Chapter 4

“Don’t be a pussy. You’ve been on clean-up for two months.”

“It’s never… never been this bad.” Tim turned away and dry-heaved.

Cyrus gritted his teeth. They’d both served in the military, except Cyrus had a decade on the twenty-three-year-old weakling. He’d hoped the younger veteran would’ve had a stronger stomach.

Working as a crime scene cleaner took titanium balls and a tough stomach. Over the past three years, Cyrus had seen colleagues come and go. And scenes like these were the catalysts for escape. Many individuals on the Crime Scene Cleanup Crew—CSCU—were dedicated to the gruesome work. Good people who excelled at a job that few wanted.

The June heat hadn’t been kind to the rotting body which had pooled in the center of the sagging mattress. Even after removing the corpse, maggots still feasted on the drying blood as flies buzzed and the humidity in the room worsened the sweet, cloying smell of death.

The elderly victim had also been a hoarder, and the home hadn’t been cleaned in years—decades. Animal feces crusted up the rug, and Cyrus carefully stepped over a pile of yellowed newspapers.

“I need air.”

“Toughen up. I reckon you need this job more. Get your thumb out of your ass and start with the mattress.” There wasn’t much left that shocked or sickened Cyrus Nelson. Unlike his dedicated colleagues, he was one brutal son of a bitch. The mourning families never affected his day. Death was a thrilling companion and he’d loved pulling the trigger on battlefields across the planet. Perhaps that’s why he loved his new profession; he stood beside the ghost of the grim reaper and could feel that energy at a crime scene.

His friends in the coroner’s office and department thought he was an upstanding colleague—their loyal beer buddy. They didn’t know shit about the wolf amongst the sheep.

Cyrus’s protective suit crinkled as he reached for the sheets with a gloved hand. “Tim, take the other side, will ya.”

The kid complied, and they got to work. Sweat gathered behind layered PPE, and Cyrus resisted the urge to adjust his N95 mask. The mattress was unsalvageable, and they cut away at the layered gore before placing it into the medical waste bin. After covering the shredded bed in plastic, they carried it to the van.

Two hours later, using high-powered lights, Tim made a final sweep and ascertained that they’d removed all human remains. On paper, this was a preferable clean-up to murder or suicide. Gunshot damage meant that body parts were flung across a room and may remain hidden from searching eyes. Those calls always took twice as long. Cyrus hated the treasure hunt aspect of the job.

On his final exit, Cyrus made his way to the van and pulled out a packet of sterilizing wipes. The sun had begun to set on the remote location. Woodland surrounded the ramshackle house and warm air swept across the yard. Once he’d disposed of the PPE, he cleaned his hands and face. When his phone rang, he glanced back at the house and answered. Tim was still inside.

“Long time no speak.” Cyrus turned and walked up the sand road. “Harland, did I fuck up on the last job? You’ve ghosted me.”

“Don’t start your shit, and don’t use my name on the phone. When I need you, I’ll call.”

“So, you need me? My rates have gone up.”

“You may be in the field for longer than usual. This isn’t a weekend gig.”

“I have a full-time job.” Cyrus walked up a hill. “I can take a few weeks of leave, but you’d better make it worth my while.”

“An old friend wants to find his family—along with a stolen item.”

“A wealthy friend?”

“Double the usual rate.”

“How many targets?” Cyrus asked.

“Two. A mother and daughter. The child needs to be returned to him—unharmed.”

“And the mother?”

“He wants his revenge, but he’s not concerned with damage during the delivery.”

“So, I can play?” Cyrus’s blood stirred. “Is she palatable?”

“An attractive target.”

The call to such sweet action was an irresistible temptation. “Send me intel.”

“How many men would you need?”

“Five for now. I have some candidates in mind. Do you have the target’s location?”

“Not yet,” Harland replied. “They disappeared from Colombo, but we’re almost positive that they’re landing in the States. You’re not the only team on standby. We have people in London, Canada, and Australia.”

“That’s one powerful friend.”

“He always gets what he wants, and the target has destroyed his world. She’s a dead woman walking.”

“The best kind.” Cyrus smiled and walked back to the van. “I’ll be at our usual location—tomorrow at two. Are you sure about payment?”

“He can pay. His legal assets are frozen, but he has plenty of stashed funds.”

Cyrus hung up and dialed another number. Tim closed the van door.” Everything okay?”

“Great. Calling the boss. I may have a vacation coming up—You’ll be on your own, puke-tard.”

***

Through the multiple connections and endless flights, Pearl had barely slept. Now, she looked like a jittery and exhausted mess. Antonio guided the pair onto the JFK breezeway. New York wasn’t his final destination; he lived and worked in Arlington, Virginia, near DS headquarters. Antonio glanced at his watch, confirming a comfortable connection time.

