captive Target: Six Assassins Book 4 Read online

  One thing she knew for sure: Marcus and Ember Clarke had a complicated history, and there might still be difficult feelings between the two of them. Isabel herself knew the experience of grim awkwardness when a serious relationship soured, and having a working relationship before and after the personal fling would only make things worse.

  Add to that what she knew about Marcus and Ember — that they were both stubborn, driven, and gifted government agents — and it was a recipe for disaster. A disaster Isabel was now in the middle of.

  She didn’t yet know where she fit into that equation. Scapegoat for when the undercover operation went bad, most likely. The things Ember had been doing in Denver for the last three years weren’t common knowledge inside the FBI. When it all came out, heads would roll. Probably Isabel’s.

  As she turned the corner, she squinted through the elm trees dotting the median between the two sides of the street. There, walking on the opposite sidewalk, was a man in a beige trenchcoat. There were plenty of people out tonight, with the mild weather and abundance of shops and restaurants in this neighborhood. But the trenchcoat-clad man was also wearing a hat, and his pace slowed when Isabel turned the corner.

  She had not brought her service weapon out with her, which was now feeling like a stupid mistake. Multiple times over the last few days, she had felt that itch of danger any time she’d ventured out in public. And, while she couldn’t prove it yet, she had a strong notion of who was driving it.

  Isabel wasn't wholly unarmed, though. She reached into her purse and palmed her Cold Steel Urban Edge blade, a concealable push dagger that jutted out from between her middle and ring fingers when she gripped the handle. Just long enough to ensure any attacker got the message, but not likely to kill someone with one jab of the blade.

  Isabel drew the knife and turned her wrist inward to prevent the shiny blade from catching a glint of any of the streetlights above. Hand tight around the grip, ensuring she didn't accidentally shred the inside of her shirt sleeve. Her sweaty hand made the knife feel uncertain in the grip of her palm.

  The man in the trenchcoat stopped at the next crosswalk and waited, head down. His feet pointed toward her side of the street. Isabel’s apartment was near the end of this current street, just across from that sidewalk.

  She tightened her grip on the blade and quickened her pace.

  Twenty feet in front of her, a couple in their late twenties or early thirties was standing on the sidewalk, arguing. Something to do with a dinner reservation. Both of them were animated, moving their hands around as they faced off to quarrel. Isabel used their motion as cover to spy the man across the street.

  The light changed, and the trenchcoat man shuffled along the sidewalk, head down, hat obscuring his face. Isabel moved her purse to the shoulder of the arm not holding her knife. The arguing couple both turned and headed the other direction, leaving Isabel with no clear cover.

  She considered breaking out into a jog, but there were too many people around. The density of the street populace fostered a sense of safety. The last thing she wanted was for them to scatter, giving this man a clear lane to approach her.

  Instead of running, a better option would be to slow down and see what he would do, so she downgraded her pace to a meander, keeping as far away from the vehicle-side of the sidewalk. If this were a kidnapping, he would want to push her into a nearby car or van.

  The man turned onto her sidewalk, marching in her direction. Isabel tensed her arm. She matched the pace of a man walking on her same side of the street, his head down, staring at his phone. If this trenchcoat man approached her, she would take a step to the left and hide behind the distracted man. He would probably bump into the trenchcoat guy. Then, she could at least get a solid look at him.

  Then the man looked up, and everything changed when she saw his face. Her fear drained from her shoulders in an instant.

  Isabel saw Jacob Wood in that trenchcoat, a man who had been her confidant at the FBI before his retirement. A man Isabel had seen only a few days ago in New Hampshire. A man who had given her shocking information about her boss Marcus and her target Ember.

  She stopped short, head tilted, as he also came to a stop ten feet away from her.

  “Hey, kiddo.” He looked down at her palm, the blade jutting out. “Did I scare you?”

  She dropped the blade into her purse and took a couple of steps toward him so she could speak in a low voice. "Jacob? What are you doing in DC?"

