Page 8 of Code Name: Reaper
My mind raced through possibilities as I grabbed my go-bag and weapon. Local police wouldn’t approach this way, nor would German intelligence—if I’d somehow landed on their radar. That left bad actors.
My blood turned ice cold. They’d found me.
Something metallic scraped against the reinforced door—breach tools working through the security systems. Professional work, which meant this definitely wasn’t random. FSB, most likely.
I moved toward the stairs, planning to exit through the second floor and across the rooftops. Three steps up, I heard the distinctive sound of the rear door opening.
Shit. They were faster than expected. I raised my weapon as a shadow moved through the kitchen doorway.
“Amaryllis.” The voice stopped me cold. Not foreign. American. Male. Familiar.
“What the fuck?” I spun around, gun aimed, as Reaper stepped into the kitchen like he owned the place.
For a split second, relief flooded through me. I hadn’t been burned after all. Then fury took its place—white-hot, incandescent rage that made my vision blur at the edges.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” I kept the Glock trained on his center mass. My hands shook with barely controlled violence. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We need to go.Now.” His voice was granite hard, offering no room for argument as he swept the space, cataloging my setup. “FSB teams are three minutes behind me, maybe less.”
The sheer arrogance of this bastard. Breaking into my safe house, terrorizing me, and acting like he had any right to be here.
“I didn’t fucking request extraction!” The words exploded out of me like bullets. “I told you to save Mercury first, yousonuvabitch!”
His jaw clenched. “Mercury’s not the one with kill teams closing in on her location. Wren tracked you here. If she can find you, so can Prism.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Yes, you fucking do.” The insane man stepped closer and completely ignored the weapon pointed at his chest. “Enough playing lone wolf. Enough reckless bullshit while professional killers hunt you down. You want to get yourself killed? Fine. But I’m not letting you take critical intelligence with you.”
“Critical intelligence?” My laugh sounded harsh and bitter. “You mean your precious mission parameters are more important than Mercury’s life? Typical.”
“Don’t.” His voice dropped to a lethal range. “Don’t you dare question my priorities.”
“Your priorities led you to babysit me rather than provide the help I needed. Mercury is out there right now, probably being tortured by Prism’s people, and you’re playing white knight because you think I need saving. I don’t. It’s never been about me, you fucking arrogant?—”
Something shifted in his expression—raw fury that made my pulse spike for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
“You don’t need saving?” He moved closer. Close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. “You call FSB assassins arriving within the next few minutes ‘not needing saving’? Or hiding in safe houses while sending cryptic messages ‘handling it’? Sweetheart, if I have to put you in handcuffs and throw you over my shoulder to get you out of here alive, I will. Don’t test me.”
The endearment hit like a slap. “Don’t you dare call me?—”
An alert sounded on my laptop. Motion sensors triggered.
“Fuck.” I glanced at the display. Three figures moved through the garden. Different approach patterns from Reaper’s route. “They’re here.”
“I told you.” Reaper was busy readying weapons. The way his hands moved—steady and controlled—sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. “Three minutes was optimistic.”
Glass shattered in the front room. Coordinated breach—multiple entry points. These weren’t amateurs.
Heavy boots hit the hardwood floor below. Voices in Russian, sharp and efficient.
“How many?” I whispered as adrenaline overrode my anger.
Reaper went still and silent. “Small team. Four at the most. They want this quiet.”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs. They were coming up fast.
“Fire escape.” Reaper moved toward the bedroom window.
