And at dawn, I did what he said…tore my own shirt, and went crying to Nikolai, telling him how horrible the American had been as the weight of the food he’d given me pulled on my rucksack and slid in around the book he hadn’t taken from me.
Nikolai asked if he’d given me a tip, and I’d said no. I expected Nikolai to search me, prepared to lie about stealing the food, but he didn’t. He nodded. He asked me if Sarge wanted me again the next night, but I told Nikolai no. That Sarge was leaving at eight that morning.
That was my mistake.
At eight o’clock, Nikolai and his crew dragged me back to the hotel. Nikolai kept a hard grip on my arm, making me watch as his men forced Sarge into a back alley when he came out of the hotel.
Sarge’s brown eyes met mine as Nikolai walked up to him as his men held him. Sarge wasn’t even putting up a fight.
“Bronya says you didn’t tip her. It wasn’t very nice not to tip my feisty girl.”
I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything, as Nikolai’s five men beat Sarge and didn’t stop until he lay on the ground barely conscious.
Nikolai reached into Sarge’s pocket and took his wallet. He grabbed the cash and dropped the rest by Sarge’s bleeding face.
He walked back and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “Your tip. Sounds like you earned it.”
They walked away, but my feet felt glued to the ground as I stared at the wounded man who’d been nothing but kind to me.
Nikolai snapped his fingers and spoke in Czech. “Bronya. You did good, but let’s go. Leave the American trash.”
I saw one of Sarge’s eyes flutter open, but I didn’t have any choice. All he would see was me walking away.
Chapter 3
Sarge
Two Years Ago
* * *
I touched the small scar that ran along my left eyebrow as I crossed the Charles Bridge. I hadn’t returned to Prague for three years. I wasn’t sure what I was doing back here now.
That wasn’t true; I knew why I was here. I had just finished an operation for the security company I now worked for, Zodiac Tactical. My new boss and former SEAL teammate, Ian DeRose, had sent me to head up a kidnap and rescue mission, ironically not far from the village where our SEAL team had been told to stand down in a similar situation three years ago.
The day I’d met Bronya.
This time, there had been no standing down, no resolution via diplomatic measures. This mission, like most Zodiac Tactical handled, didn’t involve governments or military. My team and I had been sent in to ensure the recovery and safety of a billionaire’s kidnapped nine-year-old son.
Everything had gone according to plan if you didn’t count the two dead bad guys. The kid had been reunited with his parents. No one on my team had been hurt.
These were the types of missions we handled as part of the company Ian had started last year. I’d been with him from the beginning and was part of his inner circle. I loved the work we did.
I’d always thought I’d be a lifer in the Navy, but fucking up my knee during a routine training exercise had ended my special forces career. It wasn’t so bad that it affected me too much in everyday life, but it was enough that I couldn’t be a SEAL anymore. Deciding not to re-up hadn’t been hard. I’d been in twenty years, so I got out.
Zodiac Tactical had given me a job and a purpose. Ian trusted me to handle things for him—things like this mission—and I did. I liked being part of a team that got things done when normal routes or law enforcement couldn’t.
In short, Zodiac Tactical kicked ass.
And while I’d participated in a number of Zodiac missions in the past year, Ian had also sent me on this one because he knew about my obsession with Prague, although he didn’t know why.
He thought it was because of the beating I’d taken three years ago, the one that had given me the scar at the edge of my eyebrow. He thought I still had unfinished business here.
I touched the scar again, faded to the point where it could hardly be seen. I did still have unfinished business here, although not revenge on some thugs like Ian thought.
I had thought about my business here every day for the past three years. Had read The Outsiders way more times than any grown man should, and I wondered what other books her parents had taught her about.
To Kill a Mockingbird? Little Women? The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?
I’d read them all. A grown-ass man reading Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret probably seemed strange to damned near everyone. There’d definitely been too much adolescent literature in my life these past three years, that was for sure.
Especially since after what had happened, I could only be called a fool for thinking of her at all. Or the damned books she loved so much.
Definitely a fool after she’d led Nikolai and his buddies right to me that morning. A fool for taking a beating I had the training and skill to stop because she would’ve been the one to pay the price.
And looking for her now in every possible person who could be her size? That made me a complete dumbass.
Yet, here I was.
I spotted her near sundown, still casing potential marks like she had been three years ago. Her hair was a little longer, pulled back into an inconspicuous braid, wisps hanging out to hide her face and those striking eyes. She was dressed like everyone around her—jeans, lightweight dark jacket, shoes that allowed her to move quickly.
I had no doubt if she was caught and had to run she’d shed the jacket and let down her hair, giving herself a different appearance in a few mere seconds.
She would run from me when she eventually saw me. She had too much self-preservation, too much intelligence, not to. Not that it would make any difference.
I’d still catch her.
I watched her for two solid hours. She wasn’t the only one who knew how to blend in and make themselves less noticeable.
She’d gotten better at pickpocketing, and she’d already been good when I’d studied her before. She chose her marks well, kept her body relaxed and nonthreatening, and used her petite stature to her advantage.
Nobody ever suspected a thing. She knew exactly when to crouch down to tie her shoe to keep out of a line of sight. Knew what people to bypass and what people to concentrate on.
Properly trained and off the street, she could be a huge asset for a business like Zodiac Tactical. Some of what our company handled needed someone with a deft touch who could disappear into a crowd. And we had an office in Paris.
Offering a beautiful thief a job was not why I was here.
Why the fuck was I here?
I was about to turn away, about to walk away from Bronya for good, when she made a face from where she was standing at the edge of the bridge and pressed a hand to her side.
She was hurt.
I watched her now, mindful of that, and could see the slightest stiffness in her posture when she was resting. She ignored it when casing a mark, but I could tell she was in pain.
I was so intent on studying her, figuring out how badly she’d been hurt that I forgot to make sure she didn’t notice me. I knew the exact second she did.
She’d turned to follow a well-off couple so wrapped up in each other that they would never notice her, then froze as she spotted me, letting a prime mark get away. Her eyes narrowed, then grew large as she recognized me. Then she turned, smart enough not to run, but knowing she needed to get out of here.