  He coughed as he tilted his head toward the apartment building to her right. “You still live here?”

  “I do.”

  “Can we go inside? We need to talk somewhere private.”

  Isabel nodded and escorted Jacob inside the building. He took off his hat, revealing pale and weathered skin. Bags hung around his eyes. The old man had never looked fresh, but he seemed especially sallow this evening. Maybe it was the harsh lights of this lobby.

  They didn't speak as she escorted him up the stairs to the second floor, then along the carpeted steps to her apartment. She opened the door, and he removed his coat as soon as he went inside. He also looked thin. Isabel should have noticed this during her visit to his home, but she apparently hadn't. Maybe she'd had too much on her mind.

  Groaning, he sat down on the nearest space, a little stool she kept next to the front door. He was panting. “Something about the air down here. I could never get used to it. Or, maybe I used to be, and I’ve forgotten.”

  “It’s the humidity. Today wasn’t so bad, actually.” She left him there on the stool and entered the kitchen to find something to drink for him. The sad state of her refrigerator displayed only a six-pack of Sprite and two bottles of water, so she grabbed a water and walked it back out to him.

  "Thanks," he said as he popped the top and had a sip. "Don't ever get old, Isabel. It's awful. I walked two blocks to meet you, and I feel like I've run a marathon."

  “You can rest here as long as you like.”

  He nodded, then he tapped one ear and pointed at the ceiling, his finger trailing around to various spots.

  Isabel shook her head. “It’s clean. I swept for bugs earlier today. Maybe they came while I was eating dinner, but it’s not likely. I have this place locked down.”

  “You’d be surprised how clever they can be. But I trust you to manage your house.”

  She pulled her coffee table over toward the stool and sat on it. “What are you doing here?”

  “Have you talked to your boss?”

  Isabel shook her head. “He hasn’t been in the office. He hasn’t been returning my calls, and I’m pretty sure he’s having me followed.”

  “That seems to fit with his style. After you came to see me, I did some digging. I called in a few favors to get information.”

  “What information?”

  "Marcus has subcontracted the job of killing Allison Campbell since you didn't do it in Denver last week."

  Isabel had to do a quick translation in her head since she so often thought of Allison Campbell by her undercover name Ember Clarke. "He hired a hitman?"

  Jacob nodded. "Not just any hitter. There's a long-standing government team that's so secret it has no name. It's run from the cracks of other departments' budgets. But, they've created some of the deadliest government assassins ever to walk the earth. One of their current members is a young woman named Serena Rojas. Marcus has hired her to set up shop in Denver to kill your rogue agent, and doing it this way will leave no paper trail when she's done."

  Isabel cupped her hands over her face and breathed, letting the information sink in.

  Jacob leaned closer, eyeing her. He coughed a few times, trying to speak. "You okay?"

  "I'm just thinking about it. After all this back and forth, I keep thinking about Ember… Allison. She had a chance to kill me, and she didn't. Even after I tried to take her out myself, she still didn't. I don't think she's a bad person. I don't know if I trust Ember, but I don't think I should let this Serena Rojas person have
free rein. We need more information about all of this."

  Jacob shrugged. “I’m flying back to New Hampshire tomorrow, but I can help you find Serena in Denver. There are still a few ideas kicking around among the cobwebs up in my noggin. I can be your remote op assistance.” He grinned. “Just like old times, eh?”

  Isabel ran her hands through her hair, then rubbed her temples. Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “What are you thinking?” Jacob asked.

  "I'm thinking I need to get a flight to Denver right now."

  Chapter Six

  GABE

  The recruit paced underneath the gazebo. He was at the eastern edge of Boulder, in a small park adjacent to a grade school. This late at night, there were no kids out and about. It looked like a grade school, anyway, so it wasn’t the sort of place where kids would return to cause trouble after hours. No football field bleachers to chug beers underneath to symbolically flip the middle finger to The Man. These kids wouldn’t know that joy/rage for a few more years.

