Читать книгу Jackson's Woman - Maggie Price - Страница 7

The dark-haired geologist who swung open the door to his favorite Barcelona restaurant was tall, lean and lanky, in the prime of his life.

In five minutes, he’d be dead.

At the tree-shaded park a safe distance away, a man fueled by cold revenge stabbed a button on his cell phone.

“Target’s in.” Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call.

Through powerful binoculars the man scanned the lunchtime crowd jamming the sunny sidewalk in front of the restaurant. When he spotted the two blond women who’d paused to check the menu posted outside the restaurant, his throat closed. Each dressed in a bright sundress, their skin tanned, they looked so much like his wife and teenage daughter he felt a wave of nausea. Sweat beaded his forehead, his palms.

Don’t go inside. The warning flashed in his brain while fresh grief that was beyond name, beyond reason, ripped at his gut.

The older of the two women pointed at something on the menu and shook her head; the younger one shrugged. They continued down the sidewalk, skirts swishing against tanned legs, neither knowing that the decision to bypass the restaurant had saved their lives.

Layer by layer, he rebuilt control so that his hands were rock-steady when the teenager with friendly brown eyes appeared around the corner. The kid was solidly built, wearing jeans and a red T-shirt.

No reason for anyone watching him to suspect that the blue backpack hanging over one shoulder held a deadly device.

The teen tugged open the restaurant’s door and stepped inside. Minutes later he strolled out, sans backpack.

The man turned and headed for the far side of the park, the soles of his scuffed boots silent on the thick grass. He was three blocks away when the deafening blast rocked the air. Even from a distance, he could hear agonized screams.

His stomach clenched as the memory of other screams razored through him. He’d arrived at the safe house too late, had no choice but to stay hidden while listening to his wife and daughter scream before they died.

They’d been gone two weeks. Two weeks of despair, confusion and agony.

Now, a feral tangle of rage and hate and revenge drove him to make the bastard responsible for their deaths pay.

Today he had accomplished the first step toward that goal.

Jackson Castle’s twin brother was dead.

His woman would die next.

Eye for an eye.