Shades of Gray (KGI #6)(73)

It sounded simple on paper, but his gut was full of dread, because nothing was ever that simple. And he—and P.J.—had already paid the price for him ignoring his gut once.

They made it to Nashville with only minutes to spare before they would have missed the check-in for their flight. The seats were economy, which sucked. Cole was a bit spoiled, making most of his trips on the Kelly jet where he wasn’t subjected to crying babies, kids throwing tantrums and ass**les trying to take his seat before he’d even boarded.

Worse, the transatlantic flight had a connection in London and then a flight to Vienna. All in coach.

P.J. was tense and wired for sound the entire way to New York. They didn’t speak during the flight, but he could see the wheels turning in her head.

She’d switched from the easygoing, relaxed P.J. who he’d been able to draw out the few days they’d spent together, to the P.J. who was ready to shed some serious blood.

Not that he didn’t get seriously turned on when P.J. got all kick-ass. Something about that woman when she got all badass just flipped all his switches, and some he didn’t even know he had.

But this time he was worried. This was too personal. She’d lost all objectivity. It wasn’t a mission where they could disengage their emotions and do the job expected.

This was revenge, and while he couldn’t blame her for wanting to nail the bastard who’d not only hurt her but had deeply shaken her confidence, a big part of him wished that she could just walk away and heal.

When they arrived in New York, they only had forty-seven minutes to make the next leg of the flight, and it took extra time boarding because they had to present their passports. They were one of the last to be seated, and sure enough, some dickhead had plopped down in Cole’s seat, and when Cole stood in the aisle, the jerk actually had the balls to ask him to trade.

Cole gave him his best snarl and told him to get his ass up, but in the end, P.J. was the one to get him moving quickly. She leaned over, whispered something in a low voice and suddenly the man couldn’t get out of the seat fast enough.

He and P.J. settled into their seats and Cole glanced over in question.

“What did you say that made him change his mind so quickly?”

She grinned. “I just told him that I suffered from multiple personality disorder, was deathly afraid of flying and that I had to have you sitting next to me so I didn’t have panic attacks.”

Cole chuckled. “You’re diabolical. I love that about you.”

She shrugged. “Hey, it got the job done.”

“I hate ass**les who just assume you’re willing to trade for their shitty-ass seat just because they like your seat better,” Cole grumbled. “Shit like that is why I prefer flying first-class.”

The flight to London was long, and it gave Cole too much time to ponder all the reasons this was a bad idea. His gut was gnawing on him, but he was already in, and there wasn’t much he could do at this point except hope his gut was wrong.

After changing flights in London, they slept for most of the flight to Vienna. By the time they dragged their carcasses out of the airport and got into their rental car, Cole felt like he’d been rode hard and hung up wet.

“Did you email your call girl already?” he asked as they drove toward the hotel.

P.J. shook her head. “I didn’t want to risk her wanting to meet immediately and then getting spooked when it took more than twenty-four hours to arrange a hookup. After we check into the hotel, we need to go see my contact and then I’ll email her once we’re prepared.”

Cole had to admit, P.J. had her shit down. It scared the hell out of him that she had been scouring the dark holes of Vienna in search of an arms dealer by herself when he’d been half a world away going nuts worrying about her.

They checked into a hotel, and just when he would have fallen face-first onto the bed, P.J. was dragging him out the door again.

“I don’t have this guy’s number, but I know where he hangs out,” P.J. said. “I just hope we’re lucky and he can be found. We’ll take a cab. I don’t want to draw any attention by driving right up to this place.”

“What kind of place are we talking about?” Cole asked warily.

The very last thing he wanted was to go into some shit hole unarmed.

“It’s not the Ritz” was all she said as they hopped into the taxi.

She had the driver drop them off at an intersection in a part of the city that immediately raised Cole’s hackles. Hell, it was broad daylight and he was still uneasy.

They walked two blocks then ducked into an alley that smelled like it was a sewer drop. The narrow cobblestone street that fed into the alley was barely wide enough for a scooter to pass through, and the potholes were big enough to be small ponds.

Carved into stone walls that had to be centuries old was a metal door that looked like it had been the victim of police battering rams. More than once. The padlock dangled precariously from the latch.

P.J. gave three sharp knocks, and a moment later a guy who was three times Cole’s size opened the door and stuck his head out.

He had long, stringy hair that hadn’t been washed in at least a week and a jagged scar that curved the entire side of his face.

His eyes glimmered in recognition when he saw P.J., and his stance relaxed.

“I need to see Kristoff,” she said.