part0103

“ M erda ,” she shouted and slammed her phone down on the table. It wasn’t a landline like the one Savage had answered, and the device wasn’t built for this degree of abuse. It shattered on the second strike and fell into pieces after the third. She had a couple of other phones in the mansion, though, and there was something incredibly satisfying about destroying a phone when the news wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

She brushed the broken pieces off her fingers and shook her head.

“Cazzo .” She continued to curse and headed to the pool area where a group of models she was helping to prepare for the catwalk tomorrow were currently sunbathing and enjoying the warmed pool. “Figlio di puttana .”

Her outburst was noticed by the crowd nearby and they tried to make out what had upset her. They’d been around her long enough to know that she was kind and generous when she was in a good mood, more than willing to spread the wealth and make sure everyone around her shared in her good fortune. They also knew people tended to go missing when she was in a bad mood. Thankfully, that didn’t happen often enough to drive them away, but there was a collective look of fear and apprehension in their eyes as they exchanged a few glances. They tried to agree between themselves whether or not it was time to call an end to the sunbathing and find something to do on the other side of the estate.

But it looked like she had calmed a little and so they relaxed and returned to their business and fun, enjoying the food, drink, and entertainment that was provided in lavish amounts. No expense had been spared, not for the party last night and not for the after-party in the morning. She wasn’t the kind to skimp.

She regained her customary benevolent smile and a handful of guests turned their attention toward the pool. A few moved to where a couple of masseuses waited for them to make use of their services.

Elena shook her head. This was a setback, but not a large one. She was sure Banks thought he was one of a kind when it came to his usefulness. And yes, he was rather useful and the fact that he didn’t need to be bailed out of some controversy or another every two weeks had been a plus. But it wasn’t like he was the only person in the world who could do the job of keeping track of all of her investments in the US.

No, she thought as she gazed at the Ibiza beach her estate overlooked. There were hundreds in the city of New York alone who would literally kill for the position. And now, they wouldn’t have to. The position was vacant.

She let the silk robe that she wore drop from her shoulders and reveled in the sensation as it slid all the way down with almost no resistance. Someone stepped forward a second later to retrieve the expensive piece of fabric.

Her looks were a source of smug pride. Everything about her shouted exotic, the rich femme fatale and full of mystery. Her raven-black hair, long, natural eyelashes, almond-shaped eyes, and well-tanned skin, all combined to place her easily in nearly a hundred different locations. It was a rare advantage to be able to blend into any culture. There had been a time a decade and a half ago when she’d dreamed of being a model, singer, or famous actress with hundreds of people to adore her for everything she was and strove to be.

Her ambitions had shifted after her father died and left her everything, which included the responsibility to fight off the attempts of the twelve or so siblings who had been denied their claim to the man’s financial fortune. She’d succeeded, however, and became the sole heiress of the wealth and the vision that had come with her father’s money.

And now, there she was, adored by the people whom millions adored in turn. She never would have thought it, but it was by far the superior option.

Yes, there were bumps along the road, but that was par for the course, to use the golfing term. It was to be expected at this point in the game. Anderson, Dr. Monroe, and their attack dog, Savage, had proven to be an interesting obstacle to her visions. They had allowed her to take her mind off of the grand scheme of things and focus on the minutia of the operations she worked with. She had even let her people convince her to send an attack team to intercept the operative when he was caught on facial recognition landing in New York, for all the good that had done them.

They wouldn’t last long of course. They knew about her, which was unfortunate, but they had nothing but a voice and an untraceable call from halfway across the world to a landline in a bunker. There was no real information to follow. They knew what they were looking for but didn’t know where to start. She could live with that. Let them keep chasing their tails for years to come. She would be waiting for them to finally give up.

Her mood was restored, and she could see her guests now felt a little more comfortable as she moved over to one of the poolside recliners and sprawled elegantly across it to enjoy the sunlight. Everything seemed swathed in a warm, golden glow, visible through her custom-made Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. Considerable effort went into maintaining her appearance, but it was immensely satisfying to simply sit back and let the sun do some of the work.

One of the hard-working house servants moved closer, a single champagne flute on the gleaming tray in his hand. There wasn’t any champagne in the glass, of course, although it was chilled to the point where she could already see condensation on the outside. The liquid inside was bright blue and appeared to swirl and move of its own accord. She scowled at the glass but took it in her perfectly manicured fingers. It was a necessary evil these days, and she had to admit that it had made her life of looking good a whole lot easier.

It didn’t change the fact that it tasted like death, though.

She took a sip. “Cazzo di inferno .” She scowled and shook her head. “This Zoo shit is disgusting.”

“So why do you drink it?” one of the tall, lean, and handsome male models whose name escaped her at the moment asked. He settled easily into the recliner beside her.

“You don’t look this good without a few sacrifices,” Elena replied and allowed herself a moment to appreciate the perfect form of the man beside her. “But I have to say that it’s been worth it.”

“I really didn’t want to go back to the hospital,” Savage said and glowered at his surroundings. The room was private with an appealing view of a small creek and the trees that had started to turn all kinds of colors between red, yellow, and orange. It was a pleasant place to spend time in, even if it was a hospital. “I’m serious. A couple of bruises. A concussion, maybe. A few cracked ribs, and…” He raised his right hand still bound in a couple of black wraps. “I relocated my finger badly, so they had to pull it out and put it back in again correctly. It was as painful as hell, but I should get out of here within a couple of days.”

He was lying of course and had been in a great deal of pain when they checked him into the hospital. There had also been a few complications. He had still been dealing with the problems that had put him in hospital the last time, and the beating he’d taken had made those injuries worse. All had been exacerbated by the fact that he hadn’t taken his medication for the past week.

