2. Savior

2

SAVIOR

“ T here are two targets,” said Periscope, my handler. “Your orders are to eliminate both.”

“Who are they?” I asked as I exited my SUV and got into position.

“The first is Sullivan Rivers, a reporter with the Crown Herald. The second, the gunman, is yet to be identified.”

Sullivan Rivers. Why did that name sound familiar? More, why had I asked who the victims were when I never had before? And a reporter? Why was there a hit order on her?

“Take the first shot as soon as you’ve got it,” I heard Periscope say through my comms earpiece. Who the fuck did she think she was talking to? I was one of the best snipers in Unit 23, an elite team within SIS—the UK’s Secret Intelligence Service—whose primary mission objective was assassination. And I wasn’t one of the best—I was the best—and she damn well knew it. “Savior? Copy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I seethed, pulling the trigger the very instant I knew I’d hit the gunman right between the eyes. A quick pfft was all he heard. It might not even have registered. No audible crack since I only used subsonic bullets.

I was about to take the second shot when two things stopped me. First, I was sure I knew the woman whose life I was about to end. Second, I could see shadowy figures approaching from the edge of the parking lot where one victim lay dead on the ground and the other stood frozen and in shock.

“Bloody fucking hell,” I muttered, slamming my foot on the gas after jumping into my waiting SUV and racing over to the woman, who was bent over, losing the contents of her stomach. I got out, grabbed her around the waist, and shoved her inside. I climbed in after her, barely getting the door closed before I spun my vehicle in the opposite direction and sped out of the parking lot.

“Get down on the floor!” I shouted. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Savior, do you copy ?” I heard Periscope say through the comms.

“Copy,” I responded.

“The cleanup crew is going in now. They’re saying there’s only one victim—the gunman.” She sounded out of breath. “Where is the other target?”

“With me.”

“What’s going on, Savior?”

“I’ll handle it,” I said right before powering off my headset.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked the woman holding onto the seat as I careened from outside the castle gates through the streets of Edinburgh.

I didn’t respond. My mind was still reeling from what I’d just done, acting entirely out of instinct.

Her name, Sullivan Rivers, was unique enough that when I heard it, I recognized it immediately. Then, when I looked through the scope and prepared to take the shot, I was certain she was the same girl whose pigtails I used to pull when we were in primary school. Our families had been neighbors for a brief time twenty years ago, when we spent a few months living in Ballater outside Balmoral Castle. While the time had been brief, I never forgot her.

Glancing in her direction now, our eyes met, and I knew I hadn’t been wrong. The girl I used to call Sully was on the floor of my SUV rather than lying dead on a parking lot’s pavement—and as soon as word of what I’d done got back to my boss, I’d be in a fuck of a lot of trouble.

I returned my eyes to the road but could feel her studying me. I hardly resembled the scrawny boy she’d once known, and my given name—David Evans—was commonplace enough that if I divulged what it was, I doubted she’d make the connection.

As for my appearance, my previously white-blond hair had turned darker, my body filled out, and rather than being a few inches shorter than her like I was then, I now had at least a foot on her.

The other thing that had changed between the last time she saw me and now was that my heart had turned black as coal. That’s what happened to people in my line of work. It didn’t matter that I rid the world of another piece-of-shit criminal with every bullet I fired. I shot to kill. Period. I’d lost track of my body count a long time ago.

And yet, they called me Savior. Tonight, it fit. I’d chosen to save Sullivan’s life rather than take it. God knew what had possessed me to do it. I’d never disregarded a direct order. I was duty bound to assassinate those who posed a threat to the United Kingdom and its citizens.

Tonight, Sullivan River’s life had been spared while the man who meant to kill her had suffered the fate. No doubt, in the coming days or weeks, I’d receive another assignment with the same anticipated outcome. It was, after all, what I was paid to do. That was if I still had a job.

“Can I get up now?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I said, glancing down at the woman whose face had turned a putrid shade of green.

“Unless you have something I can empty the rest of the contents of my stomach into, you’re going to regret making me wait.”

We were now far enough away from the Royal Mile that I would’ve picked up on a tail. However, that didn’t mean one wouldn’t materialize.

“Stay put,” I said, making another turn, this one unplanned.

“Is it really necessary for you to still have your hand on that gun?”

“Until I know you’re unarmed, it absolutely is.”

“Did you get a look at what I’m wearing? Where would I have a weapon?”

I pulled into the underground car park of a nondescript building owned by one of my closest friends, a man I knew I could trust to help me determine the next best course of action when I informed him of the split-second decision I’d made tonight.

