Page 3 of Steel Vengeance

“We know already,” she murmured, as she stripped off, tossing her clothes onto the bed. “We’ve got you in our sights.”

Music emanated from the apartment next door. She didn’t mind it, actually. The mismatched, jingly beat was strangely uplifting. Plus, it helped to know there were people close by. Sometimes, she felt so alone.

At first, she’d been delighted, if a little overwhelmed, at the prospect of being chosen for this assignment. She was a new recruit, after all. Matthew must have pushed to get her assigned. She didn’t want to let him down. This was a test of her mettle, her first overseas mission.

She’d read ferociously in preparation, but coming here was nothing like what was in the books or online. As a westerner, she was conspicuous. As a woman travelling alone, even more so.

She’d quickly learned to dress like a local, to blend in. Her contact in Islamabad had helped her acquire the appropriate attire and headwear. One of the servants at his hotel had shown her how to fix her headscarf so that it looked natural, like an Arabic woman. With her dark hair and brown eyes, people assumed she was a local.

Then her contact had driven her to Peshawar. The trip had taken nearly three hours, and he hadn’t spoken to her once. On arrival, he’d handed her the keys to the apartment, told her which number it was, and sped off leaving her standing in the middle of the dusty road with her suitcase.

The first thing that struck her was the smell of raw meat. It made her want to throw up. She’d never considered vegetarianism before, but in the three weeks she’d been here, she hadn’t touched anything even remotely resembling meat. She could still smell it now, wafting up from the butchery below on the warm air, permeating the rickety windows.

Or maybe that was her imagination.

She walked naked into the bathroom. At least there was hot water. She hadn’t been sure when she’d seen the state of the apartment. She poured in a few drops of scented oil she’d found at the market—lavender, she thought—and climbed into the steaming, fragrant water.

It was utter bliss.

She sunk down, feeling her body relax.

Her handler would be very interested in Omari’s visitors. Perhaps this was the intel they’d been waiting for. Her orders were simple: observe and report back.

Nothing else.

It hadn’t sounded that difficult at the plush CIA offices in D.C., however, here in Peshawar, things were more complicated. Logistically, following Omari had been a nightmare—until she’d got the scooter.

She’d bought it from Mohammed who owned the garage up the road. There’d been no argument when she’d offered to pay in U.S. dollars. The magic currency. He hadn’t even asked if she had a license.

Another bribe ensured she could park it just inside the meat market. The store owner was happy to oblige. He even gave her a key to the back entrance so she could get it after hours when the front was closed, not that she’d ever had to use it.

Most of Peshawar shut down at night. Alcohol was prohibited, so there were no bars. It was only the odd teahouse and coffee shop, the tobacconist and the night market that stayed open. Despite this, the traffic only died down around midnight, but she’d gotten used to it. It no longer kept her awake like it used to.

After washing herself fully, she shampooed her hair and rinsed it using the jug she’d placed by the side of the tub. Much better!

Climbing out, she wrapped herself in a towel. Still dripping, she padded into the bedroom.

And screamed.

CHAPTER 3

Sloane dropped the towel and dived under the pillow for her gun.

It was missing.

Shit!

“Looking for this?” On the chair by the window, sat a man who looked like he could wrestle a grizzly bear—and win. He held her gun, twirling it between his fingers like it was a toy.

Her heart pounded as she realized two things at once: she was completely naked, and he was very much armed.

"Who are you?" She grabbed the towel and clutched it to her chest. Her hands trembled so badly she could barely hold on to the fabric. None of her training had prepared her for this—standing butt naked in a room with a mountain of a man, staring down the barrel of her own gun.

She could hit targets hundreds of meters away, track moving threats with precision. She could read a situation in seconds—friend or foe.

Foe. Foe. Foe.Her instincts screamed loud and clear.

But her weapon was across the room, and he had it.