Rising Hope by Edie James

6

Ulrich had unzippedthe first duffle bag, spreading the edges so Sarah could see the top row of blister-packed capsules.

“Looks good.” She nodded to him.

No need to dig through the merch. Cheating her would be a stupid move. Small-time dealers on the street might short their buyers, but at this level the sellers would give her everything she paid for.

Her fourth buy was going well. She’d managed to talk them into a half million dollar deal this time, stretching the limits of their regular allotments. The next time she wanted to up the quantity, they’d have to check with the higher-ups. Hopefully, those higher-ups would then make an appearance at an even bigger buy.

Case closed. Goodbye.

Ulrich grunted and zipped the bags back up. She purposely spoke directly to him only. Patel represented the manufacturing side, but the street-hardened Ulrich made things happen. Not showing the man the respect he expected would end things here and now.

Ulrich leered at her. His gaze never reached her face. He snapped his fingers. “Patel. Take the lady’s money.”

Mouth pinched in distaste, the other man stepped forward, electronic tablet in hand. He activated a bank webpage then swung the tablet toward her for her to enter the payment account information. Her gelled nails clacked on the screen as she input the data and hit send.

Half a million dollars of the US government’s money disappeared into the Tambov Roka account.

“Boss, we have a problem.” One of the bodyguards called out.

Ulrich whipped out a pistol. With his other hand, he shoved her behind him. “Don’t move,” he ordered, and headed toward the helicopter.

She ignored him, rounding the side of the SUV right on his heels. The sight that greeted her made her blood freeze: her new pilot, hands in the air, weapon in the dirt at his feet, with two of Ulrich’s bodyguards aiming their weapons at his chest.

She picked up her pace, swaying a little as her heels wobbled. She shoved her hands on her hips so hard the assortment of rings on her fingers dug into her hips and glared at Enzo. “Are you serious?”

His movements slow and frighteningly precise, Ulrich double-handed his Makarov and sighted in on Enzo.

What was the newbie thinking? Had she not been clear? When he made eye contact, she spoke. “I told you to stay out of the way.”

Enzo took a step forward, but froze instantly, stopped short by the wall of firepower trained on him. “That guy was messing with the helo. He put something under the frame.”

Ulrich looked at his man like an indulgent parent. “Peter, did you mess with Mrs. Duvall’s helicopter?”

The over-muscled killer shrugged. “I didn’t hurt anything.”

Enzo’s mouth dropped open. “You attached something to the undercarriage. I saw you.”

A chill ran down Sarah’s spine. Had her cover been blown? No. No way would Ulrich blow up merchandise. If he had made her, he’d just have her shot.

Every ounce of training—and family background—kicked in. If Ulrich was tough, she had to appear tougher.

She motioned to Enzo. “Show me.”

Ulrich’s men didn’t lower their weapons.

She glared at Ulrich. “What’s the plan, Jan? Blowing us up with a half mil of product on board’s not a very bright idea.”

He grunted, motioning his men to lower their weapons. “Let them look.”

Enzo ran for the helicopter and dropped to his knees, ripping a palm-sized black box out from under the pilot’s side skid. He stared at the thing for a minute, turning it over in his hand before striding toward her.

“It’s some sort of battery-powered tracker. Radio beacon, if I had to guess.”

She looked from the thin antenna-like wire sticking out the side to Ulrich.

The man grinned sheepishly, though his eyes remained hard. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Yeah, I can.” She grabbed the transmitter from Enzo’s hand and slapped it into Ulrich’s palm. “Not nice, Jan. Not. Nice.”

The criminal didn’t even bother to look embarrassed. “We can’t trust you if we don’t know anything about you.”

This dance she knew well. The trick would be to stand her ground without shaming Ulrich in front of his crew. “You know I’ve bought almost a million dollars worth of product at this point. Anything else you’re curious about, you can ask. Or come to one of my sales parties.” She grinned cheekily. “No. Scratch that. Send your wife.”

She might sound brave, but inside she was shaking. Every undercover op was a dance. Uncover the bad guys’ vulnerabilities without letting on. And never, ever make them feel stupid. That was a quick way to die.

The way she figured it, the Russian had two choices. He could shoot her and the new guy in the head and drive off with their drugs. Reselling half a million worth of product wouldn’t be hard. The Tambor Roka would have plenty of other buyers, fellow criminals who wouldn’t cause them this kind of grief.

Or he could let this slide. She was on her way to becoming the customer of the century. As far as he knew, she’d already moved seven figures worth of merch for him, giving him a huge payday with very little work, not to mention the opportunity for prestige. Her increasing orders had to be impressing his bosses.

So it would come down to ease versus the strength of Ulrich’s desire to please his higher-ups. Patience vs future gains. Did the man have the self-discipline?

She gritted her teeth and waited. Wind eddied around her, plastering dirt against her damp skin. Killed on her last mission. Wouldn’t that be just her luck?

Finally, Ulrich tossed the tracking device into the bushes and holstered his huge handgun. “The man’s just doing his job. Let him be.”

She smiled up at Ulrich, hoping she looked like a grateful fellow entrepreneur and not a desperate officer of the law, willing to do anything to take down his operation. “Jan, you rock. This is gonna be a great partnership.”

An ugly spark lit his eyes. “I’m counting on it, Gorgeous.”

She suppressed a shudder and clapped her hands together. “Let’s get moving. I’ve got a massage in an hour.”

The man motioned to his muscled helpers and barked orders in Russian.

Enzo opened the side door of the helicopter, directing the men where to set the five heavy cargo bags. He stayed close, though, arms folded as he supervised the loading.

Ulrich made an approving noise. “At least he’s trainable.”

She wrapped a hank of over-teased hair around her finger, regarding Enzo with a shuttered look. “I hope so. I’m getting used to this helicopter thing.”

Ulrich tipped back his head to study the wicked-looking blades. “It’s a nice ride. I may have to consider something similar. They’re pricey little beauties, though.”

She shot him a playful look. “You’ve got the money.”

“I do.” He eyed her pilot. “But I won’t trust my safety to one person. Too easy to make sure I don’t land in one piece.”

She released the hank of hair, flinging it over her shoulder. “That’s a good point. Trade-offs, am I right?”

He ran a finger around the gaudy gold chain encircling his thick neck. “Da.”

She knew about compromise. Like trading the threat of prison time for five years under the thumb of the DEA. Shutting down drug dealers offered redemption, certainly, but she longed for a cleaner life. A freer life, away from the incessant evils.

Five years in, it was a life she’d surely earned by now.

She was tired of searching out people’s pain points. Tired of exploiting their weaknesses, even if the goal was commendable. She wanted the life she imagined Boy Scout Enzo had been born into.

She’d read his file. Stable friends. Stable family. Stable life.

Envy knotted her stomach. Still, nothing was ever perfect. Sure, the guy risked his life every day to save others. But she’d survived too long not to know that everyone had an angle. It would be nice to get this op buttoned up before she uncovered Lieutenant MacKenzie’s.

The role of hero suited him. She’d like to start her new life believing in something. Or someone.