Freed (Assassin's Revenge Book 3) by Tara Crescent Read Free Book Online Page B

needed to as well. Without large infusions of money, all my plans would fail.
    Jean-Luc was already waiting for me when I went down. “Am I late?” I asked him.
    He shook his head. “I’m early,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep.” He inclined his head in the direction of the stairs. “How’s the girl?”
    “You tell me,” I responded. “What do you have on her cover story?”
    I got a disapproving look in reply. Jean-Luc wouldn’t talk in the kitchen. Only in the soundproofed security of the study would our business be discussed. My lips twitched. “She was asleep when I left,” I defended myself.
    “People wake up,” he replied. “Are you making coffee?”
    “Remind me again who works for whom?” I asked wryly as I moved over to the coffee machine. It was Elodie’s day off and we were all alone.
    “The last time I made breakfast, you declined to eat it.”
    “The last time you made breakfast, it was a charred, burned, inedible mess. I would prefer to live.” I cracked a half-dozen eggs as I spoke, beating them with a whisk before sliding them into the heated skillet. I’d learned to cook in boarding school, sneaking down to the kitchens in order to escape the crushing loneliness and inadequacy I’d felt as a child. The cooks had been warmly kind to a little boy who had only known rejection. I was still grateful for their generosity.
    Jean-Luc chuckled. He sipped coffee as I scrambled the eggs in the pan. When they were done, I divided the contents between us and we took the food into my study. We didn’t have much time before Jenny woke up and I had much to discuss with him.
    “Okay, we need to debrief on three major things,” Jean-Luc held up his hand. “Let’s start with your girlfriend. Sylvia . When does she return to Paris?”
    I grimaced. It was disgusting to play the role of Sylvia’s besotted boyfriend, but it was also necessary. I needed access to her files to take her down and the only way to do that was to get her to trust me.
    Every time I was around her, I walked away feeling dirty. But I bore some sense of responsibility for her ascendance and I had to act. Three years ago, Sylvia had been a relatively small time operator. Her henchmen kidnapped vulnerable children from parts of the world torn apart by war and unrest and sent them to brothels around the world where they lived as indentured sex slaves, held prisoner against their will. As vile as that had been, her reach had been limited. There were plenty of players in the global slave trade and Sylvia had been jockeying to establish her place.
    I’d inadvertently caused a power vacuum when I’d arranged the hit on Stanislav Durov without considering who would step into his place when he was killed. Without meaning to, I’d helped Sylvia by getting rid of Durov.
    Utterly without conscience or empathy, Sylvia had increased her power dangerously since then. Unfortunately, this was the nature of fighting the slave trade. The vultures circled around the carcass of human misery and if you shot one of them out of the sky, another would appear to take its place.
    As soon as I realized what had happened, I’d initiated my own counter-plan. Durov had been relatively easy. A bullet to the head and his empire had crumbled. Sylvia would be harder, because her organization had a successor waiting in the wings. If I killed her, another would rise in her place. No, with Sylvia, I needed to strip her of all of her resources.
    Interpol. Tax agencies in many different countries. Every hidden Swiss bank account carefully tracked down. Each Cayman Island tax shelter uncovered. This operation, almost two years in the making, required the highest degree of coordination and secrecy.
    “Next week,” I replied to Jean-Luc’s question. “She’s been doing her quarterly brothel tour, spreading fear and misery wherever she goes.”
    Jean-Luc’s lips thinned with distaste. “I’ve heard she’s kidnapped a fresh set of unfortunate souls. From