Sake Bomb Read Online Free PDF

sass back for too long.
She headed into the kitchen.
    “You should’ve called backup, or at least
let me know you were going in beforehand. You could’ve been
killed.”
    Just being in Belém was like dying
for Kizzie. She’d been there long enough as it was. She steeled
herself against the memories.
    “I had an in, I took it.” With a wet napkin
she wiped down the wall near the light switch. “You got what you
wanted, right?”
    “Yeah.” Fletcher sighed. “We’ve been trying
to pin down Galletti for almost two years. I owe Connolly big
time.”
    “He didn’t spend the evening getting groped
by this asshole, did he? You owe me , on top of what you’re
already doing. How’s the phone coming?”
    “Few more ticks.”
    She couldn’t wait. Kizzie made another sweep
of the apartment, ignoring all the beady little clown eyes and the
very tempting idea of tossing them to the floor and striking a
match. Silvia was crumpled at the butler’s feet, Zio was tagged and
resting quite peacefully after a night of passionate, meaningful
non-sex. That’d have to do.
    Time to g–
    His phone trilled. Kizzie went for his pants
and stopped short. “Did you get that?”
    “Get wh—”
    “Galletti’s phone. He just got a text
message.”
    “Wha— You’re there ? At his house!
Jesus, Kizzie, what about guards? What if someone fol—”
    “Fletch…” She didn’t need his concern, she
needed confirmation, and after all she’d been through to track the
man down she’d be damned if things went wrong at the last minute.
Not to mention this could’ve all ended in the
elevator— without the grind and jab—had the ink from the pen
worked as it was supposed to. Desk agents …
    The sirens practically screamed in her ear
now. Her pulse raced but she fought the urge to flee. Just a few
more seconds. She had to be sure.
    The long pause on Fletcher’s end as data
transmitted back to Langley made Kizzie’s skin crawl.
    “Picture,” he finally said. Kizzie made for
the door. “A boy, maybe seven or eight. Mean anything to you?”
    “Follow up on it.” She ended the call. The
screech of sirens faded. One last look back at the chaos she made,
Kizzie opened the door.
    Two hours later, she was speeding down the
highway, warmed through with relief. “All right, Belém,” she
mumbled to the city 100 miles in her rearview, “Now we’re
even.”

 
     
    July 25 th
    Bruges, Belgium
     
     
    A t a table in a bar
on the Grote Markt , Phillip Marchande took a healthy swallow
of the most overpriced blonde Brugse Zot the place had to offer.
The window to his immediate left—an unlikely seating arrangement
for him—provided a clear view of the plaza, the restaurant, and the
waitress. An iPad and the half-drained pilsner kept him company
while he watched her from a safe distance with the aid of the zoom
function on his sunglasses.
    Behind him, a German couple argued over
their next destination. The wife would win, but Phil found it
amusing her husband thought he had a chance. Phil learned a long
time ago that a woman with her mind made up could only be deterred
by divine intervention or chocolate.
    From the other side of the window a gawker
pressed his face to the tinted glass, hands shading his eyes as he
looked in and blocking Phil’s view. His brow furrowed. Why the hell
did people do this when the doors were open? Half a beat later, the
man moved along and Phil found her again.
    A tray of mugs perched on the fingertips of
one hand, she wended through the outdoor tables, approaching one
full of young men.
    She looked…healthy. Her small frame had
finally picked up weight, filling out the drawn lines of her face
and adding a slight curve to narrow hips. The tee shirt clung a
little tighter to her small breasts. Looked good on her. And though
she’d just had a birthday—turned the ripe old age of 20—she
appeared much younger than the last time he’d seen her. Had to be
Bruges’s atmosphere—all charming castles and old