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I scratched my jaw, "I've been busy, Harper. We didn't carry gaming consoles well on missions."
"Ugh." She snorts, "You lose points in my book, Cowboy."
"I only care about Poppy's book."
"Good. I like that. Anyway, back to Tyler." She begins.
Thank god. What is the point of this call except to tell me she illegally hacked into the CIA?
“I beat him in a hackathon when I was seventeen. He’s a prick who thinks he can hack into anything. He knows jack shit,”
I feel a pounding behind my eyes, starting to build like a drum. “Harper. You have to get to the point, or a team will be outside your house to collect you as we speak. Poppy’s friend or not.” I warn, my patience is wearing thin.
“Oh, bossy. I like it.” She chuckles. "Fine. I've been monitoring the dark web, part of my job. There's chatter about The Ghost Legion, a group of assassins paid in cryptocurrency. A few months ago, their top guy, Silent Dagger, missed his mark. It's such a stupid name because he doesn't kill with knives, but then again, men are the lesser sex, so I don’t expect them to pick names that make sense. If I were an assassin, I'd have a much cooler name."
I fear she's about to go off into a new tangent, but she refrains.
"He claimed it was intentional, but it caused a stir. The Ghost Legion is all about clean kills, not drawing attention. Tell me, Julian, isn't your uncle searching for a top-notch sniper who missed his mark on purpose?"
Holy shit!
"You foundall this before my uncle did?" I lean forward, captivated and alarmed. Poppy suggested I ask Harper for help, but I trusted my uncle, the head of the CIA, to handle it. Clearly, I underestimated the intellect of a female trying to protect another female.
"I found a lot more," she says confidently. "I've emailed you the details. The link in the email leads to a secure server. If I lose my job over this, I'll join that chat group and make sure they don't miss your heart next time, Julian." Her words are a stony warning.
"You're not going to lose your job, Harper," I reassure her, though, in truth, my uncle might just coerce her into working for him, given her skills.
“The sniper is an ex-pat who owes a lot to a Russian Bratva Pakhan. That's a mob boss, in case you're not up to date on your romance novels,” Harper informs me with a hint of sarcasm.
“My what?” I need a translator for her level of female insanity.
“Bratva, Russian mafia romance. When was the last time you read, Julian? It's the latest in dark romance books,” she explains, almost mockingly. "Poppy loves romance books. I've been trying to get her into dark romance, but so far, she's been fairly vanilla. Fairy tale endings; the hero always wins. No whips and chains. Maybe you can add some spice to her bookshelf."
"I'll clue Kent on what you prefer." I shake my head, slightly amused yet focused. “Tell me what else you know, Harper.”
Her voice sounds like an eye roll. "Read a book, Julian. Poppy loves romance novels. Trust me, they're filled with stuff women love. You might learn a thing or two,” she suggests, half-teasing, half-serious.
“Okay, I’ll read a book,” I growl. “Now tell me what else you found out.”
“The Russian the sniper is indebted to is trying to climb the ranks in the criminal world. The easiest way for him to do that is by handing them a shiny new toy — Sterling's defensive toy, as in the one he wants you to send him to end the threats,” she says, her tone turning grave.
For the next ten minutes, Harper delves into the details about the sniper and the Russian targeting my family. I listen, impressed and speechless by the depth of her information. I pull out my phone and text my uncle to come to my office immediately.
“You should also know that the Russian is even more arrogant than we thought,” Harper adds.
“What do you mean?” I ask, intrigued.
“He's on US soil right now. To be more specific, he's in his forty-million-dollar New York apartment, living the high life. He has girlfriends on every continent, the typical playboy. Make sure you roast him good for me,” she says with a mixture of disgust and expectation. "Cut off his balls. You can do that during interrogation, right?"
"I hope you never interrogate anyone."
"What?" She feigns shock. "It's not as bad as waterboarding. A snip here and there makes them crack in no time."
My thighs clench at just the thought. I hope Harper never progresses the career ladder. The woman is psycho.
“Your uncle was getting close. The Russian was careful, but the sniper got sloppy. I estimate Tyler would have solved it in another two weeks,” she reveals.
“Two weeks can mean life or death,” I acknowledge, the gravity of the situation hitting me.
