Unexpected Risk (The Phoenix Agency Book 7)
Unexpected Risk
The Phoenix Agency
Book #7
By
Desiree Holt
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Copyright
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Unexpected Risk Copyright 2020 by Desiree Holt
Published in the United States of America by Desiree Holt
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Dear Readers.
Writing a book is a labor of love for me. My characters take over my life and I work to make them come alive for all of you. But I could not do it without the help of key people in my life. My team. First and foremost, my wonderful beta reader, Margie Hager, who has a super critical eye and finds all my mistakes. Then there is my incredible son, Steven Horwitz, who despite running a successful business of his own, manages he financial side of mine and is also a marketing guru. The incredible Frauke Spanath at Croco Designs whose covers are true works of art and who always captures the essence of the story. Kate Richards, editor extraordinaire. I know I drive you crazy but you are just the best there is. Thank you. Kate, for catching all my mistakes and putting up with all my quirky habits. And last but way far from least my wonderful Virtual Assistant, Maria Connor, who takes care of everything so I can devote myself to writing. I am truly blessed.
Special thanks to law enforcement office Joe Trainor, whose incredible knowledge of police procedures and all things law enforcement guides me through my plots and keeps me from making mistakes.
And finally, there is you, my readers, without whom there would be no Desiree Holt. You enrich my life and inspire me.
You can always reach me at authordesireeholt@gmail.com, and I invite you to join my reader group, where there is always something happening. https://www.facebook.com/groups/DesireeHoltReaderGroup/?epa=SEARCH_BOX
Looking forward to “seeing” you there.
Desiree
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to top notch intellectual property rights attorney J. Todd Timmerman, whose skills rescued dozens of my titles
The character of J. T. Fitzpatrick is my thank you to you.
Other books in The Phoenix Agency Series
Jungle Inferno
Extrasensory
Scent of Danger
Freeze Frame
Feel the Heat
Formula For Danger
The Phoenix Agency
They served their country in every branch of the military – Army Delta Force, SEALs, Air Force, Marines. We are pilots, snipers, medics – whatever the job calls for. And now as private citizens they serve in other capacities, as private contractors training security for defense contractors, as black ops eradicating drug dealers, as trained operatives ferreting out traitors. With the women in their lives who each have a unique psychic ability, they are a force to be reckoned with. Risen from the ashes of war, they continue to fight the battle on all fronts. They are Phoenix.
Prologue
The man with a mission entered the parking garage, using the code he had duplicated, and parked his car in a space marked visitor. He killed the ignition then sat there centering himself, readying himself for the task at hand. Although he was basically an unemotional person, he’d discovered early on that the act he was so good at gave him the emotional thrill nothing else in his life did. He always allowed himself to enjoy a tiny blast of anticipation when he was preparing to fulfill a contract. It had been that way since the first assignment.
Who knew there were so many people in the world who others wanted eliminated? Or so many who would pay to have it done? A bitter episode in his life had turned into a lucrative profession. Very lucrative. His underlying cold personality allowed him to fulfill his contracts and be a totally different person at home and in business. Could life possibly be better?
His family had no idea who lay beneath the outer persona he wore, nor did they seem to sense it. That was exactly the way he wanted it. He was sure they’d run screaming into the night if they did, never appreciating the skill with which he did his job. But his self-control and ability to create an artificial persona were what allowed him to live like a normal person. To turn himself into the person he was today.
Normal.
He almost laughed.
He hadn’t been normal since the episode that ended his fledgling military career. It was possible he wasn’t normal before that, but at least those assholes set him on a path being normal wouldn’t have provided. Fuck the military, anyway, at least those responsible for his fall from grace. They could have benefited from his skills but instead tossed him side like yesterday’s garbage.
It amazed him the pleasure he got from killing, from the sight of blood. He could have been a dedicated, effective warrior if they hadn’t been so stupid. Oh well, their loss. He was doing what he enjoyed and making enormous amounts of money for it. He’d been doing this for so long, sometimes he lost track of the number of kills he’d racked up. He had been excited when Conroy called him about this assignment. There hadn’t been one in so long, he’d wondered if he’d been written off.