  There weren’t many people out at all in the neighborhood, actually. A few cars drove by, but a heavy churn of snowfall kept the streets free of pedestrians. Gabe was the only person in the park, his car the lone vehicle in the parking lot.

  As he walked from one end of the gazebo to another, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He vaped or smoked cigarettes at times when he drank, even though smoking tobacco was a taboo thing to do in Colorado. Especially Boulder. It was something you would do as a shameful act in the privacy of your own home, never out in public.

  But at this moment, Gabe wished he had a cigarette. Or a pack to chain smoke. He longed for something to occupy him, to force him to breathe at regular intervals. He wanted that sweet pull of familiarity, the relaxation as the chemicals were triggered in his brain.

  Gabe did have a joint in his car, but getting high right now didn't seem like the best choice, given that he still had responsibilities to tackle tonight. He didn't know if Ember smoked weed, but he didn't want to show up at a meeting with slitted eyes, giggling and slow. Gabe had never even had a chance to take Ember out to the bar for a drink to learn those details about her. She'd never offered it. Maybe once he was a full member of the Branch, their relationship would change — perhaps there was a spark of friendly interest from her side, as well, but it was simply tamped down in favor of coming across as the more mature, older mentor.

  Maybe he would just force her hand, invite her out for a drink after this meeting, ostensibly to pick her brain about this membership test, but really to see if his interest was matched by hers. If nothing else, Gabe wanted to be friends with her. They didn’t feel like that, most of the time.

  It might not even matter, though. Ember was late. More than an hour late, and she had not responded to any of the three text messages or two voicemails Gabe had left. He wanted to try again but worried about the overkill. Ember was often busy, sometimes out of the country. But she always made her commitments or always had a good reason why she couldn't.

  When Gabe had been recruited into the DAC, he had been given a personality profile test. In it, he had said reliability was a quality he valued in a teacher or mentor. So far, Ember had always held up her end of that transaction. Ironic, since Gabe’s lack of reliability had been the reason Ember had been taken by Quinn a few days ago in a park in Broomfield.

  And Gabe still had not shared with Ember the reason he had been late that evening. The visit from FBI Special Agent Marcus Lonsdale and his two armed thugs. Marcus had planted a seed of doubt in Gabe’s brain. Gabe was smart enough to understand that that had been Marcus’ exact intention, but still — the doubt had lingered like an infected wound, growing more itchy and painful every day.

  Loyalty to that woman is going to get you killed, Marcus had said. And then something about how Ember Clarke was not her real name? What was that about?

  Gabe had taken the information and shoved it down deep into a hidey-hole in his brain. With Ember being hunted by six consecutive assassins and his needing to function as her right-hand-man, it didn’t seem like the time to question her.

  But was he making a fatal mistake with his mentor by not discussing Marcus’ intrusion into his life?

  Maybe Gabe should have told Ember about the FBI visit immediately. Seemed like information she might want to know. Or, maybe he should have told Fagan earlier today during their long meeting about his membership test. Maybe he should have told someone.

  Was it too late now? A couple of days had passed. Now, Gabe had a secret. One he didn't want, one that was making him look at his mentor with narrowed eyes. He didn't want to have any difficulty there. He needed her, and sometimes, she needed him.

  Tonight, though, Gabe had to put all that extracurricular stuff aside. He desired Ember’s counsel in a way he never had before. Gabe’s time in the DAC had so far been mostly waiting and watching, conducting research, assisting Ember with tactics and explaining to her how to use a smartphone. For someone barely into her thirties, she was surprisingly on the low side of the tech-savvy scale.

  If Ember was unavailable, Gabe didn’t know what to do. He was freaked out. There was no other way to put it.

  A couple of hours ago, Fagan had sat Gabe down in a conference room at the Boulder Post Office and explained to him the details of his membership test. For months, Gabe had known this was coming. Not exactly when, only soon. And, for those months, Ember had never answered any of Gabe's questions about what to expect. Only that each test was unique to the recruit and would require that person to challenge themselves in a way not only painful but also liberating. These opaque clues had done little to ease Gabe's mind about the process.

