Preacher pulled some bills out of his pocket. “Why don’t you go down to that farmer’s market and get a few things, G. We’ll stay for dinner.”
GQ nodded and slipped out the door. The kid might not look like it, but he was a dream in the kitchen. Striker rose, went to the fridge and grabbed one of the bottles. “Help yourself,” he said and went to the window and leaned against the jamb. Striker gave him a wry half smile. “You are so transparent.”
“Tough.”
Striker laughed, screwed off the top, and took a drink.
Preacher walked from the kitchen and settled into one of the chairs, setting his ankle across his knee. “The last time I saw you was at 2-Stroke’s wedding in San Diego. You needed to be home with your brother. What happened?”
His expression set, Striker said, “I couldn’t stay.” He lifted his head and met Preacher’s gaze, a sad, agonizing look in his eyes. “I was restless, and San Diego is rife with the Navy. It was too painful.”
“Why did you come back here? It wasn’t exactly the best time of your life.”
He held Preacher’s gaze for a moment, then looked down, releasing a heavy sigh. “I don’t know that either.” He rubbed at the rim of the bottle with the pad of his thumb, then took another drink, glancing back at Preacher. “Maybe I’m looking for something I need. Something I lost.”
This was killing him. “It was all my fault, man. I’m sorry,” Preacher said, his tone gruff.
Striker turned from the window, genuine surprise on his face. “What?” He shook his head vigorously. “No. Shit happens all the time. It’s not on you. I knew what I was doing. There was no other alternative and if we hadn’t intervened, Alek, Chry, and my brother wouldn’t have made it. We saved them, Preach. You, me, and Ice. Don’t ever forget that.”
“That is a good outcome, and that helps me to sleep at night.”
Striker’s expression went grim. “What keeps you up?”
Preacher turned away, a disturbing feeling rolling over in his gut. “What happened to you?”
It hung between them for a moment, then the door opened, and GQ was back. There was no more time for talk as he whipped up a fresh salad and penne pasta that melted in their mouths.
As night fell, Preacher knew they had to get back to the barracks. “You two should go. I’ll be okay.”
“Hey, we’re going to be here for a bit. We’ll stop by again,” GQ said. “I’ll make something good. Okay?”
“Sounds great,” Striker said. “Bye, guys.”
They left his apartment and GQ looked as miserable as Preacher felt. “Hey, you go back. I’m going to walk for a bit to clear my head.”
“Sure,” GQ said as if he also needed some fresh air. “I’ll see you back there.”
Preacher turned away and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. The streets were deserted, the streetlights casting halos on the empty sidewalk, the moths fluttering in clusters around the elements. He walked from one halo to the next, a hollow ache spreading through him. He flashed back to that night in the helicopter when he’d been alone with Iceman, who was flying like a bat out of hell. Preacher was dying. He could feel the life draining out of him. He knew it was getting close to the end and his regret and pain only deepened. He was scared and felt alone, so full of dread. The worst thing had happened. He’d let down one of his teammates. He remembered thinking there was no way to come back from that.
He would never get the chance to make it right.
And, here he was, unable to make it right.
Trying to will away the sudden constriction in his throat, Preacher lifted his head, focusing on the next halo of light. Then he froze right in his tracks. A woman crossed the street in front of him. He’d know that straight dark hair, that perfect, tight ass in black leather, the loose, easy way she walked, like her feet didn’t touch the ground.
All his ghosts were haunting him tonight.
Karasu.
3
The neon blue light from Klub Plasma Blue flashed on and off in the darkened street, the flicker creating a sporadic film of blue in the inky puddle collecting along the curb. It had been raining steadily now for the last five minutes, the temperature dropping into the fifties.
But Karasu was snug and comfy in her skintight, CIA-provided waterproof but stretchy faux-black-leather catsuit with a built-in bulletproof vest and neck guard, the stealth booties on her feet part of the garment, everything fleece-lined. She wore a short black jacket over the suit, which was made out of the same material.
Her heel disrupted the puddle as she reached the sidewalk, blurring the color with ripples of silver. She had landed only twenty minutes ago, but her intel from her underground source was good. Savic’s ring was up and running in this part of the world and why not? It was his old stomping grounds. He wasn’t choosy about which country he kidnapped girls and women from, as long as they were young, usable, and pretty.
The fucker.
He had been elusive for many years, always seeming to be one step ahead of her when she found the time to pursue him in between her CIA gigs. Rain pelted her face and rattled against the surrounding windows of apartments, businesses, and parked cars, soaking into her long hair. She pulled off the flexible black band from her wrist and quickly spiraled the damp mass into a long twist, wrapping it into a tight bun on top of her head. She scanned the street, her thoughts detached as she felt the gust of wind against her exposed skin, sending rain dancing along the pavement.
Her goal was a block away. A tattoo shop in the front, but something entirely different in the back, camouflage for Savic’s operation, run by his sleazy cousin, Sergei.
The street ahead of her was somber and cloaked in gray, the colorful European-style and Austrian-influenced structures dark in places where the dim streetlights couldn’t reach, bleeding out the vibrant colors. The lights of the shops were visible in the gloom, the only pinpoints of brightness.
Traffic crept down the street, brake lights flashing as drivers slowed to accommodate the downpour. Staring into the darkness, Karasu snagged her hood from the pocket of the coat and pulled it over her head and face. Waiting for two pedestrians to pass, she hugged the shadows, then when there was a break in the traffic, she went to cross the street. A truck passed from her left, and she stepped off the curb, catching a glimpse of a dark sedan parked in the narrow slot next to the tattoo shop. Suddenly, its headlights came on and Karasu ducked into a doorway to avoid the light.
The car inched forward to pull out into traffic, and the oncoming van’s lights illuminated the interior for a split second. Karasu caught a glimpse of the passenger when the headlights angled away from her position. One who was frighteningly familiar.
Ja Savic!
Her surprise was so electric, adrenaline loaded into her bloodstream, her heart hammering as anger and fear churned through her. She had expected to get answers out of Sergei, not find Ja here.
Realizing that once the oncoming van passed, the sedan would have a clear lane to leave, Karasu reacted. Darting around the back of the van, she sprinted across the street, alarm compressing her lungs and determination hardening her resolve. She had him. Closer than she had ever been to ending this cat-and-mouse game.