Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3) by Cate Clarke (book suggestions .txt) 📕

“Mr. Tennison, you’re not in any condition to go after her right now…”

As she doubted him, he tried to stand, working through the pain to try and get to his feet. The medics behind him muttered and swore as they rearranged their hands that were working on his burns. He had to fall to his knees first, the glass digging in through the pants he’d been wearing for three weeks. Then, one leg at a time, he stood.

Jillian Watts sighed, looking over her shoulder at her crew that was working through the room.

“Dad.” Wesley stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

“No fucking way,” Rex snapped. “Sorry… no way, champ.”

A sharp pain ran through from his spine to his side as he lifted his hand and clamped it on Wesley’s shoulder. He tucked in his lips, and he could feel his cheeks growing red.

Wesley shook his head and said, “Dad… you can’t even lift your hand.”

“I’m still breathing and that’s all that matters.” Rex grinned. Wesley returned it and then they grabbed each other, pulling each other into a strong hug after all that they had gone through together. All that pain, all that death but Wesley was still here. He had saved his life, and Rex had never been prouder of his son than he was right now. He clutched to the back of Wesley’s neck and head with the hand he’d been able to lift and kissed the top of his head. The smell of body odor, piss and infection floated under the moment. “You stink though, kid.”

“You too,” Wesley replied into Rex’s sternum.

“Clean clothes. And then we go after your mom?”

Wesley nodded, his hair brushing against Rex’s bare chest.

By the time they pulled apart, Watts had rounded the room and was gathering blankets from another officer. She passed them to Rex, shoving the pile of gray wool into his hands.

“How about something to wear?” Rex asked.

“Mr. Tennison, I cannot in good faith send you out and after your wife…”

“Ex-wife. Mother of my children,” Rex corrected. “And I don’t care much about your faith, no offense.”

“Whichever.” With dark green eyes, she looked him up and down. She let out another exasperated sigh and said, “Okay, fine. I’m not arguing with any more Weicks today. Hop in with the guys by the door.”

On the outskirts of London, they followed the helicopter that was weaving erratically through the air. They were in a convoy of black SUVs. Whatever Voss was planning, it wasn’t going to be easy.

This was an endgame thing. The type of plan that ended with the planner getting shot twice in the head.

Out the window, three gray drones were following behind the chopper, keeping pretty good pace since it seemed that Voss wasn’t the best pilot. She was an experienced field agent with, apparently, a lot of skills. When Watts had shown Rex her profile, a lot of her strengths had reminded him of Diana—though she couldn’t be further from her in terms of personality.

They were heading east along the Thames, the water weaving next to the road and slowly growing wider the further they went.

Watts had given him some hefty painkillers, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t feeling each pump of his heart at the base of his spine. They’d given his wounds a quick sweep for glass and of antiseptic, and they were on their way. Maybe it was stupid to go after her in his condition. But Diana had always come after them. No matter what.

She had come for him in the desert. For Kennedy in Ukraine. Now, it was their turn to rescue her.

The helicopter was beginning to slow.

The driver ahead spoke into an earpiece.

“Yup. We see it,” he said. “Bloody fuck.”

He leaned over his shoulder to mutter to Wesley, “Sorry, kid.”

“I’m eighteen!” Wesley protested.

In the middle of the Thames, there was a long skinny island, a broken dock on the southern edge and clusters of oak trees around its perimeter. The SUV pulled off on the side of the road, following suit with the convoy in front of it. The helicopter was circling over top, looking for a way to land. It teetered to one side, looking like it was about to crash into one of the traffic bridges behind it. It regained stability and then lowered down below the tree line and out of sight.

“What’s on that island?” Rex asked, leaning forward.

“Pretty much nothing,” The driver replied. “An old school, maybe.”

“Y’all got a boat?”

“We’ll get one.”

“How fast?”

“Probably fifteen minutes out.”

“She could kill her in fifteen minutes.”

“She could already be dead.”

Rex glared at him in the rearview mirror.

“Well, sorry, mate. If you want to play the realism game—”

Rex opened the door and got out of the car, leaving it open so Wesley could follow behind him. The metal railing along the sidewalk was cold underneath his palms. Beneath them, the dark current of the Thames slapped against the concrete edge of the city.  Across the water, the island—about three hundred feet out from where they were standing—was completely quiet.

The sound of the helicopter’s engine cut.

Rex wanted to kick off the new sneakers and strip the SCO19 clothes from his body so he could dive in and swim across to the island. Maybe ten years ago and one fatal infection ago, but he would never make it in his current condition.

“Rex Tennison,” a deep posh accent said from behind him. He turned to see Idris Amber, his hands tucked into a coat, dried blood along his forehead, dark curls falling in front of even darker eyes.

Amber reached out a hand and Rex shook it.

“Last time I saw you,” Rex started, “you were the one with the burns.”

With a quick glance, he noticed the fresh scar stretched across the side of Amber’s face. There were bags under his eyes and his beard wasn’t as manicured as he’d once seen it.

“How the tables have turned,” Amber said, laughing a little.

They both looked over at the island, sharing in the somber feeling of a life without Diana