Kill Shot (22 page)

“Logan will drive you to the airport,” Gabe
said. “The plane will be ready to take off as soon as you arrive.
My security team will meet you at the airport in London to see to
your safety. I’ll have another of my pilots come back and retrieve
the rest of us after the op is finished.”

Logan never showed much emotion, but the
look he gave Gabe made sure he knew his displeasure. But Logan knew
how to follow orders, and he nodded his head sharply.

“I don’t think so,” Grace said with a
cynical smile. “I can take care of myself.”

Cold fear snaked through his body as she
took the watch off her wrist and slipped the earpiece out of her
ear. “We’re done here, Gabe. Don’t come after me again.” She tossed
the electronics on the couch and headed for the door.

“It wasn’t a request, Grace. And I’ll come
after you as many damn times as it takes to get through that thick
skull of yours. Logan will take you to the plane.”

Logan moved to stand in front of her, and
before Gabe or Jack either one could intercede, Grace dropped her
bag and shot her hands toward Logan. Gabe had to admire her skill,
even though he regretted teaching her those particular moves. She
used two fingers to slap at Logan’s shoulders, chest and neck, and
Logan looked stunned as he fell to the floor, his limbs temporarily
paralyzed.

“Have a nice life, boys,” she said with a
salute as she closed the door of the suite silently behind her.

“Well, you have to give her points for
style,” Jack drawled, sitting back in his chair.

“What happened? Ethan asked. “I can’t see
anything, dammit. Why is Kill Shot offline? Her heart monitor isn’t
even registering. You didn’t kill her, did you?”

Gabe closed his eyes and straddled the other
dining room chair across from Jack. Logan was beginning to get the
feeling back in his body, and he turned his head to glare at
Gabe.

“Sorry,” Gabe said. “You should be fine in a
few minutes.”

“Except for his pride and his manhood,” Jack
muttered.

Gabe ran his fingers through his hair and
looked at his watch. They still had eight hours before they were
scheduled to break into the museum. He pulled his phone out of his
pocket and scrolled through the coded numbers he’d assigned until
he found the one he was looking for.

“Simon,” he said to his pilot. “Grace is on
her way to you. You’re her only way out of country. Take her back
to headquarters. She’s to be detained and on restricted access
until we return. Do whatever you have to do to get her to
cooperate.”

Gabe hung up the phone, and Jack let out a
low whistle, drawing his attention. “You’re digging yourself a hell
of a hole to get out of.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her
safe.”

Ethan cleared his throat and said, “So, by
using my amazing deductive reasoning skills, I’m assuming that you
and Grace know each other a hell of a lot better than we all
thought.”

Gabe sighed, and knew he couldn’t keep the
truth from them any longer. They needed to know what they were
dealing with.

“You could say that. Grace is my wife.”

“Holy shit,” Ethan said. “That, I wasn’t
expecting. How come you’re not mentioned in her file? It says she’s
never married and has no living relatives.”

“You’d better stop digging through our
files, kid,” Jack growled.

“There’s no mention of me in any file,” Gabe
said. “As far as the US government is concerned, I don’t exist on
paper.”

He said his next words
quickly—mechanically—as if reciting from the dossier that was put
together after Maddie’s death.

“Two years ago, our daughter was targeted by
a sniper in Tussad’s army and killed right in front of Grace’s
eyes. The trauma has made her—” Gabe searched for the words he
wanted, but couldn’t seem to think of one that would make them
understand.

“She’s not the same person she used to be,”
Jack said softly. “I can see glimpses of the real Grace in there
somewhere, but until her hatred of Tussad is resolved, she’s not
going to get better. She needs professional help.”

“I know that,” Gabe said, the frustration
evident in his voice. “And I’ll make sure she gets it once this is
over.”

“So what do we do now?” Ethan asked.

“Nothing has changed,” Gabe said. “We get
the painting and move forward with the plan.”

