Page 5 of Every Last Breath

Another spike of alarm he couldn’t explain or shake keyed up his synapses to high alert.

He slipped off the Buddha necklace and rubbed the solid beads. One hundred and eight steel ball bearings threaded with galvanized aviation wire and strong as hell. The decorative tassel and dharma wheel pendant added the distinctive touch, making a deadly tool seem a harmless instrument of prayer.

Some might consider it sacrilegious. To him, it was smart. “Anya.”

She spun around, hopeful excitement beaming on her wholesome face.

“I’ll have it to go. And add borscht to the order.”

Her mouth flattened and the light in her eyes died like a blown bulb, but she nodded.

Olga made a beeline to his table and set a glass of ice water down. “Is very hot today,” she said with the thick accent from the Urals. “Anya always forget to give you water.”

“Spasibo.” Thank you in Russian. His throat was parched from the oven-baked ride. He pounded half the glass, drinking past the taste of chlorine and old metal in the tap water. If he had intended to stay, he’d get bottled. “Are you feeling okay, Olga? You seem a bit off.”

She wiped shaky hands on her apron, her gaze jumpy. “I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They threatened to take my visa. Close my uncle’s restaurant.” She met his eyes.

The fear in her face gripped him by the jugular. Lowering her head, she ran to the kitchen. His gaze dropped to the glass of water, and his blood turned to slush.

No telling what the water had been spiked with or how long he had before it took effect. Cole stood, and the room spun. His vision blurred, then cleared.

Shouting erupted in the kitchen. Dishes clattered to the floor. Outside, a white SUV double-parked in front of the café, blocking his bike. Diplomatic plates, YR. Russians.

Damn. Russian intelligence was worse than if the mob had come for him on their own. Also explained how those ticks, who lived and breathed tradecraft, could’ve been crawling all over him for days without him noticing. Clever of the Bratva to use them.

Three men in black suits hopped out of the SUV. Three more entered the main dining room from the kitchen and pushed past a flabbergasted Anya.

Cole’s pulse went ballistic, but his mind locked on one thing—self-preservation. He war-gamed options. None boded well for him.

He clutched the tassel, wrapping the Buddha necklace once around his hand, letting the rest of the beads dangle, and unsnapped the sheath of the blade at the small of his back.

The men drew closer, cutting off his exits. He was cornered.

With muscular cords protruding from their thick necks, wide jowls, and buzz cuts, they looked like a pack of Dobermans ready to tear into him.

Fortunately for Cole, he was a different breed. More werewolf than dog.

Two bruisers flanked him. “Time to go home,” one said in Russian.

Cole swung the necklace, whipping it hard across the face of the man on the right. The crunch of his jawbone breaking was audible, and the guy crashed into a table.

Whirling left, Cole lashed backhanded at the other man’s arm, stopping him from reaching into his jacket for a weapon. Not hesitating for a second, Cole thrashed the guy’s head with a powerful one-two wallop of the beads, sending him spilling to the floor.

Rubbery weakness pulsed in Cole’s legs. Dizziness washed over him. He pulled his blade and kicked the table into two others, desperate to stay on his feet.

Darkness edged his vision. His throat tightened, heartbeat slowing when it should’ve been skyrocketing, thanks to the drug flooding his system.

He had one minute to do as much damage as possible.

Then his knees would buckle, it’d be lights out, and he would be as good as dead.

Chapter 03

Georgetown, Washington, DC

1:50 p.m. EDT

Two blocks from the target’s location,” Maddox said as Reece zigzagged through traffic on M Street.