2
Long night. Long year, really, without the relief ofclosure. Ronan was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Hedragged his feet as he walked back to his flat. Not that he’d livedthere long, but he’d made it a safe space.
Nothing personal, as he wouldn’t risk blowinghis cover. None of his London team knew his real identity, not evenSharpe. Hell, no one at CIA, besides Sara, knew the real him.Sharpe, those with high enough clearance at Langley, and evenpayroll, knew him as Max Kennedy, a kid from Vermont that had beenrecruited out of school by the CIA.
It was partially true. He had been hiredbefore he even finished college to join the CIA. Was from Mainerather than Vermont. When he’d joined up, he’d insisted onanonymity from the start. Didn’t ever want his job to follow himhome; not even his family knew what he was doing.
Nine years. He’d hardly spoken to his family,and had given his time, his energy, and his damned soul to the CIA.Had one more painfully long year left in hisagreement. Hewas the best at what he did, but his job satisfaction was rapidlydeclining. The ever-changing political landscape was sucking thelife out of him. Every time he’d made a real difference, hishigher-ups made an enemy out of old friends, going behind the backsof allies to accomplish a pointless mission driven by money andpower.
Those biologic weapons sure hadn't magicallyappeared in Young's control, but Ronan had been assigned totracking down Young himself. Sharpe had assigned others to findingout where the weapons had come from, and where they had gone.
Now that Young was captured, Ronan was out.Reassigned. Back to Langley to debrief and be assigned to a newregion, a new mission.
Not that he minded; he was sick of theSharpe’s dictatorial leadership style already. Maybe he’d call Saraand see what she could do. She always had his back, since he’d beenthe smartass college kid she’d taken under her wing.
Aside from the street-sweepers and earliestof the morning commuters, the last of the trek home had been quiet.Uneventful. Too cold out for wanderers.
Wind picking up, the snow was blessedlystarting to accumulate. Shouldn’t be more than an inch, but thefresh white coat always brought him a sense of peace, a sense ofrenewal. Maybe in his new assignment, Eastern Europe in alllikelihood, he would feel refreshed with new ground, interestingnew ops… no more biologics. Letting himself breathe a small sigh ofrelief, he felt the knot between his shoulder blades loosen at theprospect. Maybe one day the nightmares and the flashbacks ofmutilated bodies would stop.
Reaching his building at last, an old brickstructure that was older than his hometown of Seaview, Ronanunlocked the shared front entrance of the building and closed thedoor tightly behind him, trudging up the four flights of stairs tohis flat. Checking the hall first, he unlocked the front door,walked into the dark, silent apartment, and checked his alarms.
As always, he ensured that the fishing linewas taught across the entry hall, ensuring no intruders hadunwittingly nudged it. Rudimentary, but a damn effective systemhe'd devised himself.Good. Line intact.Not that anyone hadtraced him back to his lodgings before, but that was a result ofhis uncompromising vigilance.
He shed his warm coat and tossed it onto theentry table. Too tired to even think about dinner, which he shouldhave eaten hours ago, Ronan headed straight toward his tinybedroom. A few steps into the living room, he stripped off hisshirt, crumpling the grimy piece of fabric and pitching it onto thearm of the threadbare couch.
Bending over to peel off his boots, a suddenloud crack and the unmistakable burning, piercing, aching pain of abullet embedding into his shoulder rattled through him.
What the fuck?As if in slow motion,another sharp hit pushed him backwards as second shot nailed himlow in the abdomen, then a third struck his hip on the waydown.
He knew immediately; his position wasabsolutely compromised. Maybe more. Before losing consciousness, hesaw movement from the flat across the street. “Bloody snipers,” hemuttered as he collapsed, and the world went dark.
~
“Thanks for stopping in today. You’re goingto love the settee. We’ll deliver it Friday morning,” Paysongrinned from ear to ear as she escorted out the stylishly dressedyoung woman, and new owner of her favorite blue velvet settee,circa 1924. Not many truly loved their jobs. She knew she waslucky.
Most had thought her foolish, leaving herprestigious position at an international trade firm in Boston. But,after she’d called off the engagement to Clive, realizing she’dnever loved him, she also realized that she didn’t love her jobeither. Nor did she have anyone she would call a close friend.Rather, she had accumulated a collection of snooty financiers asdull as Clive.
Uprooting and starting fresh had made sense,or her hard-earned optimism would’ve died a woeful death. Openingher own shop had been risky, but she dove in with everything shehad – financially and emotionally. Fortunately, the investment waspaying off. Flotsam Antiques was now a hallmark of the prominentBeachfront Street shops in Seaview.
Although much quieter in the winter months,she still ran a good business. She kept a unique and predictablestock to keep up with demand from her online and in-person sales.Every transaction was a personal triumph, each antique she sold hadbeen hand-selected and displayed. Not the cold negotiations to getthe cheapest price on crappy trinkets that were sold for pennies attourist shops all over the world, as she’d been stuck negotiatingin Boston.
A total shot in the dark, she’d openedFlotsam about three years ago now, but she’d been smart about it.Stylishly decorated and marketed to a variety of customers, fromfun pirate-themed treasures for the kids to ornate furniture forthe discriminating investor. In posting many of the antiquesonline, she found that she earned more from online sales, but itwasn't as fun as seeing the smiling faces of her happycustomers.
She found joy in her day-to-day routine andwas totally hands-on in running her business. Initially, she hadn’tbeen able to afford any help, so she’d had to run the store alone.Now, she found even the most menial tasks satisfying.
Smile still pasted onto her face from asatisfying sale, she turned at the sound of her cell phone chirpingto announce an incoming text. Must be Gregory confirming theirdate. She flipped the shop sign to Closed, so she could headto her upstairs apartment and get ready.
Digging out her phone from her purse on herway to the back, she frowned at the message.Sorry, workemergency. Can we reschedule?
Well, at least he didn’t stand her up. Alwaysa plus. When one suffered so many first dates, the stand-up riskwas no joking matter.
No worries, she responded.
Leave it simple. Of course, she wasdisappointed, but wanted to appear nonchalant. One never should tosound too keen. Let him fall in love with her before he got towitness her potentially insurmountable flaws.
Her phone chirped again.Can we reschedulefor the 22nd? Same time, same place?
And a reschedule. If he was as handsome ashis profile picture, he just might be worth the wait. She knew hehad a crazy work schedule. He’d mentioned he puts in a lot of hourson-call at the hospital.
