Riding The Edge - Elise Faber

Prologue

San Francisco, California, USA

06:34hrs local time

Dan

Wedding bells and bakery smells.

If that didn’t encapsulate this day, then I didn’t know what did.

But that wasn’t the most important thing about the day.

I had more work to do.

And it did not involve downing more of the delicious confections that were created in this building.

For one, they weren’t good for my waistline. I had put on a good five pounds since I’d begun this protection and investigation detail. For another, it was time I remove myself and the complication of KTS from the blissful couple’s lives.

Their part in this shitshow was done.

They’d sacrificed, risked their lives, and now they deserved a peaceful future.

Which meant I needed to circle back to work.

I slipped out the back of the bakery on a sigh, relieved this part of the mission was finally complete. I’d only come because my presence at this informal wedding had been requested by two people I respected beyond measure.

Jackson and Molly, the couple I’d been protecting, hadn’t gone to a big church or invested in the puffy dress. Not this time.

Today they were just two people in love getting a second chance.

People who had missed their first chance because we couldn’t get our shit done. Two people who’d nearly missed their second chance because of the same, because KTS had failed them.

Some agent, huh?

“Fuck,” I muttered, part of my mind making sure the door closed, the rest scanning the surrounding area for threats. But deep down, I was so damned tired of the guilt, even as a part of me knew it was just part of the job. When I’d been cherry-picked from the FBI a few years before and folded into the private sector, I had already been well-familiar with the failures that were common in this line of work.

Not every case was solved.

Not everyone came out alive.

Not every ending was happy.

I got that. I . . . just hadn’t expected to find it so fucking depressing to be working for an agency with a bigger reach, who took on bigger bad guys from around the world.

Because despite the larger budget and greater access to resources, sometimes the bad guys still won.

And the only thing I hated more than the bad guys winning was when it was my fault.

“I knew you’d be here.”

I didn’t react. I might feel like a failure when it came to taking down the Mikhailova clan, but I was damned good at being aware of my surroundings, of keeping myself alive.

So, I knew Laila was there, had slipped out the back door of the bakery, same as me. Knew she’d come to the wedding for the same reason as me—she’d gotten close to the couple, felt the same connection with Molly and Jackson as me.

And we both wanted to see the couple happy.

Because happy didn’t happen often enough in this industry.

But just as I knew Laila had emerged from inside, even though I’d hardly made a sound when opening that heavy metal door, I also knew that Ava had come out behind her.

Ava.

Peaches. Humid summer days. Whiskey and lemonade and—

Fuck. Ava.

She strode over to me, curves in a compact body, shining brown hair swept up into a ponytail that swung behind her shoulders as she moved, strength and confidence . . . and so many painful memories.

Her eyes looked right through me, minimizing everything that had happened between us two years ago.

Then those eyes narrowed, focused on me, seared straight into my soul.

“We found the hard drives.”

A beat as Laila came forward and crossed her arms, expression furious.

“And we know what’s on them.”

One

Munich, Germany

21:32hrs local time

Dan

I was dead.

I knew that the moment I saw the shadow shift out of the corner of my eye.

Knew it even as I burst into motion, moving in what would prove to be a vain attempt to avoid a speeding bullet.

Pain exploded in my chest as I dove behind a wall, hitting the ground hard.

My lungs struggled to work, but I clamped down on the gasp of agony before it could escape.

Shot.

Not for the first time. Probably not for the last.

That thought gave me a blip of clarity, allowed me to take a moment to catalog the injury. Blood seeped out of the wound on both my chest and back. The first was a problem. The second gave me hope the bullet had been a through and through.

“Report.”

That voice in my ear had the fog that was encroaching on the edges of my vision dissipating. It rolled down my spine like honey, brought the