As hard as it was to accept, he needed to stay in the hospital and get better. He wouldn’t survive if he didn’t allow himself to recover between beatings.

“So, you’re saying this is all a formality?” Jessica asked skeptically as she studied him on the hospital bed.

“Sure,” he replied with a shrug. “I would have been told to walk this off if I was still in boot camp.”

“Well, do it for me, okay?” she asked, a bite of sarcasm in her voice when she squeezed his shoulder “It’ll make me feel so much better knowing the doctors and not some drill sergeant have given you a clean bill of health. Please, do it for me, okay?”

“Will do.” He smiled a little sheepishly and she turned, made her way to the door, and gave Anderson a quick hug before she stepped out of the room.

“And now that the ladies aren’t present?” the former colonel asked and moved closer.

“Hey, what am I?” Anja asked through their earbuds.

“I would have thought you didn’t like being called a lady,” Anderson replied with a chuckle.

“True, but you should always check first.”

“How are you feeling, Savage?” The man returned to his original query. “Really feel, not that crap you fed Coleman.”

“I feel like shit,” Savage responded morosely. “The meds the doctors are using have been reduced because they don’t want me to develop a dependency on the stuff. Which means most of my recovery will be spent on the very, very edge of what can be considered tolerable pain.”

“Don’t be. I acted on emotion and did the very thing I tend to criticize others for doing. I made mistakes a lot of people don’t usually survive and with some help from you, Anja, Terry, and Sam, I managed to live long enough to be able to learn from those.”

“You would have done the same for any of us,” Anderson reminded him.

“That’s not the point,” he stated bluntly. “I’m supposed to be the one to keep you all safe, alive, and well enough to do your jobs. I’m the one who needs to keep his head on his shoulders so everyone else can afford to get emotional.”

“Like I said, you would have done the same for any one of us,” his companion repeated with a small grin.

The operative shook his head. “I swear to God I’ve started to wish this job didn’t get me beaten up so much.”

“You volunteered for it, dumbass,” the ex-colonel reminded him and punched him gently on his shoulder. Despite the lack of force in it, he still grunted in pain and scowled at the man.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he admitted after a moment.

“Do you want to hear some good news?” He didn’t wait for the patient to answer before he pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up a news article. “The police in Seattle are still baffled by the attack on the Devers household and more baffled by their apparent protector. Sources of an undisclosed nature shed some light on the man—one man, according to those claims—who is known as The Savage, a killer and protector for hire. The only questions that remain are who this Savage is and whether what happened at the Devers house was protection or assassination.”

Savage chuckled. “You have to love tabloid journalism. That sounds like Anja’s work to me.”

“Yes and no,” the hacker replied. “Yes, because I did plant the news about a mysterious international hitman of James Bondian proportions as a protector to the family to make sure nobody touched Banks’ contract. I wasn’t the one who leaked the name to the press, though. That has to be someone who looked into the contract and probably spread the name around to try to get more info on you.”

“On that note,” Anderson said, “I had a quick chat with friends of mine at the Pentagon. I shared some—not all—of the details of what happened regarding your leaked information, and they made sure your file was reclassified under the National Security Act of 1947. That protects the identity of soldiers acting as liaisons to American intelligence agencies, living or dead. Admittedly, the file was already leaked, so whoever already has it still does, but it will prevent anyone else from acquiring it.”

“Speaking of that,” Savage said. “Anja, were you able to trace the call we had after Banks died?”

“That was on a landline,” Anja reminded him. “I didn’t even have access to it, and I only managed to listen in because of your earbud. I’ve tried to get voice matches, but the copy I have is a little garbled. I can’t make any promises.”

“There’s someone else who knows about who this client of Banks’ could be,” Savage said and glanced at Anderson. “That is who we’re guessing she is, even if it’s a little premature?”

“It’s the only lead that we have,” the former colonel said and shook his head dubiously.

“Who’s this lead?” the hacker asked.

“Someone who’s still in federal custody,” Savage said. “This isn’t over. You know you need me on this, right?”

“I do,” Anderson replied.

“Well, I’ll get right on that then.” He started to push himself up from his bed, only to stop when the other man placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You need your rest, Savage.”

“You know I can break that hand right off, right?” he asked, his eyebrow raised.

“In the condition you’re in, I’d give even odds to you not being able to break a toothpick in half,” his boss replied with a chuckle.

“I can get to Carlson in my sleep,” he protested. “With Anja’s help, of course. Minimum security prisons are a cakewalk to break out of and even easier to break into.”

“All the more reason for you to give yourself time to recover,” Anderson insisted. “Carlson isn’t going anywhere, and Anja’s already on the case. When she has something for us, I’ll be the first to break you out of this hospital, got it?”

He leaned back on his bed. After all that talk about being stupid and putting his emotions ahead of his intellect, he was ready to jump into the deep end again. There had to be a special place in hell for people as stupid as he was right now.

Still, he had a lead on the person who had put his family in danger. It was almost torture to simply sit around and wait for his body to finally piece itself back together again.

“Yeah, I got it.” He relaxed and took a few deep breaths, resigned to the truth.

“I need to go put fires out back in Philly,” Anderson said. “Stay alive, Savage. And don’t do anything stupid.”

He nodded as the man headed out of the room.

It wasn’t all bad, he mused. He would be released in a couple of days, and from that point forward, he could probably start working again. Like he had said, breaking into a minimum-security prison would be a cakewalk and even easier if he had Anja’s technical skills on his side. There was no need to rush this. Not yet. And he had Wi-Fi in the hospital. Why would he want to leave?