***

The only way Grace knew how to deal with
being hurt was with anger, but she knew she had to control her
emotions until she was out of the country and back on neutral soil.
So for that reason alone, she had the concierge at the hotel get a
car service to take her to the private airstrip where Gabe’s plane
was located. She still had a part to play. At least for a little
while.

She had her passport and papers ready when
the driver pulled into the private area for VIPs. The guard saw her
French citizenship and that she was using Piccoult’s aircraft, and
he let her through with only a cursory glance.

The plane was ready for takeoff, the stairs
extended, waiting for her arrival. Gabe would have called ahead,
and she was expecting Simon to try something unorthodox to detain
her. She knew Gabe would have given the order. It’s what she would
have done in his position. Simon would try to drug her food or
tranq her before they landed.

Her spine began to tingle as she reached the
top of the stairs to the entrance of the plane. Simon should have
been waiting for her. Unless he was hiding behind the door, getting
ready to detain her. She didn’t pull the gun at the small of her
back. Not yet. She didn’t want to incite panic from the airfield
guards. But she did palm the small knife she kept in a sheath on
the inside of her wrist.

She didn’t want to hurt Simon, but she’d be
damned if she was going to be held prisoner until Gabe decided she
was able.

“Simon,” she called out. “I’m giving you a
fair warning. It’s best to ignore whatever orders Gabe just gave
you. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

She crossed the threshold and immediately
checked the hidden area behind the door. There wasn’t anyone in
sight, but the tingles down her spine had turned into full-fledged
alarms telling her to get the hell out before it was too late.

Grace reached for her gun just as the
cockpit door slammed open and she was shoved forward. She rolled as
best she could in the confined space and came back up to face her
attacker as fast as she could—her weapon pointed and ready to
fire.

She recognized Shawn Kimball from the file
Ethan had put together. He’d already closed the cabin door by the
time she’d made it to her feet, and now it was just the two of
them. She kicked off her shoes and held the pistol steady, just as
he held his steady on her. His smile bordered on madness, and
anticipation gleamed in his eyes. She could also see the
intelligence. Kimball wasn’t someone to underestimate.

He was a big bastard—close to the same
height as Gabe and as broad through the chest and shoulders as
Jack. His hair was buzzed close to his scalp, and he held his
weapon with ease. She could tell a lot about a man by how he held
his weapon. And Grace knew before they even began that she was in
deep shit.

“Was Simon the name of your pilot?” Kimball
asked, his smile cruel. “I’ll have to apologize about the mess in
your bathroom. Simon was a big man. Lots of blood.”

He came closer, and Grace worked
probabilities in her mind, trying to find a way she could fire and
get out of the way before Kimball did the same. Her conclusions
weren’t reassuring.

The plane began to taxi, and Grace knew her
chances of winning this fight grew slimmer the minute they were
airborne. It would be too dangerous to fire then. She dove to her
right and fired off a shot, her back hitting the base of the
leather couch against the wall and pain shooting up her spine.

“Bitch,” Kimball said.

Shit
. She’d only winged his arm. The
plane tilted as they rose into the air, and she tried to find her
balance as she got to her feet and faced Kimball again. They tossed
their weapons to the floor at the same time, it being too dangerous
to fire shots while in the air—and she grasped the knife in her
hand as Kimball charged her.

She swiped out with the knife, slicing at
his shirt just as his fist landed in her ribs. The blow knocked her
against the cabin wall and stole her breath, and she dodged his
foot in a kick that would have broken her neck. Pain radiated
through her body, but she had enough sense to keep moving. A moving
target was harder to hit. The knife was knocked from her hand, and
she kicked out at his knee, feeling satisfaction when it buckled
beneath him. It was only enough respite for her to fill her lungs
with oxygen and roll to the side as his fist caught the side of her
jaw.

“I can’t kill you yet,” he said, getting to
his feet, favoring his injured knee. “But I’m going to make you
hurt.”

Grace wiped the blood off her face, unsure
exactly where it was coming from. “Why don’t we just sit down and
you can tell me what you want? You look like a reasonable kind of
guy.”

