Rogue Read online

  With an effort she backed off. Nodding, she indicated their transport. “I thought they were headed to England, that’s all. With us.”

  “They were redirected.”

  It was a bland, ominous statement and it struck her as hard as a punch to the throat. Redirected for whom? These shadowy Three Old Men? Some cabal? It proved to her that MI6 and her unit was indeed occasionally used by an entity known as the Hellfire Club.

  Now, the sun was setting outside the window as Carrie placed her micro meal on a tray and ate in a perfunctory manner. Sunset and encroaching darkness threw shadows and random patterns across her face. She drained the water bottle and grabbed the whiskey.

  She lit up a joint, inhaled deeply, and laid back. It was time to think.

  As darkness claimed the onrushing night, she sat without moving, allowing her senses some respite, switching off. Noise filtered in from outside, people shouting and raucous vehicle engines, the sirens of a cop car. Someone she didn’t know dragged a chair across the floor of the flat above. Attuned with her environment, she drifted away.

  The unfortunate incident with Jacob Anderson proved she’d never be free but at the same time it showed that she hadn’t lost a step. She’d been attentive, both reactive and proactive. She’d been deadly. Poor old Jacob had almost been rendered blind and, quite possibly, dead. The two mothers had eventually walked away, uninterested. On the whole she thought she’d managed to save the situation and, thus, her place here in Cocoa Beach. But was it only a matter of time before Miller or the Hellfire Club came calling? Before they sent their own, or even genuine MI6 agents acting under orders, to take her out?

  It was a light scraping noise, but it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It was foreign, alien to the environment she surrounded herself with every single night. She was instantly on her feet, berating herself for allowing Jacob to live, wondering if she had indeed lost several steps by not already uncovering her ‘go-bag’ and making plans to quit Florida.

  Another scrape came from her front door. Someone was out in the corridor, picking the lock. She could have run, but Carrie didn’t run. She confronted everything head on.

  When the lock wouldn’t give – being a superior deadbolt – the operative outside switched to another tool. Carrie’s steps were soundless as she moved to an advantageous position. She had weapons, but they were in the bedroom, and she wanted to see what she was dealing with before grabbing a makeshift bludgeon. In seconds she heard the whirr of a tiny drill and new she was up against a professional.

  Swiftly and silently she disengaged the metal bar, allowing her new adversary to gain an easier entry. It would put them at a disadvantage.

  The door cracked open a millimetre and then stopped. The interloper was listening hard. Carrie berated herself for not leaving the TV playing softly to itself, which would have been a smarter move.

  The door opened wider. She waited behind it, muscles coiled. A moment later her head was rocked as the door smashed back into her face. Carrie fought through the pain, shocked at how shrewd her adversary was. The figure kicked out, sending the door once more toward her. Carrie stopped it with an arm and then flitted into the open.

  The figure wore a mask, was well built, and clearly capable. Under the mask the mouth moved as a hand came up. The figure appeared to be warning her, or perhaps asking her to hold off for a second but Carrie didn’t comply. She attacked immediately, knowing this wasn’t an innocent attempt to attract her attention like Jacob, earlier.

  A jab and then an elbow to the temple. A rising knee to the groin. She pushed at his chest, sending him staggering backwards, then leapt off the ground, coming down with an elbow that struck directly on top of his head.

  At the same time, she side-kicked the door shut. It wouldn’t do to let the neighbours watch and would make any back-up’s entry harder.

  The man was holding his head, but coiled, ready to attack. She could see it in his stance, in every muscle that showed through his tight T-shirt. His frame was powerful. She couldn’t let him gain the upper hand. She struck again. He fended off blows, backing away. In seconds he came up against the rear wall of the flat, pinned there. She didn’t relent, just pressed forward with powerful jabs and crosses aimed for nerve clusters or weak points, and then a kick or an elbow, a feint and then a headbutt as she came in close.

  He blocked everything, stopped the butt on top of his own skull, an action that made her see stars. There was a sharp rap on the back wall, a neighbour complaining, followed by an angry shout.

  She backed away two steps, breathing easily, watching him carefully. Danger surrounded her, but she’d bloody well missed all this. The moment he moved she would spring.

  Then he spoke the one word that completely blew her mind.

  “Rogue.”

  She blinked, shaking her head slightly. Nobody could know that name. Not here. Not after all this time. His voice, though muffled by the mask, sounded a little familiar. She caught herself in the midst of shock and snapped out of it.

  “How do you know that name?” there was no point feigning ignorance.

  “Because I know you.”

  The man pulled the mask off. Carrie tensed for an attack but the face she saw sent fresh tremors of astonishment through her.

  “Tom? What the fuck are you doing here? And why are you wearing a mask?”

  “I’m here to talk. To help. To-”

  “Why did you attack me? How did you find me?”

  “Seriously? I never lost you. The mask is in case you had company. And I was trying to stop your attack. I fought back, that’s all. Rogue, you were too important to lose track of.”

  “Stop saying that name. That’s not me anymore.”

  She turned her back, conscious of the trust she was giving him by the gesture. She walked away, still listening for any sudden moves. If there was one person she trusted in this world it was Tom Freeman.

