Page 9 of Reckless

Xavier had to give the man props. At a distance, Bass was an impressive-looking man. He had an old-Hollywood magnetism, steel-gray hair, lightly tanned skin, and broad shoulders. Yeah, he looked successful and powerful. But seeing the man up close revealed the snake behind the mask. Sometimes, evil couldn’t be hidden, no matter how thick the facade.

Every eye in the restaurant followed Bass to a balcony where a large, cloth-covered table had been set for him and his guests. He would be stupidly front and center so everyone could see him.

The maître d’ pulled out a chair for him, and Bass plopped himself into the seat with all the pompousness of royalty. The rest of his party then seated themselves. A smug smile played around the guy’s mouth, and Xavier almost burst out laughing. The obnoxious prig was so full of himself, he had no idea how he was being used.

If the people behind the Wren Project had one thing going for them, it was their ability to find the right puppets. There seemed to be an unlimited number of schmucks willing to sell their souls for wealth and fame. Little did they know—or hell, maybe they just didn’t care—it was a temporary gig. Once they’d served their purpose, the joyride ended. Often abruptly and, more often than not, in death.

“He’s thoroughly enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame,” Jazz murmured. “Wonder how long it will last?”

Jazz’s words were still hanging in the air when her question was answered. A familiar whistling noise sounded, and then a tiny, neat hole appeared in the middle of Bass’s forehead. The man slumped forward.

A stark, breathless silence enveloped the entire restaurant. It was like everyone held in a collective gasp. A second later, chaos erupted. One of the women at Bass’s table shrieked, another followed, and havoc ensued. People screamed, overturning tables as they ran en masse toward the exit.

The instant the bullet hit, Jazz and Xavier were on their feet. She grabbed her gun from her purse while Xavier took his from his ankle holster. Jazz’s gaze swept the room, and out of the corner of her eye, she noted the swinging door that led to the kitchen. She glimpsed a large, booted foot before the door swung shut.

“Xavier,” Jazz said.

Seeing what she’d seen at the same time, Xavier said, “Let’s go.”

They fought through the crowd, some of whom were on their phones, recording the melee. She reached the door and looked back for her partner. Xavier was pushing people away from a woman who’d been trampled. He glanced up at Jazz and said, “Go!”

Jazz eased the door open and peered inside. Three of the kitchen staff were huddled in a corner. When they saw her, all three pointed to another door. One whispered, “He went through there.”

Thanking them with a nod, she ran toward the door that had an Exit sign above it. The guy was likely headed to the alley behind the restaurant.

Weapon in hand, she eased the door open. The alleyway was surprisingly well lit, giving her a good view of the area. To the right, two dumpsters took up a large part of the area. Jazz heard a noise to her left. A man dressed in black, with a skullcap covering his head, was running down the alley toward a black SUV. Though he was covered from head to toe, she quickly assessed him at about six five, two forty, and muscular.

Jazz took off in pursuit.

The man reached the SUV and swung the door open. Before jumping into the vehicle, he glanced back.

Jazz froze, and all the breath left her body. She knew those unusual green eyes. She saw them in her dreams and her nightmares.

The man before her—the assassin who’d killed Franco Bass—was Brody.

CHAPTER FIVE

OZ Safe House

Seattle

They sat around the small living room to review the events of the evening. As ops went, this one was to have been a low-key, noneventful mission. Instead, it had turned into a shitstorm, and they were still trying to unravel the who and the why.

For Jazz, it was a million times stormier. Had she been mistaken? Had her heated discussion with Xavier somehow transported Brody’s physical characteristics onto the shooter? It had been over fifteen years since she’d seen her brother. He had to have changed significantly since then. Always big for his age, Brody had seemed larger than life to her. He had been her protector, defender, and caretaker. He had been her everything.

He’d also been one of the kindest, most thoughtful people she’d ever met. How could he have changed so much that he was now a cold-blooded killer?

It just wasn’t possible. It had to be a mistake. In her mind’s eye, she reviewed every minute detail. Yes, the assassin had been around Brody’s height and build. Yes, she’d spotted a strand of hair the same color as Brody’s—golden blond—sticking out of the cap. And yes, when he’d moved to open the door to the SUV, the light from the street lamp had been bright enough that she’d seen a scar on his wrist in the exact place she knew her brother had one. She’d been there when he’d gotten it. All of that could be explained…right?

The eyes though…that had been the most telling. They had given his identity away as if he’d shouted out his name. Brody’s eyes were a distinctive, almost-eerie light green. Just like the eyes of the killer.

Had she imagined the recognition in them when he’d turned to look at her? Had his body jerked slightly, as if in shock? Or was all of this just projection because she was feeling overemotional?

She hadn’t said anything to Xavier or anyone else on the team. When Xavier had finally made it out to the alley, she had described the SUV and the size of the suspected killer. She’d explained he’d been covered from head to toe so he couldn’t be identified. She had said nothing about her suspicions. What could she say? Oh, and by the way, I think my brother is the assassin. So, if you find him, please don’t hurt him.

No, she needed to think about this. About what she should do versus what she was obligated to do. If she told them, what would happen? They would continue to look for him, and when they found him, they’d want to know who hired him. And while OZ wasn’t known for torturing or abusing people for intel, what would happen if Brody resisted? What if there was a shootout? What if a member of her team was hurt? What if someone shot Brody?

The wild imaginings just wouldn’t stop.