Kill Shot Read Online Free Page B

said.
“You’re too uptight. When was the last time you got laid?”
    “I’ve got a visual,” Gabe said before his
two agents could get into an argument. “Tan sedan at five
o’clock.”
    “Hot damn. I guess Grim Reaper really does
know what he’s talking about.”
    “Dragon, shut up before Logan kills you,”
Gabe said, rolling his eyes.
    “Sure thing, Ghost. I’m real agreeable like
that. I’m running the second face through the recognition program.
The plates on the tan sedan are also fake.”
    “What do you want me to do, Ghost?” Logan
asked. “We’ll be at headquarters soon.”
    “Go ahead and lose them,” Gabe said.
    “What’s the point?” Grace asked. “It’ll only
be a matter of time before they find your headquarters if they were
able to track you from the airport.”
    “Yes, but I prefer to make them work for it.
If they use computers, then Dragon might be able to lock in on
their location.”
    A low whistle echoed through the phone line.
“Damn, that’s the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” Dragon said.
“Please tell me it belongs to the package you went to pick up. Is
she single? What color is her hair?”
    “Goodbye, Dragon,” Gabe said and
disconnected the line. Gabe caught Grace’s snicker out of the
corner of his eye.
    “Somebody is going to kill that wanker
someday,” Logan muttered.
    “Meaning you?” Grace asked.
    “I can only hope.”
    Grace held on to the seat as Logan
accelerated across four lanes of traffic. Horns blared, and she
turned to watch the tail cars scramble to keep up. They exited onto
a roundabout that had just enough traffic to make things confusing,
and they disappeared into the heart of London, no trace of their
followers behind them.
    Half an hour later, Logan drove them up to
the front gate of the building Gabe owned on Chapel Street. It was
six stories of dark red brick and beveled bulletproof windows. Wet
ivy drooped in planter boxes and snaked across the front of the
building—a green so dark it looked black against the red of the
brick.
    “What’s your cover?” Grace asked.
    “Worthington Financial Services. It’s solid.
Licensed and taxed to the max. Owned by Edgar Harris. Me,” he said,
giving her a wolfish grin. “Your cover is Maggie Fitzpatrick, my
new analyst. You’ll only need the cover when you go outside the
safety of the building. No one’s allowed inside except for
agents.”
    “Am I staying here?”
    “You have an apartment on the sixth floor.
It’s furnished, and a wardrobe has been supplied, though the
clothes might be too big. You’ve lost weight.”
    “I figured you’d take the top floor.”
    “I did,” he said, smiling at the mutinous
look that crossed her face. “I’m across the hall from you.”
    “As long as you stay on your side, we won’t
have a problem.”
    “You can’t hide forever, Grace.”
    “I find that incredibly ironic coming from
you.”
    Logan cleared his throat, and they all fell
into an uncomfortable silence. The car was scanned, and the wrought
iron gate opened smoothly. Logan parked on the short, graveled
drive and turned off the ignition. Grace was out of the car before
the entry guard could open the door for her, and Gabe came around
and took her by the elbow. She stiffened against his touch, but he
held firm as he faced the head of Worthington Financial’s security
team. As far as his guards were concerned, Worthington Financial
was exactly what they portrayed it to be. No one except the
immediate team under Gabe’s command really knew what went on inside
the building.
    “Good evening, Mr. Harris,” said the guard.
He wore a dark suit and crisp tie and an earpiece was barely
visible in his ear. He wasn’t trying to hide the gun at his
waist.
    “Good evening, George. This is Ms.
Fitzpatrick. She’s new to Worthington Financial.”
    “Very good, sir.” George looked Grace over
dispassionately, as if memorizing her features, before turning back
to his post.
    “You’ve got a