Jennifer Rardin [Jaz Parks series book 2] Another One Bites The Dust

 I took a deep breath. “I know this mission wasn’t easy for either one of you. You’re both so great at what you do. I mean, you have that passion that is really integral to being exceptional, and so of course you’re going to clash. And yet here you are, doing the hardest part of the work and making a damn good team.” I shrugged. “I forgive you.”

 Cassandra clapped her hands once, hard, the way she does when she’s delighted. And Bergman’s eyes shone so bright he had to take off his glasses to keep from blinding himself. They gave each other high fives, which Bergman found painful from the way he rubbed his hand down his thigh afterward, and trooped back into the RV. Within seconds Bergman came back outside with our safe phone. “It’s for you,” he said, handing the cell to Vayl.

 “Yes?” Vayl listened for maybe twenty seconds, his eyes darkening as the news filtered through his emotions. “Of course we want this. We will be there in twenty minutes.” He snapped the phone shut. “You had better get changed.”

 “Yeah?”

 “That was Pete. He said they found the men’s clothing shop you mentioned. The one that had served both Shunyuan Fa and Desmond Yale?”

 “Frierman’s? In Reno?”

 He nodded. “After about an hour of rather intense interrogation the tailor admitted that Edward Samos has many of his meetings in his shop and that one is scheduled for tonight. Pete has chartered us a plane. We have”— he checked his watch—“eighteen minutes to make it to the airport.”

 I went for the door.

 “Jasmine?”

 I turned back.

 “Remember to load your gun.”

 CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT

 Islept on the plane. The best kind. The healing kind. Deep. Without dreams. Definitely without sleepwalking. Where, when you wake up, you don’t even care if you snored.

 Pete had a car waiting for us, one driven by a bright-eyed young pup wearing a black knit hat and matching jogging suit. He offered us both coffee, opened the doors for us, and kept quiet while he sped us through the neon- lit streets of Reno. We parked on the street. Frierman’s was small, but it still managed a luxurious feel. I attributed it mostly to the black tuxedos hanging in the windows, backed by red velvet curtains and lit by sparkling chandeliers.

 “You’re cleared to go in,” the driver volunteered, holding up the paperwork so we could see.

 I could’ve said, “Sweetie, my boss would never go to the expense of flying us anywhere if he wasn’t sure we could make it through the door once we landed.” Instead I nodded and followed Vayl out of the car.

 The driver went around back, ostensibly to block the exit should anybody at the meeting decide to make a break for it. But as soon as we stepped into the alcove created by the recessed doorway I had a feeling running wouldn’t be a problem.

 “I don’t sense any vampires in the vicinity besides you,” I whispered to Vayl as I worked the lock. It didn’t stop me long. I wore a necklace, compliments of Bergman, whose shark-tooth centerpiece could mold itself into any key, given a couple of seconds. “In fact, I don’t sense anyothers at all.”

 “And the only strong human emotion I am picking up on is our driver’s,” Vayl said. “He is quite excited about this whole event.”

 “Huh.” I’d caught that too. Annoying. Mostly because he was about my age and yet he made me feelold .

 We inched inside the store, skirted racks of trousers and dress shirts, made our way to the back of the retail area, where shelves of shoes guarded a door whose sign warned us we’d better be employees if we wanted to go any farther. We went anyway. But only to the other side.

 The sight and smell that hit us when we entered the back room stopped us after only a couple of steps.

 “I never would’ve believed such a tiny man could hold so much blood.” I leaned into Vayl, trying not to puke, cry, pass out, or swear. It was easier than it should’ve been.

 Morty Frierman had been hung from a ceiling joist with a noose made from his own measuring tape. Then someone—Samos, you sick, twisted bastard, I cannot wait until the day I end your fiendish existence—had ripped him open reaver style. It looked to me like all his parts were still intact, so I kinda thought Samos had just learned a new trick from that old dog Yale.

 Our phone buzzed against my thigh. I went outside to answer it. “Yeah?”

 “Jasmine? It’s Cassandra.”

 “What’s up?”

 “Cole came back.” Long silence while I decided things did not bode well back at the home place.

 “What’s he up to?”

 “He’s been very . . . professional.” Okay, that in itself was just weird. “He didn’t say anything about what happened while he was gone. But, of course, he had told Jericho about the massacre on theConstance Malloy . So he began talking about how Jericho’s people had boarded the yacht and begun detaining generals and recovering bodies. Then, without even calling Pete, Cole decided he should be the CIA’s liaison in that matter, so he ran off to watch. And just before he left he said, ‘Oh, by the way Cassandra, Jericho said to tell you he probably wouldn’t get a chance to see you again, so goodbye.’ He was just so cold about it, Jasmine. As if I should grow up and get over it, you know, yesterday.”

 Oh boy. My first instinct was to order Cassandra and Bergman to drag Cole off that yacht and dunk his head into the bay until the pompous ass washed right out of him. But I knew this wouldn’t work as a long-term solution to the problem. Which was, in fact, that he had become an assassin tonight. That he would be doing more killing as time went by. That he would have to find a way to eliminate his targets without breaking off little parts of himself every time he did so.