But she wasn’t fast enough. As soon as the van passed, the sedan wheeled out into traffic and the car sped up. She flew down the sidewalk, careless of the puddles collecting on the concrete, disregarding the muddy water splashing her legs. If the car got away, she would lose her chance to end her torment, get her revenge. The nightmare would continue.
Just as she gained, almost close enough to the door to pull it open and drag him out to face her retribution, a truck came out of an alley, the large vehicle blocking her line of sight. Fear rising in her, she lengthened her stride to an all-out sprint, her breathing coming in labored gasps as she raced past the truck, frantic to catch the departing car.
Praying the driver couldn’t see her in his rearview mirror, she twisted past a parked car, her dash bringing her to an abrupt stop. The street was empty. Karasu jerked around in a circle at the four corners, a sickening rush clutching at her as she searched. But the sedan had disappeared down one of four possible streets. She couldn’t search them all in time.
She’d just lost her best chance at getting Ja. Her chest heaving and her lungs on fire, she clenched her fists, the sharp rush of disappointment giving way to crushing anger. She’d been so close. So close. One damn truck, and she was right back to where she’d started.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the rain. Long enough for her breath to slow back to normal and her mind to clear.
She still had one lead and she was going to make sure her mark gave her all the information she needed.
She turned on her heel and started back for the tattoo shop, the rain beginning to let up, her heart still slamming in her chest, the desire for revenge nearly overwhelming her common sense. She would get to him. She had a trail to follow. Rounding the corner, she stepped into the full force of the wind-driven rain, the cold drops pelting her.
It had been a jolt seeing him again. Eight years. Eight damned years. She didn’t want to be reminded of how he had brutalized her, didn’t want to remember how terrified and alone she’d been. And she didn’t want to think about the damage and the knowledge that her shame and humiliation would never allow her to go home ever again. That had damned near screwed her up for good.
She’d escaped with a huge chunk of Ja’s money, for which she was sure he was pissed, bought her way to the United States, studied for and took her GED, enrolled in self-defense classes, and entered college. It was where she’d been recruited by the CIA and she’d been unable to let her past rest, especially with the contacts she’d made during her CIA career. Unknown to the Company, she’d started searching for Ja two years ago. She wasn’t sure they would really care even if they knew. Being rogue was what she did. It was expected of her to go off the grid and turn into the shadow she had become. She would be much more effective at her job.
When she got the tattoo parlor back in her sights, she went around the back, saw that there was a van parked behind the structure. The vehicle was probably used to move the victims. She peered inside and her gut clenched. On the floor was a fluffy teddy bear. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth.
Breathing evenly to mitigate the blind red-hot fury, she worked at clearing her head. Anger wouldn’t serve her now; detachment, coolness, and no emotion were what she needed.
She slipped to the back door and checked it. It was locked. That wasn’t a problem. She looked up at the sloping roof. She pulled herself up on the fence and walked along the narrow top to reach her intended destination. The tiles were slippery from the rain, but her built-in boots were specifically designed for traction, and she made no noise traversing them.
It was child’s play to flip the latch on the window with one of her concealed knives and climb inside. She found herself on a staircase, a set leading up and a set leading down. She figured the biggest threat would be on the lower level. She knew what that weasel looked like, but he would be hindered since with her hood it would be hard for him to identify her.
She heard a soft cry upstairs and every fiber of her being wanted to go up there and release the people he’d imprisoned, but she had to neutralize the threat, or those victims would be going nowhere fast.
She slipped down the stairs and heard voices in the front of the shop. Remaining in the shadows, she surveyed the back room. There was stuff stored in it on shelves for show, but she knew a layover house when she saw one. It had a small restroom with the door closed. She heard movement inside and a small kitchenette nestled into one of the corners.
Her senses on high alert, she stepped away from the darkness and crept to the back door. Unlocking it, for an easy way out. She then plastered herself near the entrance to the bathroom. The moment the door opened, she heard the water come on in the sink. When she peeked in, his back was to the door.
Without making a sound, she was on him, the knife she held slipped into the base of his skull and did the job for her.
He slumped over the sink.
She left and closed the door, moving carefully toward the front of the room. There was a patron in the shop and the woman tattoo artist was getting ready to tat him. Karasu frowned. He had a beautiful body. He was stripped to the waist, his heavy back muscles gleaming in the overhead lights. She trailed her eyes down over his broad shoulders slowly to the waistband of his damp jeans to his sexy butt. His face was turned away from her, showing her nothing but his dark shock of hair. She had the overwhelming sense that she knew him.
She wasn’t keen on hurting a patron, but she also didn’t have the time to wait until he got his tattoo. Then, luckily, the woman said, “I’m out of black ink. Could you get me some from the back?”
As soon as Sergei entered, Karasu grabbed him from behind and placed a knife against his throat. “If you make a sound I don’t like, you’re dead.” He stiffened but didn’t fight, which was a good thing for him. She had the blade hard against his carotid artery and one wrong move would be his last.
“Who are you?”
“I’m asking the questions,” she growled. She only had so much time before the tat woman got to wondering why Sergei was taking so long. “How many upstairs?”
“There’s no one upstairs. This is a business—” he hissed.
His words cut off as she nicked his skin and blood welled at the sight. “Stop stalling. We both know who you have upstairs. How many?”
“Two,” he ground out.
“You better not be lying to me,” she said, her tone indicating that it wouldn’t be good for his health. “How are they armed?”
“AKs and sidearms.”
She turned him and pushed him up against the wall. But before she could flex cuff him, the woman from the front came through the door. “What the hell are you—” She reeled back and pulled a handgun from the back of her pants. “What is going on here?”
Suddenly, the patron showed up and in the dim light, he stepped up to the woman. “You’ve got a Glock 19 right against your spinal column. I would suggest if you want to continue to live and walk, you hand that weapon over to me.” His tone was all business, the sound of it wrapping around her like an invisible hand. Karasu would know that voice anywhere. Shock coursed through her. The woman didn’t do anything. She was frozen in place, her mind probably going a mile a minute. He jabbed forward and growled. “I’m losing my patience.”