was at her husband’s side.
So he’d let her stay. Because a part of him had enjoyed the moments of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic life. Because he loved his wife and son almost as much as he loved his job, and because he believed he could keep them safe. Kray had warned Jeff he would pay. Until this moment he hadn’t known how much.
Jeff let go of his thoughts and concentrated on the pain because the alternative was too horrible. Kray had ordered one of his men to place the bomb in Jeff’s car. The car Jeanne had borrowed that morning so she and J.J. could run errands. Jeff had grown complacent and overly confident. He’d killed his wife and child as surely as if he had set the bomb himself.
Then the buzzing in his ears grew louder and his thoughts more erratic. He couldn’t focus on Jeanne’s face or the sound of J.J.’s laughter. They were getting lost in the pain. Suddenly not finding his way back didn’t sound so bad.
“We’re losing him,” a disembodied voice called. “Pressure’s dropping. He’s lost too much blood.”
Jeff let himself sink further into the blackness. He didn’t care if he died. Jeanne was gone already, and with her, Jeff Jr. Dying might solve his problem. He would simply wait for Kray to join him in hell.
Chapter 1
Five years later
Jeff Markum lay on his belly in the sand. Waving sea grass, bougainvillea and wild fig trees hid him from view. His powerful binoculars allowed him to see into the open windows of the exclusive villa situated at the far end of the hotel grounds.
Three men gathered around a table, as was their morning custom. They’d finished breakfast and were talking. A soft, tropical breeze carried with it the faint sound of laughter. Jeff couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he watched their lips moving and deciphered most of the words.
They were going fishing.
Jeff turned his head slightly to the right and saw the dock jutting out into the deep blue of the Caribbean sea. A well-equipped powerboat sat bobbing in the water. The crew was preparing for their day of fishing. Jeff looked back at the villa. The path from the front door to the boat was about fifty feet long. Nothing obstructed Jeff’s view of the area, so nothing would get in the way of his shot.
Kray would walk those fifty feet. He was a head taller than both his bodyguards. It would be easy to take him out.
Jeff lowered the binoculars and rolled onto his back. His hip bumped the gleaming rifle he’d laid out in preparation of what had to be done. Timing. This whole damn thing was about timing. Today it would happen. He could feel it in his bones, especially in his knee, which often ached if the weather was right.
It was early enough that the temperature was still pleasant. A rainstorm had passed through during the night, washing everything clean. He inhaled the thick air of the island, smelling the tropical flowers, the sea and his own sweat. He’d thought he might hesitate or be weighed down by indecision, but he wasn’t. Today. Now. Kray would die.
Jeff brushed his arm across his forehead and tried to relax. He’d killed men before. He wasn’t afraid to watch someone die. He wasn’t even afraid of dying himself. The plan was flawless. He was the ultimate weapon—an assassin willing to sacrifice himself for the target. Kray didn’t have a chance.
Jeff knew what would happen afterward. He hadn’t spent much time planning his escape, mostly because he didn’t expect to get away. Kray practically owned the island. He came here often enough to make the locals pliable to his wishes. While he was on St. Lucas, Kray liked to pretend he wasn’t a dangerous criminal, but instead, a wealthy businessman on holiday. So the villa had no alarm system, no heat sensors, no obvious security. It was perfect for Jeff’s plan. The three bodyguards who went everywhere with Kray wouldn’t even notice the single bullet that flew past them to find its victim. No doubt Jeff would be caught. So be it. He wanted Kray dead—nothing else mattered.
Jeff rolled onto his stomach again. Instead of the villa, he saw the small red car exploding into unrecognizable pieces. He felt the heat and smelled the burning wreckage.
He held himself very still and waited until the vision passed; then he picked up the rifle and stared through the scope. It had been five long years. In all that time Kray had never crossed the line. He’d never tried to kill Jeff again, and he’d never been caught. One of the most powerful crime lords in the world walked free because he was too smart and too lucky. Jeff smiled slowly. Kray’s luck was about to change for the worse. A single bullet to the head. That’s all it would take.
He was cynical enough to know Kray’s death wouldn’t change the world. Someone else would step in his shoes. But Jeff didn’t care about that. Part of the reason he was here—hell, all of the reason he was here was personal. Maybe when Kray was dead, his dreams about Jeanne and J.J. would haunt him less. Maybe then he could finally forget.
The sound of the boat engines cranking over caught his attention. He adjusted the rifle, shifting his arm on the sand, then stared through the scope. He closed his left eye. He could see the crew preparing to cast off.
Slowly he turned the rifle toward the villa’s front door. Within a few seconds, the first of the bodyguards appeared, carrying a canvas bag. The man was talking. Jeff couldn’t decipher his words. A second man stepped out onto the path. Kray’s assistant. Jeff waited.
A third man moved onto the path. Jeff stiffened. Kray. He stared intently through the rifle’s scope. The crime lord looked like what he pretended to be: a successful businessman on holiday. His brown hair was short and brushed straight back. Thick eyebrows arched over light brown eyes. A full mouth curved into a smile at something one of the bodyguards said.
Jeff adjusted the scope until the cross hairs centered on Kray’s head. He touched the trigger. He’d been practicing with this rifle for over a year. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, knew how heavy the loads were in the bullets and knew precisely what would happen to Kray at the moment of impact. He’d always been a good field agent, even if he’d spent the past five years behind a desk.
He thought about Jeanne and J.J. one last time, then cleared his mind. Nothing existed except the target. Nothing mattered. His breathing slowed, as did his heartbeat. His body stayed perfectly still in anticipation.
The fourth man stepped through the door and onto the path. He, too, carried a canvas bag. The group started moving toward the boat. Now, Jeff told himself. He drew in a breath, held it and started to squeeze.
“Monsieur Kray!” a female voice called.
Jeff froze, then forced himself to relax. There was still time.
Kray and his men turned toward the house. A dark-haired woman in a gray-and-white uniform ran down to the dock. She was holding a piece of paper. Kray waited impatiently as the woman approached him.
They spoke briefly.
The woman, her dark hair pulled away from her face, stepped between Jeff and his target. Jeff waited. Kray read the paper, then handed it back to her and nodded. The woman started toward the villa.
Before he could adjust his sights on Kray again, a flicker of movement from behind the villa caught his attention. He tried to ignore it, but years of training kicked in. Cursing silently, he swung the gun back toward the villa, using the scope as a magnifying lens.
A woman crept up to the rear of the villa, toward