When I didn’t see his vehicle, I got out of mine and sent him a text, alerting him of my arrival, saying I had someone with me and I’d explain everything later.

When he responded immediately, acknowledging my message, I walked around to open her door.

“Wait, is this thing bulletproof?” she asked, putting her hand on the metal, which was at least twice as thick as normal. Once her feet were on the ground, I spun her around so her back was to me. “Hands on the side of the SUV,” I barked.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked when I patted her down, looking for a gun.

“Do not move,” I said, keeping my elbow pinned to her back and one foot between her legs as I sent an access code via my mobile.

“This way.” I turned her around a second time, took her arm, and led her to a lift that opened when we approached.

“Where are you taking me? And you can put that thing down now,” she said, motioning to the gun I still held pointed in her direction. “Are you going to answer any of my questions?” she asked when I lowered it.

“No.” I glanced over at her when I felt her studying me. Our eyes met, and hers scrunched enough that I wondered if she recognized me. I passed the idea off as ludicrous while I waited for the door to reopen.

“Come with me,” I said after we stepped off and into the flat that was always at my disposal but I rarely used.

“How long will we be here? I need to go back and get my car.”

I almost rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of Sullivan’s question. Was she truly unaware of how close she’d come to dying tonight? Not once, but twice.

“Sit down, and do not touch anything.”

When she raised her chin and her eyes met mine, the only thing I could think of was how much I wanted to wrap my fingers around her throat and kiss the fuck out of her. Instead, I kept my hands to myself when I stepped closer.

“You would do well to consider the fact I saved your life earlier tonight, first by shooting the man who was about to do the same to you, then getting you away from there before someone else took you out. If you do not do as I say, I will honor your request to return you to your vehicle. Once there, I guarantee you will not like what happens next.”

Her expression remained defiant. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you.”

“If you’re going to kill me, why not just do it here? Why return me to the scene of the other crime?”

“Because I won’t be the one who kills you. I also won’t save you a second time. I have a couple of calls to make. Now, get over here and sit down.”

When she did, I stood behind her, pulled my belt through the loops of my trousers, and used it to bind her wrists to the chair.

I took my mobile from my pocket, stepped into one of the bedrooms, and closed the door behind me. There were several missed calls from Periscope, but only one from Typhon, my boss.

“Savior, what the fuck is going on?” he seethed when he accepted my call.

“Who ordered the hit tonight?”

“It came through MI6.”

“From who?” I demanded.

“Settle down and tell me what happened.”

“Not until you tell me who the order came from.”

He sighed. “Initially, it was reported to have come from Viper. However, I’ve spoken with her and she insisted she didn’t issue it.”

I paced from one side of the room to the other.

“Tell me what went down,” he pressed.

“I arrived on the scene and didn’t carry out the full order. I made a split-second decision to remove the second intended target from the area.”

“After my conversation with Viper, I believe you made the right call.”

“Where is Periscope?”

“On her way to headquarters.”

I’d worked with her for just over a year and had a hard time believing she would issue an erroneous order. “Who is she saying it came from?”

“That’s presently unclear, but I anticipate it won’t be much longer. Where are you now?” he asked.

“Still in Edinburgh, not far from the castle.”

“I’m going to request something of you that I know is out of the ordinary. Can you protect the asset until I know exactly what happened tonight and what the fallout might be?”

“Yes, sir.” I’d already made the decision to—one way or another—so I had no reason to argue.

“Good and thank you. I’ll get to the bottom of this as quickly as I can. In the meantime, do not act on any order that doesn’t come directly from me.”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated.

“And, while I anticipate you’ll be getting help from the rest of your crew, no one outside of them and me is to be read in on your plan.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded for the third time.

“In the meantime, stay alive. You’re needed here, Savior.” Typhon ended with his customary sendoff to all the agents who worked for him in Unit 23.

The next call I made was to Conrad Carnegie, aka the Earl of Blackmoor, one of my most trusted friends and the man who owned the building where I’d brought Sullivan tonight.

“What in the bloody hell is going on, Ash?” He was chuckling when he answered.

“I’m not sure you’ll believe me when I tell you.”

“You’re on speaker, by the way. Tag and Gus are both here.”

While Con, Tag, Gus, and I had been friends since we were children, it wasn’t until secondary school that we began using our nicknames. Con was short for Conrad, his first name. Same with Gus, for Angus. Tag was for MacTaggert, his last name. And even though my father was alive at the time I was given the moniker, they still called me Ash, as I was the future Duke of Ashcroft.