Now that they were on U.S. soil, he’d walk Pearl and Aysha to their gate and say his goodbyes. As soon as they stepped into the terminal, Pearl paused and bent to open her carry-on.

“Aysha, give me Shreddy and your pillow.”

Yawning, the kid did as asked, and Antonio waited to the side. The airport looked busy, and he scanned the bustling crowds looking for anomalies—an action he performed even in normal circumstances. Situational awareness didn’t just come from his military training; his father had taught the skill to his children from a young age. Dad called it “high intelligence fitness.” The ability to catalog an environment, note every detail, and rank the threat levels.

A tiny hand gripped his fingers, and Antonio almost jerked in surprise. He glanced down as Aysha rested her head against his leg. On the first leg of their journey, she’d fallen asleep beside him after demanding that he draw not only a rhino but a crocodile, an elephant, and a leopard. Antonio wasn’t much of an artist, but she’d seemed happy with the results, carefully running a finger over his drawings with a pleased expression on that tiny face.

Her fingers squeezed, and he gripped her hand firmly in his as Pearl zipped up their bag.

“Thanks for all your help.” Pearl stood. “I’m truly grateful for your protection. You should get going before you miss your flight.”

Recognizing a forced smile and picking up on her anxious energy, Antonio felt reluctance rise. She was correct; he needed to part ways. Now that they were State-side, they were safe from Rajin’s reach and influence. His world would come tumbling down—Ambassador Durant would see to that. Soon, he’d be caught and would stand trial for his war crimes and murders.

“I have time. Let me walk you to your gate.”

“No, really—”

“I insist.”

“Our flight is much later. We’re going to the food court first.”

Antonio was good at reading people, and he immediately picked up on the deception. Pearl wouldn’t meet his gaze and looked for an escape. Where were they heading? He’d never asked after their final destination. Antonio assumed that they’d meet up with friends or family. He knew that her parents were in Colorado but knew that she’d avoid their farm as Rajin knew of that location.

They walked slowly. Pearl pulled the carry-on, and Aysha kept a tight grip on Antonio’s hand. He adjusted his pace to fit with hers. When she stumbled, Antonio paused to hoist Aysha into his arms, and she immediately tucked her head into the crook of his neck. His hold tightened, and he swallowed past a sudden dry lump in his throat. She was so trusting—so vulnerable. Fuck Rajin for placing his family in this position. Antonio eyed the woman beside him. When they’d landed in New York, he’d expected to see relief in her gaze, but all he detected was escalating fear. Those gorgeous eyes looked desperate and almost panicked.

“This is us.” Pearl pointed at the McDonalds, her movements stiff. As he placed Aysha on the ground, he saw Pearl’s gaze dart to a nearby flight board before pausing and studying it intently.

Still kneeling, he asked. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” Another fake smile. “Thanks again, Agent Torres. We’ll be fine.”

She’d reverted to his title. The brush-off stung. “I’m glad I could help.”

She was no longer his problem, and he should walk away. Her stand-offish vibes indicated that their brief liaison was over. Antonio would give her what she wanted.

On his haunches, he cupped Aysha’s tiny shoulder. “Take care of your mommy. Thanks for keeping me company on that smelly plane.”

Aysha frowned. “Where are you going?”

“He’s going home, Lovebug.”

Antonio stood. Reluctantly stepping away from Aysha, he nodded at Pearl. “Ma’am.”

“I won’t forget your kindness. Thank you.”

He should give her his number. “If you ever need—”

“We’re fine.” She nodded before turning away. “Aysha, do you want a happy meal?”

Effectively discharged. Antonio sucked in a breath and headed in the direction of his gate. Forcing one step in front of the other, he ignored his irritation over her abrupt dismissal. Perhaps her friendly demeanor had all been an act. She’d used him as a tool to get to safety, and now that he’d played the part, and she was safe, she’d reverted to her true aloof self. He’d seen pictures of the polished ice-queen in the file. Photos of her on red carpets—sparkling at Rajin’s side. Perhaps Antonio had wanted to see more—and convinced himself that there was more to Pearl Bandara than met the eye. But maybe she was just like Bianca—using others to get ahead.

Were his instincts wrong?

Antonio paused before stepping onto the escalator. He wasn’t wrong. Shit. Turning around, he headed back to the McDonalds. Rounding the corner, Antonio froze, and his protective instincts clicked into overdrive. The two familiar men from the flight had approached mother and daughter as they stood in line. One target slid up beside Pearl. Startled, she turned and stumbled back.