Page 25 of Code Name: Admiral

My eyes met Diesel’s, and he nodded. While Tank was under contract with the FBI, he was employed by Doc and Merrigan Butler, the same as Diesel was. Which reminded me of something. Later, when I knew Alice was safe and Bobby was in custody, I’d find out exactly why the Butlers had agreed to allow two of their best operatives to work with me at the bureau. They had to have a reason a helluva lot more compelling than helping me.

I turned to Tank. “Okay. See what you can find out.”

When he walked away, I looked at Grit. “Once we get beyond whatever’s about to go down at the cemetery, I need my own escape plan.”

“Meaning?” he asked.

“I’ll need to get Alice out of there.” My eyes met Diesel’s, and based on his expression, he knew where I had in mind.

“Either of you want to fill me in?” Grit asked, looking between us.

“K19 Shadow Ops’ HQ is in the Adirondacks,” Diesel answered before I could. “It would make sense, given we’ve already got a crew there.”

“How many?” Grit asked.

Diesel shrugged. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Four or five extra guns should be sufficient.”

“On it,” Grit said, walking away.

“Thanks, man,” I said to Diesel.

“Of course. So, what’s next?”

I hung my head. “I don’t know. We’ve got a ticking clock and a woman with nothing left to lose.”

“Except you,” Diesel said quietly.

I shot him a look.

“Don’t kid yourself, Admiral. She felt it too. Whatever this thing is between you—it’s real.”

I wanted to argue, to maintain some pretense of professional distance. But the words wouldn’t come. Because he was right. In the brief time I’d known her, Alice Gordon had gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever had. And now, she was out there, alone, planning what could only be described as a suicide mission.

I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.

“Forty-seven hours,” I said, more to myself than the others. “Let’s make them count.”

11

ALICE

TWO DAYS LATER

The weight of the gun pressed against my hip through my patchwork bag as I moved through the cemetery. Each step crunched in the fresh snow, counting down the moments until I’d finally face him. Bobby Kane stood a few feet from Sarah’s plot, exactly where I knew he’d be. The bastard who killed my sister had actually shown up for the inurnment as I’d hoped he would. Still, it galled me that he thought he had any right to be here. As if he wasn’t the one to extinguish the bright light she’d been.

My heart thundered against my ribs, but my mind was crystal clear. The crazy quilt bag Sarah had made me last Christmas held what I needed—the .38 Special—only one of the weapons I’d bought from a guy who didn’t ask questions. She’d always teased me about bringing that bag everywhere she and I went together. Now, it carried the means of her revenge.

The bitter January wind whipped strands of my long hair, which even pulled back in a hair tie still hit me across the face.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the bag, but not from the cold. I’d never killed anyone before, but for Sarah, I’d do anything. Bobby Kane deserved to die for what he’d done to her.

The closer I got, the harder it was to steady my hand. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Bobby stood with his hands in the pockets of his tattered wool coat, staring at Sarah’s temporary marker as if he had the right to mourn her. Did he see her face in his dreams, like I did? Did he hear her laugh, only to wake up remembering she was gone? Or was he too high on the same fentanyl he’d used to kill her that he felt no remorse for what he’d done?

I barely registered the shouts in the distance or the flash of movement in my peripheral vision. My focus narrowed to Bobby and the gun now in my hand. Just a few more steps. Just one clean shot.

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