Chasing the White Lion James Hannibal (essential reading TXT) 📖

MILOS, GREEK ISLES

SLEEPELUDED TALIA. How could she close her eyes when every minute counted?

With the help of one of the refugee parents, Jenni’s contact in Thailand had discovered a pen of barbed wire strung between trees in the jungle. There were medical scraps, cigarette butts, and a ball made of rubber bands that one of the little boys always carried. Ewan Ferguson had given Jenni the GPS coordinates for the first stop in a trail that might lead directly to those kids.

Tyler had nothing more than a teetering stack of assumptions. If his thieves could navigate three complicated cons, and if those cons led to the capture of Livingston Boyd, Talia might be able to pull the location of the kids straight from the kingpin’s mouth. But that hope was built on the assumption the kidnappers were truly part of Boyd’s global organization.

She and Tyler had different goals. Talia was in this job for the little girl, Hla Meh, and the others. Tyler was in this for Boyd and Archangel.

She lit a fire in the boat’s fireplace, curled up on the couch, and when Tyler and Val stepped in off the dock and turned on the light, Talia was there waiting for them. She had her speech all ready, but the worry in their faces stopped her. “What happened with Don Marco? Did you take him to the house?”

Tyler pushed the door closed behind him, locked it, and closed the blinds on its window. “Jafet has him. Part of the deal. Nothing’s changed.”

But something had changed. She could hear it in his denial. And with Don Marco in Jafet’s clutches, Talia’s decision would hurt Tyler all the more. “I . . . I have to leave.”

Val tossed the van keys on the bar and threw up her hands. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m sorry, but the child advocacy group that told us about the missing kids has a lead. We could walk this long meandering trail of cons to Boyd, or we could cut a path directly to the kidnappers.”

Tyler walked past her to the sliding door of the lower deck and cracked it open, letting in the cool sea air. “That’s an ethanol fireplace. You should always ventilate the room when you use one.”

“Tyler, I’m serious. I’m going. And I’d like to take Finn and Mac with me.”

He didn’t answer.

Val gave her a long look that told Talia exactly what she was thinking, then descended a short stair to her bunk. The door slammed shut. Two beats later, Talia heard a muted shout from beyond.

“Flip . . . flop!”

Tyler lowered himself into a recliner across the living room, facing the sliding door. The way his mind worked was not lost on Talia. Hers worked the same way. Tyler had secured one point of entry, and when prudence necessitated the opening of another, he positioned himself to keep tabs on it. “We talked about this. One hundred percent committed. That’s what we agreed upon.”

“Those were your words, not mine. And that was before I had a set of coordinates.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking her way. “For the kids?”

“For a spot in the jungle where we know they were held.”

“That’s a huge distinction.”

Talia hugged a pillow to her chest and fell back against the cushions. “Yeah. I know.”

They both sat there, with only the hiss of the fireplace and the soft splashing of the waves.

After a while, Talia broke the silence. “You never told me the story.”

“Which story.”

“You know the one.”

In an airport in Italy, a lifetime ago, Tyler had hinted at the history between him and Don Marco. That’s a story for another day. So far, another day hadn’t come.

“Humor me,” she said. “I’ve waited six months to hear this tale, and now Don Marco’s life is at stake.”

He sighed, and for a few long heartbeats, Talia thought he wouldn’t cave. But then the story began. “Don Marco is Val’s father. That much, you know from recent events. And if she’s spoken of him, you also know he was once a brutal crime boss.”

“Orien Jafet’s rival in the Mediterranean region,” Talia said.

Tyler nodded. “Back then, he was simply Marco. I wasn’t lying when I told you the locals in Campione d’Italia gave him that title for all his praying. And Marco the crime boss was my final assignment as an assassin.”

Talia sat up. “But my dad—”

“Came first in the timeline. Think of the contract on Marco as an outsourcing job, brokered by the Agency on behalf of elements within the Italian government. But after what I’d learned—after I realized Archangel had betrayed both your father and me—I wanted out.”

“So you refused the assignment.”

“Not quite.” Tyler offered a thin smile. “I changed the terms. I hunted Marco down at a castle in the hills above Salerno, dragged him into the woods, and gave him a choice. Repent or die.”

Ultimatums weren’t Tyler’s style. “You’re saying you threatened to kill Marco if he didn’t convert?”

“I was a new Christian, but not so ignorant. No, I chose utter honesty. I admitted leaving the game and promised to let him live. But I told him another assassin would come calling. Instead of demanding his conversion, I offered to become his advocate.” Tyler left his seat and walked to the fire, kneeling to warm his hands. “I asked him to renounce his ways and retire. Faith was not a requirement. But God had prepared the way. Marco’s demons had caught up to him long before I arrived. He was ready.”

“And after his repentance, you ran interference for him with the powers that be.”

Tyler nodded. “I fended off two more assassins before the Italians came to the table. I convinced them Marco’s permanent retirement accomplished the same operational goals as his death. With additional benefits.”

Talia could see what he meant—any case officer could. A man like Marco was a treasure trove of intelligence. “What happened then?”

“I set him up with some friends in Campione d’Italia, and he never left.” Tyler let out a sorrowful laugh. “Until today, when I still managed to