“And what happened next? The post-legend time period? The last twenty-plus years?” Jack folded his arms and rocked back in his black military-looking boots as he stared at Zoey. The joking side of him was gone as he listened to her rattle off facts about their opponent.
“According to MI6 records, Yuri became a contract killer in 2001. No longer specifically targeting Russians. He turned his skill for killing into a formal line of work. Having made a name for himself, he attracted a lot of criminals around the world seeking him out to do their dirty work,” Zoey explained, keeping her profile to Carter. Not that Carter was looking at her. His back was to the room once again as if he couldn’t stomach the idea of Zoey working the case with Falcon.
“When did he stop killing people himself and start sending mercenaries to do the work for him?” Jesse asked.
Carter turned to face the room but said nothing. Maybe he knew he was losing the battle. If Zoey were able to help them, how could they refuse? Carter clearly trusted her enough to let her through the door, which meant he most likely believed she was being honest.
“For whatever reason, after the day Yuri faced Carter and my fiancé, he went off the grid. He stopped handling the jobs himself, well, from what our intelligence has gathered. He started training younger men to go out into the field and handle the hits for him.”
“Outsourcing murder. So, he really did branch out. He could also kill more people that way. Take on more jobs with less risk of exposure,” Jack said, shaking his head in disgust.
Zoey nodded, then looked at Jesse. “I don’t know how much Thatcher told you, but it was Yuri’s men who killed the Bulgarian agents and their wives. We believe the murders were performed in front of Zoran so he could personally confirm the deaths. We think that’s what he’d planned to have Yuri do to you and,” she said while peering at Ella, “your wife.”
“And Thatcher made sure Zoran knew I was the shooter.” Jesse stood and circled the table, his anger taking a front seat again. “My wife wouldn’t be in any danger now if he hadn’t done that. Did you know Thatcher set me up? Fed my name to Zoran as his wife’s shooter?”
Oh shit, things were about to go seriously south if Zoey’s answer was anything other than no.
Zoey surrendered her palms as if sensing Jesse wasn’t someone she wanted to tango with, and not that Jesse would ever hurt a woman, but Zoey didn’t know that. “Absolutely not.”
“None of this changes the fact that the CIA and other asshole agencies want Zoey here with us. They wouldn’t have let her roll up otherwise, and aren’t we playing into their hands by letting her stay here?” Carter asked.
“They’ve been pulling our strings this whole time,” Jesse said, eyes dead set on Zoey. “Including yours, from the sounds of it.”
“But that doesn’t mean she needs to go,” Gray remarked. “My only question . . . is this still a capture mission?” He crossed his strong arms over his barrel of a chest.
“You’re willing to forgo the rules?” Carter asked, raising his brows as if shocked by this.
Gray looked at Jesse, then over at Zoey. “Fuck it. And fuck what my father wants.” He nodded, his decision clearly final. Ella had to assume Gray’s father, the Secretary of Defense, wanted The Chechen brought in alive, like Thatcher. “I say we do it. We kill Yuri and Zoran. Take them all out.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
European History 101. Freshman year. It’d been Ella’s least favorite class at The University of Alabama. She’d never been great at memorizing facts, and her nineteen-year-old self had preferred living in the present, not concerned with the past or which Louis built the Palace of Versailles.
She’d failed her midterm that semester, a test that just so happened to focus on France. And that same night, she’d had too much tequila and had been rejected by Jesse when she offered him her virginity.
And now here we are in Versailles, France, near the palace of all freaking places. And the past was now more relevant than she could have ever envisioned as a freshman in college. Well, Jesse’s past, that was for sure.
Ella’s shoulders jumped on instinct at the growly voice she recognized as her big brother over the phone line. Jesse quickly switched the call off speaker and brought the phone to his ear.
“You think I don’t know that? Fuck, A.J., you know I’d never have gone through with the wedding or Paris had I known he was involved.” The vein at the side of Jesse’s neck throbbed as he did his best to get a handle on his anger.
She didn’t envy Jesse dealing with a pissed-off Hawkins. But in A.J.’s defense, he had their whole family to worry about and keep safe back home. And it was in A.J.’s nature to want to be on the frontlines of a fight protecting Ella himself. He was torn between two duties and with no choice but to trust Falcon Falls on this one.
Ella sat up from where she’d been lying down on the couch in the living room. She’d drifted in and out of sleep for the last several hours, and according to her watch, it was five a.m.
Jesse was currently standing at the bar, one hand planted on its surface as he hung his head, his frustration clear. The team had yet to put together a mission plan on which they all agreed. Ella wished she could help, but she had a better shot at trying to pass that history exam than coming up with any viable options to contribute to the team’s brainstorming sessions.
She searched the room for a distraction, someone or something to keep her from fixating on whatever A.J. had to be saying to keep Jesse quiet.
A.J. forgave you, she mentally told Jesse as if telepathy were a real thing. Before the wedding. Kind of, I think. But now, she wasn’t so sure how A.J. felt.
Gray looked up from his laptop, the only other person in the room at the moment. Zoey and Carter were somewhere, probably arguing for the umpteenth time. And Griffin and Savanna were asleep, well, that or having sex.
Jack and Oliver stuck to the cold outdoors, unlucky for them.
And Sydney? Probably checking in with her ex about her teenage son despite the late hour back home.
“Hey, why don’t you two get some rack time after he ends his call?” Gray jerked a thumb in the direction of the stairs.
Ella’s tongue pinned to the roof of her mouth as she contemplated the thought. The bed upstairs would be better than the lumpy couch designed more for aesthetics than comfort. But she wouldn’t complain. At least she’d been able to doze off here and there. That was what Jesse needed. Sleep. He’d be less likely to put a hole through a wall like he did back in his workshop in Bama the other day.
“You’ll have to help me convince him.” She tilted her head toward Jesse, still on the phone with her brother. He’d just yanked the hat from his head and slapped it against his thigh, likely reacting to whatever lecture A.J. was giving him.
Please, God, don’t let Jesse feel guilty again. No more going backward. A.J. would be getting an earful from her, deserving or not, if that became the case.
“He wants to talk to you.” Jesse’s bloodshot eyes connected with Ella’s, and he wearily hauled himself her way.
The phone in his hand may as well have been a grenade with the pin pulled. She didn’t want anywhere near it, but what choice did she have?