Would there be life after the excitement of relic hunting?
Angry, she rose and punched Scarface in the nose just as he topped the stairs. Luckily for him, and his friend, he fell sideways not backward, staggering to his knees on the roof. His friend—a thick-necked brute with facial hair and rings on every finger—put his head down and barged into her, knocking her off her feet. Cassidy was half-carried, half-pushed across the rooftop in the brute’s armlock until, flailing wildly, he ran out of momentum.
He collapsed to his knees, panting, desperately trying to catch his breath.
“You need to start hitting the gym, buddy, instead of people.”
She shrugged off the indignity of being carried helplessly for ten feet and crashed her boot down into the back of his neck. He collapsed face first to the floor, gasping, ready for the final blow, but then Scarface rose and approached fast, face twisted into a violent sneer that showed he wasn’t about to ask her to dinner. Cassidy consoled herself by standing on the brute’s back to meet him.
Scarface wanted her. He flung fist after fist and made her retreat. She blocked, aware that she was close to the edge of the roof. Brutus, as she’d named the other guy, was trying to rise, shaking that big shaggy head. Cassidy chanced a look back to assess where the roof ended and caught a blow on the chin.
She glared at Scarface as she rubbed her bruised jaw. “I’m no good to you if I’m dead, asshole.”
“You’re wanted, dead or alive, baby.”
Cassidy was surprised. “Is that straight from DC?”
“Straight from the main man—Pang. Kenny Pang. He’s coming for you. You fucked up big time.”
So Pang was on their trail, and he was pissed. Cassidy was kind of pleased about that. “And you think you’re gonna take me in dead?”
“Tell you what—shake out that red mane, baby, and we’ll see how good you look. Then I’ll decide if you live.”
Cassidy feigned shock. “Oh, that’s just so sexist. You bastard.” She spun away, ran four steps, and jumped, landing lightly on the next roof and rolling.
Scarface came after her without pause, which gave her a plan for the next roof. Brutus lumbered to the lipped edge, looking down.
“He’s looking a bit scared,” Cassidy said.
Scarface glanced back. She struck out, smashing his face left and right before kicking him in the sternum. Only the last blow had any effect, doubling him over.
Cassidy turned once more and ran for the far edge of the roof. When Scarface closed in on her, she whirled, left leg extended, and kicked him in the face. Scarface spun with the force of her momentum and crashed to the ground, blood flowing from a broken nose and gashed temple.
Cassidy stood upright, blood smeared across her own face, high on a rooftop in Moscow with all the winds of winter blasting at her. The curved roof of the train station was visible to the north, the Kremlin to the east, with a concrete jungle of houses, museums and churches all around her. Brutus was lumbering for her and Scarface was groaning. This was where she felt alive, right here, right now. In victory and in danger. In violence and in action. This was all that she would miss in one passionate snapshot. But she would do it for the team, for Guy Bodie. She would try.
Cassidy waited for Brutus. She could have run, could have outdistanced him, but she set herself and took all the force of his attack. He swung fists and tried to kick. She danced around the blows, striking his throat, ears and eyes. Brutus covered up, overwhelmed. He struck out blindly, infuriated. Cassidy kicked him in the knees, folding him to the floor. Scarface was rising, on all fours now. Cassidy walked up behind him and kicked him hard between the legs. Scarface collapsed with a high keening sound.
“Kill me, would you?” She bent down to whisper in his ear. “Just remember, I could kill you now. And Pang? He’s a killer too. Watch him. And don’t believe everything you hear about the relic hunters. We’re victims, not criminals. We’re just trying to be free.”
Scarface rolled, his face a bloody mask, hands cupping his groin. “Free?” he grated. “Nobody’s free. We all serve The Man. You don’t get that?”
“I serve no man,” Cassidy whispered. “Figurative or otherwise. The world is overflowing with riches. You just gotta know where to look.”
She rose, smelling the cold, fresh air. All her horizons were clear. The city stood before her, but it was time to leave this immense freedom behind and go into hiding. The irony of that thought and her situation didn’t escape her.
But she would do it for her friends.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jemma wasn’t convinced that having Lucie as a travel companion was a good idea. Lucie was strait-laced, always analyzing and usually critical. The only bright side here was that she liked to travel.
And Rome was one of her favorite cities.
Being a historian by trade, Rome offered a plethora of possibilities for Lucie. Jemma had to remind her time and time again that they were here to create another false flag for Pang and his CIA cronies to follow, not check out seven different museums and the bloody Vatican archives.
Jemma was a planner, a job designer, the engineer of the best heists they’d ever pulled. So, despite Bodie’s experience and Cassidy’s combat abilities, she’d been considered the best of them for this particular mission. Thus, she’d inherited Lucie—the most vulnerable of them. Jemma had approached their trip to Rome as she would a dangerous mission, building in plenty of bolt holes. She wasn’t necessarily a field agent, but was clever and fast and had been trained to fight if the need arose, just not at high level.
Rome was a
