Game of Secrets and Shadows (Book One in the Covert Operations series)

Ten

It was amazing how a nice hot shower could make you feel more human.

As soon as the boys were gone, I ambled my way up the stairs to the little bathroom next to Daniel's bedroom. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the steaming hot spray of water. I let the steady pressure work into the knots in my back and neck, loosening them and relaxing me. I scrubbed gingerly at the dried blood that had escaped the bandage covering my gunshot wound.

I stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later feeling much better. Once out, I unwound the bandage, removed the gauze, and stared at the wound. Getting shot in real life wasn't like in the movies. Hollywood had a way of dressing down the effects of a bullet wound. In their version, there was little afterthought to the wound as if someone could get shot and come out of it miraculously fine. No limp or pain. They could get hounded by bullets in the first ten minutes of the film and, not five minutes later, be running around like an Olympian on steroids set to break a gold-medal record.

In all reality, getting shot hurt like a bitch. I was sore and a large portion of the side of my body was covered in purple, blue, and black bruises. The entry point where the bullet had gone in was little more than a few centimeters in diameter and was simply a small dark hole in the mass of bruising. There was some dried blood around the wound, which I cleaned off.

I'd been lucky. If I'd been shot in the leg or the arm, it would have severely impacted my ability to do anything. As it were, I would still be in quite a bit of pain as I tried to navigate my way through this tricky game I'd been unwillingly forced to play. But, this wasn't my first time getting shot and I knew what to expect so I wasn't too worried about my ability to function with such an injury.

I repackaged the wound, covering it with fresh gauze I found in the medicine cabinet, and wrapped it in a white bandage, before dressing in the spare set of clothes I'd brought with me from the motel I'd been staying at. A dark t-shirt, navy blue jeans, sneakers. They were items of clothing that were easily forgettable. I'd be able to slip through crowds with ease.

Once dressed, I went back downstairs. I packed and re-packed my bag, checking that I had everything. Fake identifications, credit cards, cash, my burner phone and untraceable laptop, my knives which in no way would be detected by the airport security thanks to Tasha. Everything appeared to be ready to go. Which meant that there was very little for me to do. It was a quarter after noon. My flight wasn't until eight tonight which meant that I didn't have to be at the airport until around five-thirty or six to check in. That left me with lots of time.

I watched the news for information on my dad's homicide and Wes's disappearance. Thus far, they had no leads. Search crews had been dispatched throughout the area to attempt to locate my brother. An amber alert had even been issued. Little did they know he was long gone, disappearing up to Canada where I hoped and prayed he would be safe.

Then, I searched the web, doing a little digging into my past to try and find just who my parents were and if they were the people I'd grown up with or someone else entirely. It was a hard field to navigate and I hit so many brick walls that, after a while, I had to power down the computer in frustration.

Finally, I slept. I felt as if I'd have very little time for sleeping in the foreseeable future and knew that it was better to be well-rested for as long as possible. I drifted in and out of consciousness for a few hours and when I woke, I felt more aware and ready to face this head on.

The first step: getting to Europe.

I arrived at the airport at six o'clock and had made it to my terminal, fighting through customs and security and baggage checks over the course of the next hour. I got through without issues, my disguised weaponry causing no commotion. I killed the second hour waiting for my flight and then I was gone, up in the air and heading for France. While it would have been faster, and easier, to fly directly to England, I wasn't taking any chances of getting apprehended by MI6. They would surely be monitoring all of the airports in England and, while France would still be on their radar, it would buy me some time without putting me too far away from where I needed to be.