“Well, sweetheart, that wouldn’t be near as
much fun.”

They circled each other, Grace trying to
make her way to her knife that had skittered close to the cockpit
doors.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he
closed in on her.

“Back to London, of course. Weren’t those
your orders? It seems you and that husband of yours are having
communication problems.”

Grace stiffened as Kimball so casually
tossed out that bit of information. No one but Frank Bennett and
Jack had ever known she was married to Gabe. It had been too
dangerous—something that could have been used against him if the
knowledge had leaked. She had no illusions as to her position in
the agency. She knew without a doubt that if it came to protecting
Gabe and what he did for the country, then they’d throw her to the
wolves in a heartbeat. But somehow this man knew who she was. Knew
who Gabe was.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
she hedged.

He flexed his knuckles and smiled cruelly.
“I didn’t recognize the great and mighty Gabe Brennan when I looked
at the surveillance photos my men sent me. I’ve always heard of
your husband, of course, and I believe there was a time I worked
with him when he was—”

Kimball shrugged his shoulders as if what he
was saying didn’t bother him, but she could tell by the hatred in
his eyes that his experience with Gabe hadn’t been a good one.

“We’ll just say he was someone else at the
time,” he continued. “But you—I recognized you in the photo right
away. That red hair of yours is a hell of a beacon.”

Before she could dodge out of the way, he’d
snatched the black wig from her head and tossed it to the
ground.

“We have a mutual friend,” he said. “I’m
sure Mr. Tussad would love to be here right now, but I’m not
working for him at the moment. You of all people should understand
how important the financial options and benefits are when
considering taking a job.”

Grace went cold inside. Tussad’s name had
the ability to paralyze her like no other. “What do you know of
Tussad?” Grace asked. She knew she was giving herself away. The
anger in her voice couldn’t be concealed.

“Don’t you want to know how I recognized
you?” he asked.

Her fists clinched at her sides, and she put
her weight on the balls of her feet, the anger inside of her
building like the fiery heat inside a volcano, ready to burst from
the side of a mountain.

“I never saw the resemblance between you and
your daughter, but Tussad assured me she was yours. You should have
known I was there that day. Anyone trained in combat would have
felt my gaze. And I looked at you for a long time, Grace.”

The predatory look in her eyes and the way
his gaze dropped to her breast made the bile rise in the back of
her throat, and the heat of her anger was replaced by the cold lash
of his words, striking against her body as if they were physical
blows. She finally understood what he was saying.

“It was you?” She could barely get the words
past her dry throat, and his terrible smile was all the assurance
she needed that he was the one who’d pulled the trigger that
terrible day.

She charged him with the force of her anger
leading the way. Satisfaction coursed through her when she felt the
satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone beneath her fist as she
struck him in the nose. The pain his own blows inflicted on her
didn’t register—the sting to her ribs or the blood that dripped
freely from her mouth onto her shirt. Her arm hung useless by her
side as she battled him, but her anger eventually gave way to
unbearable pain, and she dropped to her knees before him.

Kimball grabbed her by the throat and lifted
her until her feet dangled just off the ground. “It’s going to be a
pleasure putting a bullet through your heart,” he whispered, close
enough that she was able to feel his hot breath against her face.
“It’s only fitting you should die helpless just as your daughter
did.”

The game of life and death had ceased to
matter to her, but she vowed she’d live long enough to see the man
buried in the ground.

“My days may very well be numbered,” she
said hoarsely, his grasp tightening around her throat. “But yours
are numbered as well. I will kill you, Shawn Kimball. That’s a
promise. And you’ll never even know I’m there until it’s too
late.”

She spit in his face and was in no position
to dodge as the back of his fist connected with her jaw. The
coppery tang of blood filled her mouth just as the darkness closed
in on her.

The game had changed.

Shawn Kimball kept an ice pack against his
broken nose as he scrolled through the numbers on Grace’s phone,
comparing them to those on the phone he’d stolen from the
pilot.