Page 9 of Crossfire

This woman had interrupted the most important hit of my life, and while it wasn’t the sole reason I’d failed to get a shot, her surprise appearance sure as hell hadn’t helped.

I will not rest until I catch her and find out who this woman is.

Her speed was goddamned suspicious, if you ask me, particularly for a woman of her petite size. How was someone so small capable of doing what she did to that driver—a man at least twice her size? In all my years of service, I had never seen someone of her stature embody such an inexplicable threat.

And how was she outpacing me?

Our footsteps echoed against the backdrop of decaying steel and concrete until they were drowned out by the wind’s howl, which seemed to laugh as I chased her through the empty street.

With every breath I took, the October chill sank its sharpened needles deeper into my lungs, each icy prick a jolt to my fraying nerves as I continued my maddening chase of the suspect ahead.

Was she a member of another CIA team? Small teams were vital to keeping well-guarded secrets within our country; was it possible the CIA had sent in a second agent to make sure Vosch was dead?

Her long, dark hair streamed behind her, and her slender arms pumped as she barely made it across the intersection before a deafening explosion shattered the daylight with a roar that seemed to tear the air apart. And shook the ground beneath our feet.

As debris rained down, she collapsed, shielding herself from the concrete shrapnel—which, thanks to our distance and the central positioning of the bomb, was mostly composed of small, innocuous fragments.

The world had turned to chaos, my ears ringing from that damn blast, but our chase of predator versus prey was far from over.

I scanned the empty windows and doorways of nearby buildings, searching for any sign of life, any witness to my approach, closing the thirty feet of distance between us.

Suddenly, the woman launched herself to her feet and took off in a sprint.

We darted across one intersection, then another, and just as victory seemed within reach, my muscles tensed at an unwelcome sight.

A scattering of people walked toward the concrete graveyard with widened eyes. They looked like damn zombies, attracted to the scene of destruction behind me like a moth to a flame.

You think you can disappear into the crowd and escape me? You’ve sorely underestimated me, sweetheart.

“Hey!” my mystery woman screamed, waving her hand at someone.

“Damn,” I mumbled, slowing my pace.

“Hey! Help me!” she shrieked.

There was no way she was CIA. The CIA had strict protocols for how to handle an operation, even one that had gone to shit, so she wouldn’t be waiving down pedestrians like she’d escaped a serial killer.

Who was this woman?

The crowd became my camouflage as I melded into them, blending in with the confusion. Here, a faint dust coated everything in a fine layer of grayish-white powder, but just three blocks down, the city streets resembled a minor war zone with shattered windows, some crumbled brickwork, and twisted metal scattered across the pavement. While pedestrians fixated on the destruction, I watched the woman’s actions—which were so blatant, they defied every dark explanation.

Especially when a wail of sirens cut through the crowd, and a police cruiser screeched to a halt, his hand resting on his holster as he emerged to survey the scene.

“Officer!” she yelled.

The law enforcement complication didn’t bother me from the CIA’s perspective; the CIA was skilled at cleaning up messes. Even ones as big as this one, but I didn’t need her under police protection; I needed to get her alone and find out what she was doing at a top-secret location where the biggest arms dealer in the world had a private meeting. A meeting only the suspects and the CIA were privy to.

Inconspicuously, I stepped closer to her, pretending to be engrossed by the image of dust and broken concrete when, in reality, I was listening.

Carefully.

Her words came out in panicked bursts, though, and with the surrounding people not shutting up about the explosion in addition to the lingering ringing in my ears, I could only make out parts of what she was saying. Still, I dissected every word I could hear, searching for the truth behind her identity.

“…grabbed my hair…and then he…”

“I need you to calm down, ma’am,” the cop said.

“…ran…explosion.”

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