We all worked for Unit 23 in some capacity and made up the crew Typhon had referred to.

Tag, aka Niall MacTaggert, the Earl of Glenshadow, code name Obsidian, was an assassin, like I was.

Con was one of the preeminent cyber- and artificial-intelligence experts in all of SIS—maybe even the world.

The way Gus fit into our group was entirely different, but he was no less important. In fact, some might say he was the glue that held us all together.

Like me, he grew up on Ashcroft, but rather than an heir, he was the son of Mairi—pronounced Mary—Drummond, who’d been our housekeeper for as long as I could remember.

Gus and I were inseparable as children, apart from the one year my parents and I spent in Ballater. The year I met Sullivan. When I returned, nothing had changed other than me losing my heart to a blue-eyed girl whose pigtails I’d loved to pull.

More than Con or Tag, Gus was forced to listen as I told stories of how amazing she was. It was hard to imagine now how such a young lad, as I was at the time, could be so enraptured. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I’d sensed the story wasn’t over for Sullivan and me. Not by a long shot.

My father had arranged for Gus to attend university with me, and after graduation, we were recruited by SIS. He went to work for MI5, the domestic equivalent of MI6, where I’d landed.

Eventually, we both ended up at Unit 23. At first, he was a handler, but as his real skill set became more apparent to Typhon, he transitioned to being the team’s eyes and ears in the west of Scotland, where Con and Tag also grew up.

His cover as butler at my family’s estate, where he still resided, served him well in intelligence gathering. No one on the staff, with the exception of his mum, knew the vital role he played in carrying out his oath to the Crown. Even she had no idea the full extent of what he did.

“As you’re all aware, I set out from London earlier in the day on my way to Ashcroft for the holidays. I’d just arrived within Edinburgh city limits when I received a call from Periscope, saying MI6 was asking for my support at the castle. Upon my arrival there, I was informed there were two targets. The first was a gunman who held the second with his gun to her head.”

Now that I thought about it, it made no sense to call me in for two hit orders. Why wouldn’t MI6 allow the gunman to kill the woman, then have me take him out? I shook my head, thankful that wasn’t how it had gone down.

“The woman—and this is the part you won’t believe—was Sullivan Rivers.”

“No!” Con gasped. “Not the Miss Rivers.”

Gus wasn’t the only one who’d had to endure my stories. All three of my friends had heard ad nauseam about the then-eight-year-old girl who’d captured my heart.

“I couldn’t do it,” I admitted.

“Of course you couldn’t,” muttered Tag. “You’re Savior, not Lucifer.”

“Most times, I feel like the latter,” I responded under my breath to the man I knew understood better than most others. I cleared my throat. “Most troubling right now is that it’s unclear who issued the order.”

“I’ve received a communication from Typhon on that subject,” said Con.

I wasn’t surprised. “I spoke with him a few minutes ago, and he requested that, until we can determine exactly what happened tonight and why, I be the one responsible for asset protection.”

“Where is Sullivan now?” Con asked.

“In the other room.” Which reminded me she was also bound to a chair. I couldn’t leave her that way much longer.

“What’s your plan?” Gus asked, no doubt already anticipating my response.

“To bring her with me to Ashcroft. It’ll be the easiest place to keep her safe.”

This pertained to him more than the others, given his mother’s position at the estate.

“One hiccup,” he said. “My mum informed me earlier that Brose arrived today and plans to remain through the first of the year.”

Ambrose Ashcroft, who insisted everyone call him Brose as Gus had, was my father’s younger brother and the bane of my dad’s existence when he was still alive. While he claimed to make a living as an international art dealer and collector, I knew that, prior to my becoming duke, Brose received an extravagant allowance from the estate. Thankfully, my father had set up an irrevocable trust to continue his brother’s annual stipend, saving me from having to dole it out, as well as a potential argument about an increase.

The man was more a doddering nuisance than a threat. However, I wouldn’t risk exposing Sullivan to him.

“You could stay in the cottage until we can figure out a compelling-enough reason to get Brose to leave,” Gus suggested.

“The one-bedroom cottage?”

“Look at it this way, Ash. Your childhood fantasy is finally becoming reality,” joked Con.

I didn’t laugh. His suggestion reminded me that Sullivan was currently wearing a red, sexy-as-fuck gall gown. “One other thing. She’ll need clothing and, err, incidentals.”

“I’ll have it taken care of,” said Gus.

“It needs to be tonight.”

“Understood, Ash.”

At that very moment, I heard the woman screech, followed by what sounded like the chair toppling over.

“Gotta run, gents,” I said before ending the call and racing from the room.