Tightrope (eBook)

Chapter 1

Wiping sweat from her brow, Brinn Gallagher adjusted the plush white towel firmly wrapped around her chest and cursed under her breath. She glanced around the spacious sauna with its terraced wooden roasting benches. Among the scattering of women present, some wore barely-there skimpy swimsuits, their breasts threatening to burst out of the rather insubstantial confines. Others had stripped away their clothing completely.

“This is so not relaxing,” Brinn groaned while gulping a stifling breath. “Bloody hell, but it’s hot in here.”

“That’s why it is called a sauna,” Carmen drawled beside her. “Everyone else around here is having a good time, relishing in the numerous purported health benefits from this type of heat therapy, such as reducing stress levels, easing muscular aches and pain, and improved cardiovascular health.”

“I read the pamphlet; there’s no need to recite it to me. And seriously, you should use less perfume. Every time I sit next to you, I struggle to breathe.”

“Sure thing. I’ve been soaking in the pool outside, so there is literally nothing left to smell. This is all me.”

“That’s precisely my point; your pores ooze whatever pungent concoction you sprayed on.”

The CIA operative glared at her through slitted eyes. “Are you saying I stink? Why are you being extra pissy today?”

Gallagher gritted her teeth. “Two weeks, you promised me it would take two weeks to get what you needed on Frank; it’s been three, and we are still stuck in Italy. More so, there is no end in sight to this torture.”

“Patience, grasshopper; it takes as long as it takes.”

“You’re not the one having to fend off that man tooth and nail,” Brinn fumed. “This is my life that is on hold!”

“We’re not done here until I have mapped Harrelson’s whole organization and find out where he obtained that sample novel ballistic material your sister-in-law, Peyton Scott-Baird, developed... and whether he has an associate capable of duplicating the textile.”

“I would have thought that the charred edges made it clear that Frank’s contact ripped the material off a dead marine’s mangled body.”

The mere notion made Brinn feel sick to her stomach, bubbling up unsettling flashbacks of the many years she had spent with constant worry, dread, and fear when Connor served as the tip of the spear. He could just as easily have come back home in a flag-enshrouded wooden box, like most of his former Ranger unit... Gallagher swallowed hard thinking about those brave soldiers and the ultimate sacrifice they had made.

The newly fabricated body armor and protective clothing Brinn helped to design as part of a highly classified project had significantly reduced combat casualties and serious injury but could not change the laws of physics when a bomb exploded.

“Until Francesco met with you in Chicago, we had no in; the man is paranoid to the nth degree and does not allow newbies access to his inner circle. It would have taken years working from afar to gather the intel we uncovered over the past weeks. Trust that we are making progress, and that taking players like him off the board makes the world a safer place.”

“I have no illusions that you operate in the darker shades of gray and black, Carmen. So forgive me if I don’t take anything you say at face value... As usual, you are skimpy on the details of what exactly Frank is suspected of, and what intelligence you have gathered.”

Foxdale shrugged unfazed. “Does it really matter? It’s not like I have irrefutable proof.”

“You share nothing substantial, yet you wonder why I don’t trust you.”

“Look, Brinn, if I didn’t see for myself how those enhanced ballistic wearables you helped design stopped a serrated weapon and those lethal .50 BMG caliber signature rounds the hired assassin that targeted your family used, I would never have believed that such a textile exists... Nothing used to stop those heinous, large-caliber, high-velocity bullets—not the most advanced ballistic vest with armored steel or ceramic plates—not even concrete walls.”

In the rare cases where such a deadly bullet did not kill its target instantly on impact, the devastating trauma inflicted by the massive kinetic energy produced, and the subsequent concussive wave that dissipated throughout the body, would cause severe bruising, broken ribs, crippling organ damage, crushed vertebrae, and catastrophic internal bleeding.

Basically, if you were hit by a large .50 BMG caliber bullet—at any range, anywhere—you used to be dead meat.

Peyton’s groundbreaking high-performance fiber invention had changed that, and Brinn’s meticulous designs took full advantage of its intrinsic ballistic properties. Together, they had partnered with Westigarde, an Atlanta-based engineering firm, to manufacture next-tier body armor and protective wearables, almost exclusively supplying the United States Government. Though, that specific information was classified top secret to protect all involved from state actors and others of influence who might want to extract what was now deemed national security secrets.

These factors were exactly why CIA Carmen got chosen for this mission, because she already knew too much, and the powers that be did not want to read anyone else in. That, and the fact that the skank was ruthlessly efficient with her whatever-it-takes attitude.

The spook conspicuously lowered her tone, “Do I need to remind you that Peyton scarcely survived her last tangle with a hit man? Do you really want yet another target painted on her back—or Connor’s? This is your one chance to control the narrative, to prevent things from escalating to more dangerous levels. Let’s stop Harrelson before this situation takes on a life of its own and blows out of control.”

Brinn glanced down at the ugly healed scar on Carmen’s right thigh where the assassin had stabbed her months earlier. “That is what you get for luring my family into a deadly trap.”

“If anyone asks, it’s a childhood injury from when I went to the county fair.” The vamp’s voice dropped another octave, “Don’t pretend that I didn’t help your kin out of a tight pickle; saved that squeaky-clean Gallagher brand image that you lot pride yourselves in.”

Her reply pitched higher, “You mean by turning my uncle’s murder by a psychopath into a natural event?”

“That, and making Slepakov’s body disappear along with your family’s involvement in a murder-for-hire scheme.”

Brinn cringed at hearing the Russian assassin’s name. Her uncle had hired the hit man to take out Connor and Peyton in an effort to cover up his embezzlement of millions of dollars from Gallagher Incorporated. At the time, the fashion house was looking at collaborating on a project with textile giant, Scott-Baird Industries, hence their company’s financials being disclosed. Peyton had in fact stumbled across the fraud.

Carmen continued, “Let’s not forget the willful destruction of public property in downtown Chicago with shooting up a prime tourist attraction. It cost the Agency a pretty penny to have that park repaired.”

“I wonder whose fault that was, and it was hardly willful,” Brinn scoffed. “Don’t act as if you do anything out of the goodness of your heart, Carmen. You were running an illegal, unsanctioned CIA operation on U.S. soil and saving your own ass in the process.”

The wench shrugged her shoulder. “Let’s not worry about the details... It all worked out in the end.”

“I’d have to disagree with you on that: My uncle is dead, and my family was terrorized. I’m presently the one walking a tightrope between self-preservation and self-destruction; between life and death.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You have as much to lose as I do. Besides, your uncle sealed his own fate by contracting a killer. Surely you don’t want more people going after your family, do you? As I’ve said, this is your chance to keep them safe.”

Brinn swallowed the lump forming in her throat. That was the exact psyops logic Carmen had used to strong-arm her into this shit show of a mission in the first place.

A spa attendant entered to scoop spoonfuls of water onto the sauna rocks and to replenish the wood fire heating them. Another female staff member strode around with a serving platter in hand, offering customers rainbow-colored flavored ice blocks plated on a bed of crushed ice.

Carmen helped herself to a chilled treat. “Try to live in the moment, and enjoy what is on offer. Most people would die for this type of pampering and luxury. You are the first person I have come across who moans about having to fly in a private jet; and please spare me from parroting your ‘I’m a nervous flyer and can’t handle turbulence’ nonsense. No one else flies with a barf bag in their lap.”

“It’s true. I’m not keen on flying.”

The vamp rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to hear that again;...