“But you were rogue,” Hoagland replied. “Imagine what you could accomplish with the military at your back again.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, considering. It would certainly make things easier. Maybe, for once, she could get ahead of Zabójca and the Readers. Amber had gotten less and less intel from his boss and Diana knew now, based on Taras’s files, that they shouldn’t trust her anyway.
“Where’s he going?” Diana asked.
“Ah ah.” Hoagland tutted, waving a chubby finger in her face. “I need you to sign off first. Just a bit of paperwork.”
“Sell my soul?”
“Haven’t you already?”
Diana swallowed, thinking of Taras again, thinking of the spider. More information about Zabójca’s weaknesses meant more power. She didn’t yet have an antidote for his bite, but she certainly had a match to light next to the wounds that he left behind.
Hoagland passed her a form just as Amber rejoined them, tapping Hoagland on the shoulder and guiding him away from the plastic chairs. They stood at the end of one of the lanes, Amber leaning into the major general, whispering something frantically, both of them nodding along.
There was no point in wasting time. Diana signed the form. If it would get a bullet in Zabójca’s head, she would do whatever she needed to do. If not for her, then for Taras, for Ratanake, for Wesley, for Rex.
This was desperation.
Hoagland and Amber returned, boots and dress shoes thumping and clicking against the wood floors. With three swollen pink fingers, Hoagland snatched the paper from her hands, passing it to one of the soldiers behind him who immediately tucked it into his ACU jacket.
“They’re headed back to London,” Hoagland said. “He’s with that younger one that goes by ‘Asher.’”
And just from the location and the company, Diana knew who Zabójca was going to meet.
He had left Cameron Snowman behind. They were draining the funds from the veteran pension and taking off, escaping without the man who was, clearly, the most impassioned by their cause. Cameron was going to be livid.
“Sir!” somebody called from behind them, another way-too-young soldier. “They’re calling for you up above.”
Hoagland asked, “What is it?”
“The pension fund, sir,” the soldier squeaked. “They took it all.”
“Fuck.”
Diana wasn’t sure who said it, but they were all thinking it. That’s why Zabójca had taken off—because they’d accomplished what they needed to, and he wasn’t going to stick around in America to get arrested or shot. Cameron was a distraction of more needless destruction.
As the soldiers began to filter out, Hoagland promised he’d email all the details.
Diana stood next to Amber. He wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder and she accepted it, leaning into him. Axtell took one final glance over her shoulder, nodding at Diana, a thank-you-for-saving-my-life type of nod. Diana bowed her head.
“So we know where he’s going…” Diana muttered as soon as they were gone, turning to Amber.
“Yup,” Amber said. “To the ex-wife.”
“With the kid too.”
“Family reunion.”
Diana unhooked herself from his arm so she could stare up at him and say, “And Voss is going to kill him if we don’t do it first.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Amber asked.
“I don’t know…” Diana said. “There are a lot of people that want the satisfaction of killing Zabójca. And I’m sure Hoagland hired us so they could get the credit instead of MI6.”
“MI6 wouldn’t take the credit anyway…” Amber replied. “Voss, though. She wanted you to take it.”
“If she doesn’t kill him before we get there,” Diana said, “I’ll take it.”
Chapter 25
Rex Tennison
London, England
Alive. For now, he was alive. The pain had almost killed him, the infection in his blood had almost done the job and if not any of those, Amita Voss could have stepped up to the plate to finish him off. The funeral, the flight, the bathroom—they all felt like a really bad trip, multicolored hallucinations filled with blood and puss.
Wesley was okay. But Diana and Kennedy? Did Voss have her hands on them? He couldn’t help but wonder about Taras as well. The most recent memories that he could pull were dinners and conversations with Taras Kushkin. Every time he tried to think of something else he was swarmed with the dry heat of the desert, the sweetness of freshly squeezed orange juice, his hands wrapped around Taras’s neck. But there was something different about it.
Those few days ago when they’d restarted his heart, it had changed the look of Taras in his dreams and nightmares. He was just a shadow now, moving through his memories. That connection had been smudged or erased or broken entirely. And it hurt more than he expected.
But he couldn’t tell Wesley this. He couldn’t tell anyone of the heartbreak he was feeling for a Russian terrorist. Not that Rex had been in love with Taras or anything even remotely close, but Taras had been right—there had been a bond between them. Just not anymore. Now he was waiting for death at the hands of this Amita Voss, who was out to accomplish some type of personal vendetta against the Readers or against Diana. He couldn’t be sure.
The burn was finally starting to heal.
With the fluids she was pumping into him, he could feel his strength returning by the hour. Rex had always been a quick healer, and when he was a kid, he liked to compare himself to Wolverine, the X-man not the animal.
Rex had died. He had floated into the realm of death before those panels had electrocuted him back into this hellhole of an office. So maybe he was less of a Wolverine and more of a resurrection-style Jean Grey. Diana would laugh at him, comparing himself to the X-Men again, but he had a feeling she secretly liked that side of him.
He missed her.
They had a plan.
Rex and Wesley had talked about it all night. It had been so long since Rex had talked that much that his throat