He had no idea what sins tonight’s victim had committed against the man sent to hire him for this assignment, nor did he care. That was another thing that made him so good at what he did. After all, in the scheme of things, he thought of these events as doing someone a favor, for which he was more than handsomely paid.
After one of his assignments, some enterprising repor
ter had tagged him with the nickname of phantom because no one had been able to find a single trace of him or anything connecting the victim to him. Of course not. That’s what made him so good. A couple of years later, another one had given him the name Darkman. He liked that even better. And he laughed at the stupidity of people who didn’t do enough research to connect his assignments. The world was just full of stupid people.
He sat for another few moments, checking to make sure he had everything with him that he needed. Carelessness led to mistakes, and these contracts didn’t have room for mistakes. He hadn’t made any yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He’d been doing this for a long time, ever since he was first approached, and still no one had discovered who he was. He planned to keep it that way. They called him the phantom, an illusion without material substance like a dream image because he appeared only in the dark and then was gone. The description suited him well. He was careful to leave no clues. He didn’t see the taking of a trophy as a clue to who he was, and he needed both proof and validation he had completed his job. No one ever saw or heard him, knowing him only by the trail of destruction he left, with no clues to his identification.
He sometimes wondered what would have happened without that chance meeting in a bar—a meeting he later learned was by design.
“I have an offer for you,” the man said after some initial conversation.
Eric listened, skeptically at first then with greater interest. There were two new careers offered, and accepting one meant also accepting the other. He would have a chance to do something he was very good at and make a lot of money doing it.
When he asked to meet the man behind the offer, he was told by Conroy, the man talking to him, that it would be impossible. His “benefactor” needed to remain both anonymous and invisible. But that person had other “associates” who would also have assignments for him. Eric couldn’t imagine there would be that many people to eliminate that he would get rich, but he figured, what the fuck. It utilized what he liked to do best, so he’d give it a shot.
His public life would be as a partner in an international real estate development firm. A firm that owed the benefactor a favor was tendering the partner offer. Six months of preparation would give him the knowledge he needed. But he had one job to do first. If that went well, everything was a go.
Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he’d said no to that first contract, but the thought was only fleeting. What else would he have done? Where else would he have been able to utilize his particular talents?
His kills were specific targets chosen by the clients who hired him. Still, his curiosity prompted him to search out these names on the Internet. The world knew them as highly praised contributors to society, wealthy businessmen, international leaders, politicians, even royalty. But, of course, the higher up you went, the more vicious your enemies were. He wondered idly what they had done to incur such drastic measures. Don’t piss off someone with more money than they’ll ever be able to spend, he often mused.
He did have one habit he’d developed, a very private one and he was compulsive about it. He kept a digital record on his multi-password-protected hard drive of all the articles written about the death of each target, relishing every detail of their killing at his hands. He also kept one print article about each kill. He knew that could be dangerous and called himself all kinds of an idiotic fool for doing it. Sometimes, though, he just wanted to hold the printed piece in his hand, caressing it like a woman’s body as he relived the event. The pleasure it gave him was almost as good as sex. In fact, he’d sometimes stroked himself to completion as he sat at the computer reading about them.
At any rate, no one ever came into his den. The lock required an expert to open plus, he’d given strict orders not to invade that space. He used the excuse it contained confidential information to keep everyone away.
Tonight’s assignment, as always, was planned down to the last detail, including every element of the target’s itinerary. He had studied the habits of his current objective until he knew everything from the moment the man rose in the morning until he went to bed at night. When you had the right equipment and knew how to make yourself invisible, you could find out anything. He never left a detail to chance. It was important to know when the quarry was alone, when they weren’t likely to be interrupted.
The target lived in an expensive high-rise condo building with his wife. There was, of course, security, but he’d easily learned how to neutralize that. The trick in planning had been to know when he was alone, but the phantom was patient. He had business in this city that would keep him here for three weeks, so he could take his time. When he discovered the wife would be gone for four days to visit her sister, he knew this was the moment to strike. He had planned for tonight, and now, here he was.