  Gabe had expected Ember would guide him in this test. Up until a month ago, she would have. But now, with the black spot clouding her life, that task had fallen to Fagan. Old, stern, weird Fagan.

  Ember’s mentor had placed an unmarked folder in front of Gabe, secret-agent style. She explained to him how the test would go: three days from now, Gabe would seek out a certain man. Gabe would not be allowed to know the target’s name and also not privy to why the anonymous man was of interest to the DAC. Gabe would receive a briefing about where and when to find this man. Then, Gabe had to put a bullet in the back of his head. Not knowing why this man deserved to die was part of Gabe’s test, Fagan had said.

  Kill the man, dispose of his body, then report back to Fagan. The older woman hadn't even said if there were other requirements of the membership test. Only that it was the task in front of him right now. Not knowing that detail was also part of the test. Everything was.

  He understood the test had been personalized for him. Gabe wanted to be in the DAC, but he had other options if this didn’t work out. He had money to fall back on. He could call his dad and have a lucrative job with lifetime security.

  So this kill was an initiation of trust. A test of commitment. Would he kill a man in a blind fashion to show how much he wanted to join the Club? Would he cross the point of no return?

  He thought he would, but his brain wouldn’t stop buzzing about it. Gabe needed to talk to Ember. He needed her to give him that look, the one he took to mean he was acting silly. He needed her to say it was okay to kill this man, that the target had no doubt done something to deserve it. And, that the reward on the other side of this terrifying task would make all the struggle worthwhile.

  He checked his phone again, even though there was no need. He would have felt the vibration in his pocket if Ember had called or texted. Yet, he needed to see. He needed to look at the home screen to verify there were no new notifications. He needed to be absolutely certain he wasn’t crazy.

  Gabe stopped at the edge of the gazebo, pausing to observe a rusty swing set on the other side of a chain-link fence, collecting snowflakes. He pictured Ember, her pale skin, black hair, crystal blue eyes. "Where the hell are you?"

  Chapter Seven

  EMBER

  DAY TWO

  Light filtered in t
hrough slitted eyes. Ember blinked them to find herself horizontal, on her side. Hard points pressed against her head, shoulder, hip, and feet.

  Zach Bennett appeared in her head. Young, handsome, dashing, and adorkable at the same time. Then, his face vanished.

  She first remembered the loop around her neck, the current passing through her, making her muscles seize. While she couldn’t see well now, she had a feeling she was no longer in her apartment. The only unforgiving surface in her place was the kitchen tile, and it did not feel like tile below her.

  The air seemed a little different. Heavier. Not musty, but with a certain sharp and damp scent she couldn’t quite place. Was that bleach?

  Ember forced her eyes all the way open. The first thing she saw was a sideways view of a set of stairs leading up. They terminated at a bend, so she couldn't see the door leading out. The stairs were painted white, neat and clean, probably concrete.

  With great effort, she lifted her head from the hard surface. As soon as her neck moved, she felt something there. First, she thought it was a leftover bruise or tightness from the loop last night, then she realized she had something around her neck. A collar. She lifted her hands to explore it, then discovered she had heavy metal bracelets around each of her wrists. They were an inch thick, solid, curved, with no seams anywhere on the exterior. Like a pair of gigantic silver wedding bands large enough to fit her wrists. As her fingers explored the collar around her neck, it felt like the same material. What the hell was that?

  She forced herself to sit, then blinked her eyes open wide enough to take in the rest of her surroundings. Every part of her body felt sore. Hard floor, sheer walls, and ceiling also looking like painted concrete. Four walls, two of them bare, one with a twin bed and a nightstand containing a stack of paperbacks. Among them was American Gods, the book Zach had loaned to her a couple of weeks ago. A porcelain toilet sat next to the bed. Doors leading to closets, probably.