Those thoughts rattled Bo's mind as he raised the coffee mug to his lips and took another long sip. The Turks liked their coffee strong, almost bitterly so, and they didn't typically use cream or milk in it—at least not the Turkish people he knew. And there were several. Some utilized sugar to smooth out the taste, and he'd done so liberally.
He peered over the mug's rim at the apartment building. Even if Dak had managed to survive the ordeal in Portugal, as he suspected, that would make this chapter of their story all the sweeter.
Bo had never met Nicole, but he'd seen pictures. The woman mesmerized him, even just the images of her. Dak spoke of her sparingly, but when he did, Bo knew this woman still held his heart in a steel vault, unwilling to let it go.
She was beautiful, of that no doubt existed, but beyond her exterior beauty, Dak spoke of her spirit, her untamed passion to squeeze every drop of juice from the lemon of life.
That particular piece excited Bo the most. After all, the best hunt was always feral game.
He caught a glimpse of a familiar face gliding down the sidewalk. It blinked in and out between the pedestrians walking in the other direction. Bo perked up and leaned forward, peering at her through the aviator sunglasses perched on his nose. He let them slide down a little and gazed over the rims at the woman as she gobbled up the sidewalk with long strides.
She walked with the purpose of a businesswoman about to engineer a hostile takeover. Bo knew that wasn't her, though. Dak had been elusive about her career, but he knew enough. She could be dangerous if he wasn't careful. That cautionary thought only heightened his excitement. He was going to enjoy this.
He stood and slung his backpack over the right shoulder and walked to the sidewalk, where he turned and quickly scurried down to the crosswalk. The city street was too busy for him to cross here. Traffic started and stopped too frequently. He doubted he'd be hit by a car with the log jam going on, but the honk of an irritated diver's horn would startle his quarry. She would look to see the source of the trouble on the street and then spot him.
Not that she'd know who he was or why he was there, but the element of surprise was his primary advantage at this point. Getting her alone, in her building, was the goal.
The light changed and the walk signal illuminated on the street sign opposite where Bo stood. He hurried through the intersection and veered left as the woman slowed, nearing the entrance to her apartment building.
Bo cut left again onto the sidewalk, twisting and sliding past the oncoming pedestrian flood until he could see the woman just ahead. She'd already unlocked the front door, and while Bo certainly had his methods to break into people's homes, doing it the easy way would be preferable.
She stepped in through the apartment door as he cleared through the last of the people. The door inched its way toward closing. If he didn't move fast, he'd miss it.
Bo stumbled toward the steps and rounded them in a flash, his left leg whipping out behind him before planting it on the second step and vaulting his weight toward the closing door. At the last possible moment, Bo reached out and grabbed the edge of the door a split second before it closed. He felt the cool air of the entryway lobby against his knuckles, and with it, a tendril of relief.
He looked into the lobby, but the woman was gone. The stairs and the room beyond were vacant. And there was no sign that anyone was on the elevator.
"Where did you go?" he hissed.
Seven
Istanbul
Bo stared into the lobby, scanning it for any sign of the woman. If he lurked much longer, he'd arouse suspicion from passersby. Step inside, and he could be walking into a trap.
Trap? What was he thinking? The mark didn't know she was being followed. He was 99 percent certain she hadn't seen him approaching on the sidewalk. That wasn't a hundred, though, and there was always that one percent that gnawed through the best-laid plans.
He made his decision and stepped through the door, silent as a gentle breeze, and eased the door shut behind him.
Bo stood in the lobby, his hand shifting to the pistol concealed in his gray button down jacket. He drew the weapon and leveled it at his waist, then froze. He listened intensely and heard the sound of footfalls ascending the stairs. It was the repetitive click of shoes on steps, and he knew from the sound they were women's shoes—the kind he'd seen his target wearing the second before she disappeared into the building's entrance.
He snapped into action, padding quickly over to the stairwell. He wrapped his hand around a black metal knob on the railing and propelled himself upward, taking two steps with every stride. Bo carefully placed his feet on the edge of each step to keep his movement silent. His jeans rustled slightly, but by keeping his legs wide, that inhibited most of the sound to a nearly unnoticeable swish.
At the second floor landing, he paused and listened. The clicks echoed down from overhead. He pressed upward, continuing his ascent, his ghostlike movements drawing him nearer to his mark by the second.
Then, beyond the midway landing between the third and fourth floors, he caught sight of the target. Her red dress fluttered for a second, and he knew he had her. As he rounded the next corner, he skidded to a halt, freezing his place.
She'd stopped halfway up the next flight of stairs. Her laptop case hung from her left shoulder and her head drooped, as if she stared idle at the next step.
Was she taking a break? Had she heard
