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

“You certainly have a knack for showing up when it’s most inconvenient,” Zabójca said, smiling slightly.

“Right back at ya,” Diana snapped.

Zabójca pulled a gun out, pointing it at her and David. A group of businessmen in unbuttoned suits noticed, screaming out and scattering the crowds around them.

David’s freckled face was transitioning to a strawberry red, as between gasping breaths, he said, “Kill...her.”

Diana tightened her grip, glaring down at him and up at Zabójca, shifting her body underneath the Scottish Reader, not allowing Zabójca to get a clean shot. But she couldn’t be sure how loyal Zabójca was to anyone but himself. The Readers were clearly a moneymaking endeavor for him. Though he must have hated the United States military, he didn’t have that personal stake like Cameron Snowman and David, especially now with Ratanake being dead. Zabójca had to have many enemies outside of Dominic Ratanake though—many nemeses that he’d angered over the years.

He could shoot right through his head to hers.

There was the sound of shoes behind them from the other side of the alley, pedestrians shuffling in and out of the violent scene unfolding in between the cobblestone.

From behind her, a posh British accent called through it all, evening the odds.

“Put the gun down, Fedoruk.”

Diana could barely turn her head with the grip she had David in, but Idris Amber stepped up into her peripherals, holding a silenced pistol at a perfect angle, aimed right at Zabójca’s head.

A rush of air and memories made its way out of her, flashes of the last time she’d seen him popping into her mind. Amber, pinned under the stone, one side of his body covered in black ash. Diana, wrapping damp scarves around him, leaving him there as she went after Rex and Taras. Going back to him, excavating him from the scene, taking him to the hospital where she couldn’t stay for his recovery because of what was unfolding back in London. Ratanake’s murder.

Amber gave her a wink, a large scar along his left cheekbone scrunching with the crow’s feet around his dark, intense eyes.

“Drop him first,” Zabójca said, seemingly unfazed by Amber’s appearance. For all he knew, Diana was still working with MI6, and this interception had been planned by the two of them. His green eyes flashed up and down David’s struggling, crumpled form. He scowled and thought, clearly contemplating leaving his Reader-mate behind.

From Ratanake’s limited stories and the research she’d done on him, Diana knew that Zabójca’s bread and butter was his E&E, escape and evade. He murdered with such confidence because he always had a way out.

The gunshot split through the alley, hitting the stone between David’s legs. And the moment that Diana’s grip loosened from shock, David had squirmed his way out, taking a moment to kick backwards, hitting her almost directly in the chest, knocking any remaining air she had out of her.

Another shot. Amber dived out of the way.

Zabójca and David ran, sprinting back down the street they’d come from, shoving people out of their path.

“Subway,” Amber said, helping Diana to her feet and going after them.

Through the streets and blurs of gathering nightlife, they could see Zabójca and David up ahead, heading for the closest subway line, a large green 2 printed out above the underground stairway. K-pop pumped out from storefronts. Signs printed in Hangul and English lit the street with reds and blues. Advertisements for plastic surgery lined the side of the subway stairwell.

Zabójca and David were at the end of the escalator when they got to the top. The smell of the underground was so unlike that of the ones Diana had been to in other parts of the world. There was a scent of fresh sweet bread and corn. Everything clean. White and bright and well-signed.

Several people stopped to stare, some took out their phones, recording the Polish terrorist, his Scottish friend, and Amber and Diana in hot pursuit.

The line was absolutely crowded. But they managed to catch a glimpse of Zabójca and David disappearing onto the subway up ahead.

“Move!” Amber cried out, pushing his way through the people, the gun held down at his legs. Diana, gunless and frustrated, barreled forward.

There was a beeping on the speakers overhead—the subway doors were closing.

With a final push and pull of Amber’s arm, Diana snaked in through the doors, which almost closed on her and re-opened when Amber got caught in between. The doors beeped angrily, staying open for another moment before closing firmly.

But that moment was just enough for Zabójca and David to get back off the subway, Diana just catching a glimpse of the newspaper boy hat weaving back into the crowds as the train set off to its destination. The white bright station turning to a blur of black.

“Fuck!” Diana cried, slamming her fist against the train door. A group of young girls giggled and moved away from her with several judgemental and concerned looks.

“They got off,” Diana snapped back to Amber. He sighed and stumbled forward into her, grabbing on to the subway railing half a second too late.

“We’ll get off at the next station and track back,” Amber replied.

“It doesn’t matter,” she hissed. “They’re gone for good.”

“Not for good…” Amber said. “Just for now.”

The subway was surprisingly quiet for how many people were packed on line 2. Everyone concerned with how they would be perceived by the strangers around them—older women with skinny grocery carts between their legs, men in suits heading home from work, young people heading out for dinner. All keeping to themselves or whispering, some casting Amber and Diana uneasy looks.

After a moment of awkward stifled silence, Diana mumbled, “What are you doing here?”

“Bloody backup for you, apparently,” Amber said. “Are you mad? Taking on Zabójca and the Readers by yourself?”

“I had it handled,” Diana replied. “I didn’t ask for and I don’t need MI6’s help.”

“Well, we need yours.”

She looked at him, searching his dark eyes as the subway lurched and he leaned into her. His fingers were turning white,