Licensed to Kill

Chapter 5

I wondered if that was what Agent Lindsey had done. Had she really gone missing in the sense that everyone seemed to think – kidnapped? Or had she simply severed the tie and escaped from A.R.T.'s watch?

Part of the information I'd been given was a log of Lindsey's whereabouts, everywhere that A.R.T. had tracked her phone up until her disappearance. It wasn't completely accurate, just showing every cell tower that her phone had pinged a signal off of, but it was all I had to go on. I planned to follow the trail across Germany once I touched down in Berlin.

I double checked the locks before turning out the lights and heading to bed. As per usual, I stared up at the ceiling for the longest time, my pistol within reach, until I finally passed out.

My dreams were somewhat different from the norm. Instead of a sweet memory with Dallas that morphed into a graphic recollection of the Washington incident, I dreamt of the first time I'd met him in Atlanta. Damn, had it already been ten years?

The gravel crunched beneath my boots as I inched my way around the back of the building, hiding out in the dark of night. Mick Taylor was my target. He was a sneaky bastard, having slipped away the last three times I'd tried to catch him, but this time I'd really done my research, and there was nowhere for him to run, despite the fact that I was solo on the mission to take him into custody. I'd taken it upon myself to do the job when my partner, India, had gotten a colossal case of the stomach virus at the last minute.

Stopping to survey my surroundings once more, I flattened my back against the cold brick wall and squinted in the dark. The back lot was empty, with the exception of an alley cat circling an unlucky mouse beneath a dumpster.

That's when I heard it. The gravel crunching again. But it wasn't my boots causing the noise this time. I realized I wasn't alone. I could hear the intruder coming closer from around the corner. They were just a few feet away. I could practically hear their breathing. It was a matter of seconds before we came face-to-face.

I held my breath and stayed as still as I possibly could, careful not to make even the tiniest of sounds to alert my enemy. I raised my arms, my finger on the trigger, and I waited for the person to turn the corner.

I waited, and waited, but no one ever came. I started to second guess myself. Had my ears been playing tricks on me or had I actually heard someone approaching?

Then I felt it. The barrel of a gun jammed into my back, right between my shoulder blades. I wore a vest, but it was thin enough that I could feel the outline of the pistol biting into the padded material.

My breath caught and I realized that I'd fucked up at some point. I'd missed something and allowed my enemy to skirt around the opposite side and outsmart me.

"Drop your weapon," a deep male voice instructed, and I noted just a hint of an Israeli accent.

He was standing so close; I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. I mentally cursed at myself when I allowed myself to think for just a second that it actually felt good – the warmth on my skin, softly moving the few stray hairs that had wriggled free from my ponytail.

I hesitated. I'd been expertly trained for moments like these. I didn't surrender. It wasn't in my blood.

"I said drop your weapon." His voice was harsher this time, more authoritative.

"You're going to have to do better than that," I told him, trying to size up my opponent based on the shadow his figure cast across the ground with a lone streetlight a ways behind him.

Before he could respond, I jerked my leg backward, hitting him square in the crotch, and whirled around, slamming him up against the bricks and successfully knocking his pistol from his grasp. I retrieved his weapon from the ground and stepped back, aiming both guns at him as he stood there, his back pressed to the wall, wincing.