He entered the underground parking garage using someone else’s code he’d copied, parked in a space marked for guests, and then took the elevator up to the target’s floor. The door whispered open, and he stepped out, facing the target’s apartment. Excitement surged through his blood as he imagined the scene about to take place. The fear on the man’s face, his desperate struggle for life. The moment he lived for was but minutes away. A quick punch of his tiny portable EMP to disarm the security, and he stepped noiselessly into the condo dressed in his usual black, from the watch cap on his head to his gloves.
The thick carpets absorbed any sound he might make, but he stopped to put paper booties over his special soft-soled shoes. You never knew what minute traces of matter shoes might leave. He moved without even a whisper of sound through the rooms to the master bedroom. His quarry was already in bed with the lights out as was his usual routine. The phantom stood beside him, staring down at the sleeping man. This was going to be so easy, just like so many of the others.
As he watched him, the man, apparently sensing his presence, opened his eyes.
“What—”
“Shhh.” Darkman put a forefinger to his lips. “I have a present for you from a friend. At least you think he’s a friend.”
The man’s eyes bulged in fear. “I don’t—”
The man’s eyes widened even more. “Do you know—”
The man started to sit up, but Darkman pulled his mini stun gun from his pocket and pressed it to the man’s neck, giving him just enough voltage to incapacitate him for the few seconds he needed. Zap! and the man was awake but unable to move. Next, he reached down to his calf and retrieved his Tambor knife from its sheath. Placing the tip behind the man’s right ear, he paused a moment to register the abject terror in the man’s eyes. Then, with a swift, practiced movement, drew it from right to left, cleanly slitting the carotid artery and opening a gaping wound.
He stood there, watching, as the life drained from the man’s body, enjoying the metallic scent of blood that permeated the air. A faint gurgling sound emanated from his target, and the fear in his eyes became instead a blank, unseeing expression. Darkman stood there, his lips curved in a tiny smile, pleasure coursing through him. It was the ultimate satisfaction.
When he was sure his quarry was dead, the phantom wiped the knife on the bedclothes and returned it to its sheath. Using a miniature digital camera that also plugged directly into a computer, he took several pictures of the man, eyes staring unseeing, his neck and pillow covered in blood.
Finally, as a last act, he sliced off the pinkie finger adorned with an outrageously expensive ring, placed it into a little plastic envelope, and slipped it into a tiny pocket at his waistband. It would keep his other souvenirs company. Items he photographed to send to his client along with the picture of the body. Things he liked to look at to remind himself of one more piece of scum he’d eliminated from this world.
He left as quietly as he’d arrived, driving out of the garage in the innocuous black sedan, blending into traffic, relaxed and with a feeling of immense satisfaction. This was truly the thing that brought the most pleasure to his life, despite the existe
nce of a wife and daughter. After that first “assignment” he’d known that this was what he was born to do. How nice that he was paid huge sums of money for his pleasure.
Thirty minutes later, he parked in a public garage and walked to a bus stop. He hated the busses, but taxis left traces, and the bus ride gave him a chance to relive every moment of tonight’s errand, relishing the image of the man choking on his own blood, fear hot in his eyes. In the aftermath he always felt such satisfaction, even more than a sexual release. He’d done something that gave him one of life’s few real pleasures.
He didn’t even want to think what that said about him. His absence of normal emotions didn’t bother him at all, not as long as he could fake them well with his family.
“Get married,” Conroy told him after a while. “You need to create an image. You’ll get a major job offer, also. Take it and make yourself damn good at it. We stuck our necks out a little to get it for you.”
Stuck their necks out was right. He knew nothing about international real estate development. He knew whoever Conroy reported to had bought his way into the job.
“Married?” He hadn’t even considered it.
“A happy family paired with a high-profile international job gives you a presence so far removed from this that no one will ever connect you. Make it a good one and work at it. You have an excellent skill with that knife. We need you to do this for a long time.”
“We?” he’d asked.
The man’s lips had twisted in a frigid smile.
“We don’t like it when people fuck with us. It’s easier to get rid of them than try to fix a situation.”