Page 115 of Code Name: Typhon

“Don’t be. I’ve come to realize Nigel’s problems—and Millicent’s, for that matter—have nothing to do with me.”

“What do you say, my love? Home, or shall we grab a bite to eat first?”

“I don’t have much at the apartment. Do you mind if we stay in the bar, or would you prefer a table in the dining area?”

“I’m comfortable here. Except we need to move tables.”

My eyes opened wide. “Why?”

He motioned behind me, and when I looked over my shoulder, I smiled. “Our table is available.”

34

TYPHON

Days later, when I heard Penelope Ramsey was on a flight from London to Florence, where Brand was meeting her at the airport, I got a bad feeling in my gut. The kind I’d learned long ago not to ignore.

I arranged a crew and had them file an emergency flight plan. If everything went the way I wanted it to, I’d be on the ground forty-five minutes before the other aircraft landed.

“Hey, boss?” I heard Tank call out.

“In here.”

“Maximo de Rossi has been spotted in Florence.”

“Bloody fucking hell,” I spat. “Arm up and move out,” I ordered. “Get backup in place.”

“Yes, sir,” both Tank and Blackjack responded.

“And get in touch with Ripa. Tell him to get the fuck out of that airport.”

My plane was in the air when Benito Carpinelli received a message on the secure server. Even before I read it, my blood ran cold. When I saw who the contract hit was on, it turned to ice—Maximo de Rossi.

“Angel, push this plane as hard as you can,” I said through the comms.

“Roger that, sir.”

“Anything on Ripa?”

“Negative,” reported Blackjack.

“Boss?” said Tank. “What are we looking at?”

Before I could answer, Blackjack jumped out of his seat. “I’ve got something.” He showed me the footage on his screen. “That’s the gate where Penelope Ramsey’s plane is scheduled to dock.”

Maximo de Rossi reappeared, pacing and surveying the area.

“This will be one I won’t mind killing,” I muttered.

Tank’s eyes met mine.

“To answer your question, I think Ripa is walking into a trap.”

“Keeps going straight to voicemail. Messages aren’t delivering.”

“They’ve scrambled his mobile,” I said under my breath, keeping my eyes on Maximo. His eyes darted about, and his shoulders were hunched, almost as if he was sure he was being watched.

I raised my hand, pointed a finger at the screen, and lowered my thumb. “You’re a dead man, you motherfucking sonuvabitch.”

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