  “Ro . . . um, I mean Carrie. Please hear me out.”

  “Is there anything you don’t know about my new life?”

  “No. I’ve been watching.”

  “And you knew I’d attack you, didn’t you? From behind that door?”

  “We had the same training.”

  Carrie saw that as a new concern. She’d been trained at MI6, so they’d know her routines, her ‘go-to’ methods. She should have been using these last two years to adapt and develop new combat skills, rather than pounding asphalt and lifting weights.

  A dark thought loomed.

  “Does anyone else know where I am? The Hellfire Club would send men to kill me if they knew. It could even be you.”

  Now Tom looked affronted. “You take me for an idiot? Of course not. And you know damn well I could never hurt you.”

  “Good. Now get the hell out of my flat and forget where I live. I don’t want to know you. The last time we talked, you didn’t even believe the Hellfire Club was real.”

  “Well, now I do. I’ve struggled with it for years. I didn’t want to believe it back then.”

  “Oh, so I’m not spouting nonsense anymore?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I couldn’t believe MI6 had been infiltrated by something called the Hellfire Club. I saw the signs but . . .” he paused. “Nobody else believed you either. I’m sorry I lost you.”

  “Just get out,” she said. “You had your chance to join me two years ago when I left.”

  “But Carrie. You’re the only person I can trust with this. It’s related to our shared past, to why you left. There’s no one on the inside I can talk to. This is important. You have to–”

  She turned on him, auburn her whipping around her face as she spun. “I am important. Me, personally. I spent too many years being told and trained otherwise. Trained to work as a team, as a number. I left that old life on purpose, Tom. This is my new life and I’m the biggest part of it.”

  “This?” he indicated the whiskey, the still smoking joint and the tiny flat. “This is not you, Carrie. You’re a wild
animal in a cage.”

  “How do you know?” she snapped back, throat raw and voice grating. “How do you know who I really am? If I’m in a cage, it’s purpose built. I’m running, hiding. From the Club, and Miller. What other choice do I have?”

  “I know you. I knew what made you angry. What made you attack. Carrie,” he moved forward. “I knew what made you kill and... what made you horny.”

  She blushed more than she wanted to. “Shut up. You’re old news. Don’t flatter yourself. I have a new life now. You can’t come here and try to change it just because you finally accept everything I said two years ago.”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t think you do have a new life.”

  She took a moment to study him. In addition to being well-built and finely muscled, Tom had black eyes almost as deep as hers and short black hair. He sported a dark bristle across his chin and cheeks and a scar over the top of his right eye. She knew the origin of that scar.

  And dozens more.

  She knew about the birthmark in the small of his back. She knew he had a habit of grinding his teeth and that, when he smiled properly, his entire face got involved. Not just his lips or his eyes. Tom grinned like a pro.

  She softened, half hoping he would smile right now. But his dark eyes were full of concern and something else.

  Fear? Or desperation?

  It made her back away. “Two years,” she said. “Two years I’ve been free. Alone, but happy. Two years without killing innocents. Without helping those old bastards line their pockets. I’m safe here, and free for the first time I can remember. I don’t want to hear it. Get out before I throw you out.”

  “This isn’t you, Carrie. Shit, Carrie isn’t you.”

  “I don’t have to help. I have a life now. It’s not perfect, but it’s about as good as most people get. I enjoy being free to do my own thing, to sleep and walk and run without constantly having to watch my perimeter.” She didn’t mention the incident in the park earlier that day. “You should try it sometime.”

  “This time,” he made no attempt to move. “It’s worse. Far worse, Rogue. You have to help me, and our friends.”

  She didn’t move. She had no friends and neither did Tom. They weren’t even friends with each other.

  Tom went on before she could speak. “You are the only person in the world I can trust. Our friend will die if you don’t help me. And so will I, now that I’ve broken protocol by coming here. I’m here because of our past relationship. I’m here because if you don’t help me, the Hellfire Club will become one of the most powerful and influential shadow cabals in the world.”

  Carrie bit her lip. His plea was from the heart, and definitely appealing. No doubt he’d practised it on the way. “You have no right to come here. To ask me this. You’re asking me to jump right back into a world I’ve already escaped. I didn’t love you. I didn’t hardly care for you. In fact, your sum total was six inches of meat I used to pass the night away.”

  Tom looked hurt. “Six inches? Come on . . .”

  But Carrie knew what he was trying to do, just as he knew her intent with the impassive rhetoric. Her manner in the past had always been confrontational, aggressive, whilst his had been more laid back. He tended to wile his way in where she broke the walls down. She nodded at the door.

  “Get out.”

  He sighed and took a single step in the right direction, but he wasn’t finished yet. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said. “By living here and starting a new life. You think the nightmares will ease. That all the innocent deaths will lose their dominion over you. You think the trauma will be blunted through time. That Miller and the Three Old Men won’t find you. And, maybe, you think, all the deadly secrets you know will fade away.”

  She glared at him, saying nothing.

  “None of that will happen. Those innocents will never vanish from your dreams, your memories. The only thing you can do is avenge them.”

