Page 20 of License to Kill

“Yes.” Securing revenge put me in the bad guy camp, but maybe I’d never get closure regarding my ma, I’d do some serious damage to the group who’d made a mess of my life.

Without them, everything would have been different.

Amelia gestured to her phone, which already had the app for the bomb open. “Same deal as last time. Just give me a few minutes to find a good place to park.”

When she had the truck parked and she gave her go ahead, I pressed and held the screen until the button changed colors before tapping it to trigger the detonation.

The bomb didn’t disappoint. It blew hard enough to rattle the windows in the vehicle, and I could feel the explosion in my bones. “What’s next?”

“We settle back at camp and watch the wires for a while. This hit will send the FBI coming in swarms, as it’s the second such explosion at a similar location, and they’ll inevitably conclude there’s a connection, which is exactly what we want them to be doing. Then we wait to see what the remaining mercenaries in the area do.”

“Cause trouble, I’m sure.” I could see the mercenaries trying to get payback, except the black market ops wanted us to disappear. Fortunately for us, the black market ops wanted us around later in case they needed someone else to plant an obscene number of explosives around a building to reduce it to some bits of ash and smoke. “Does this make us terrorists, Amelia?”

“It makes us killers for hire, but we’re not really terrorists. We’re not terrorizing anyone. We’re doing our work in fairly remote locations, and we’re only taking out the guilty. These guys are the terrorists. We’re just helpful patriots doing our thing. Don’t worry so much. Even the Inquisition wants these guys eliminated, so even if they do send investigators, they’ll ignore any paw prints spotted.”

“How do you know about the Inquisition’s activities?”

“The black market, of course. There are Inquisitors in the market, and they’re monitoring stuff almost as thoroughly as I do. Some of the market ops even know about the Inquisition, and as they like their lives and their markets intact, they don’t peep a word about it.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“We relax for a week or two, keep an eye on the company’s activities, and if there are any issues, we deal with them. Even better, since we’re dealing with a black market job, we get paid if we have to deal with them—and we get paid to wait. It’ll take a week or two, but you’ll have a special bank account with your funds soon enough. There will be an offshore account for use as needed, and you’ll have one or two American accounts. If you become active enough, you’ll have a ridiculous number of accounts that are given smaller payments to prevent banking flags. Most of the larger lump sums go to offshore accounts, however. Then you can gradually funnel money over as you need or just eat ATM fees. I just usually draw cash and eat the fees.”

“Do I want to know how much we’re being paid for this?”

“We’re getting an equal cut, so you’ll find out soon enough. I recommend you don’t think about it for now. Let’s just say you won’t be worrying about money anytime soon.”

Six

Along the way, I’d lost the ability to seek out silver linings.

Our plan fell apart two days after we’d put an explosive end to twenty-seven members of the mercenary group responsible for the shooting in London and the Greenwich case.

The FBI wanted a piece of the pie, and they did a damned fine job finding the connections between their demise and my murder. Amelia’s ploy had worked better than I liked.

According to the black market, I’d been registered as presumed dead or missing and at high risk. Not reporting to duty still remained a flag on my file, but the murder attempt—or successful murder—had been listed as the reason I hadn’t appeared for work when the FBI wanted me to.

Along the way, I’d lost the ability to seek out silver linings.

With my luck, if the FBI discovered I was alive, they would opt against considering the reasons I hadn’t turned up in time to go to work. They’d ignore I was a victim, something Amelia had successfully convinced me of, although I’d been half the reason I’d become a victim.

She disagreed with me.

I’d learned not to argue with her.

Unfortunately for me, somebody had forgotten the rules about personal involvement in cases, resulting in the Thomas family, myself excluded, coming to Georgia and poking their noses into my business. Again. Unfortunately for them, they lacked our uncanny knack for getting the job done without anyone becoming aware of our lethal presence.

If Amelia and I had been the ones in charge, we would have blown the warehouse up rather than sneak around in it. I suspected Jake was the one to come up with the idiotic idea of exploring the not-quite abandoned warehouse.

When we’d first partnered together, he’d wanted to explore an old factory because he had more curiosity problems than any damned cat. I’d gotten shot during that incident, too, although he’d prevented the bullet from blasting through my brain. I still had the scar on my leg from that stunt.

Jake had problems with abandoned or interestingly empty buildings.

“He’s an idiot,” I informed Amelia.

“Your mate?”

“That was the idiot I’m talking about, and please stop calling him that. I already told him we’re divorcing.”