  “You speak like this now?” she spat at him. “Where were these words when I offered you a way out? My way out? We could have left together and you know that.”

  “I’m glad we didn’t,” Tom said. “I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at the time. You were right. I was a blind fool like most of the MI6 agents who aren’t in their pay. But… if I’d left, I’d never have found out what they’re trying to do now. Infiltrate three of the world largest criminal organisations by killing and replacing their accountants with men of their own. They’re hiding the real motives beneath seven well-planned murders orchestrated to cause chaos. It’s–”

  “Tom,” she kept her face emotionless. “Since we first met you’ve been trying to save everyone. You told me yourself – it’s your rebellious rich-kid of privilege kind of attitude. Well, you can’t save everyone. And now, you can’t save me.”

  He went still, handsome face abruptly blank. “And you hate to express your feelings,” he said. “Because you think it makes you vulnerable.”

  She’d had enough. Words weren’t working so she stepped forward and jabbed him in the chest. Tom didn’t try to stop her, just came back with a left cross to the temple. Carrie ducked, leaned in and then threw him over her shoulder. Not hard, but hard enough. When his spine impacted the floor, he grunted loudly and grimaced.

  “The Three Old Men,” he gasped. “You know them. You know they won’t let anyone stand in their way, no matter how innocent . . .”

  She tried to block it out by kicking at his ribs, forcing him toward the door as he continued to speak.

  “The Hellfire Club is all they believe in. Not MI5. Not MI6. They’re not patriots. They’re leeches, empire builders. Profiteers. The Three Old Men just want money and influence. But the club itself… that’s very different.”

  Carrie paused, wondering suddenly if his thoughts now perfectly matched hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They’re a virus. Seeking to further their hold across the world. They’ve gained influence in every government that matters. Now they’re seeking to control underground entities too. Their goal is to be the sole world order and they’re achieving that by controlling organisations, both official and legal. Please, Rogue, you have to listen to me.”

  “That’s – not – my – name,” she punctuated each word with a kick. Finally, Tom was at the door, reaching up for the handle to help pull himself to his feet.

  He held a hand out, palm up. “Why,” he said. “Why not?”

  “You don’t listen. Rogue is violence, danger and death. She’s hunted. On the run. Carrie is free.”

  She watched him with hooded eyes, face as cold as a snowstorm. “Forget about me,” she said. “If I get burned because you came here, I’m gonna hunt you down and put you out of your misery.”

  He backed away, finally across the threshold and into the dim hallway. Carrie slammed the door angrily in his face and turned back to her empty flat.

  Did that just really happen?

  Tom, trying to resurrect the past? He should know better.

  They both had nightmares buried in the hard-packed ice of their memories. Nightmares that should never be unearthed. She’d killed Miller’s son by accident in the midst of battle. She’d partaken in at least half a dozen deadly operations she now believed were ordered by the Hellfire Club. And if they ever found her, they would send men to kill her. Many men. Anonymity was her best bet now. Total anonymity. She didn’t want to hurt them or anyone else again, she just wanted to live her life.

  Two years away had brought her to a point where she could almost cope.

  But the meeting had already awakened a concern. What were the Three Old Men up to now? It seemed they were not only using MI6 but also the Club to line their pockets now. How many more were they willing to kill?

  It’s not your problem.

  “I am not a heartless bitch,” she said into the silence of her flat. “It’s how I cope with . . . with my life.”

  An accusing silence was her only answer.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER FOUR

  Rex Herron gazed out of the window of his third-floor office at MI6, seeing nothing. His mind was engaged elsewhere. Rain lashed the windows as if the elements had been given a contract to smite him with their wrath, which wouldn’t be a surprise. He knew full well what he wrought. The pain. The suffering. The destruction of lives.

  So long as he enlarged his bank account none of that mattered. It was a small goal in the grand vision of the Hellfire Club, whose members were mostly based in and around Paris, but it was a goal he and his two fellow British members shared. If they could get rich whilst helping the club start running the world then he’d consider that winning at life. It was Herron’s principal goal.

  “Sir, there’s Mr. Vincent on the line for you.” His secretary’s tinny voice blared through an intercom, filling the room.

  Ah, good.

  He crossed over to his desk, sank into his plush leather chair and pushed the only button that was flashing. “Yes?”

  They were too old for perfunctory chitchat. Vincent got straight to it. “I wanted to confirm that all is well at the stables.”

  Herron smiled. “Well, that’s good. Did the infection clear up?”

  “The first mare went down very quickly.”

  Herron and Vincent continued the coded conversation for a while, gleaning that their first assassin had taken out the first treasurer and was moving on to the next. Their three assassins had six days to take out seven treasurers. It wasn’t a difficult timeframe, but it was the optimal period of chaos required inside the criminal organisations they’d targeted to afford their plan its best odds of success. But there was much more to discuss.

  “It’s going to be a long day,” Herron finished with a deep sigh that wasn’t entirely fake.

  “Yes, sir, I can see myself working through the night.”

  More code. A simple cipher that signalled a more private meeting that night where all their nefarious deeds could be openly discussed.