Noble Intentions: Season Four by L.T. Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

and locations
    and the connections between them. She noted some restaurants she recalled from Manhattan. Her earlier joke now seemed half premonition. When she reached a
    folder with pictures in it, Clarissa was surprised at how many of the men she recognized from her stints at various bars and clubs in the city.
    She closed the folder and opened another. The first face she saw sent a shiver through her. She froze for a moment, staring at the scar, the dark soulless
    eyes. The menacing grin.
    Charles DeCosta.
    The man who had tried to kill her a year before. Had it not been for Sinclair, Charles would have snapped her neck or split her skull in half. At first, he
    hated her mostly because of her connection with Jack. But in time, she won him over on her own. She was sure Charles would kill her on her own merit now.
    What to tell Beck? Clarissa was concerned she had too much emotional baggage invested to handle this case properly.
    Maybe Beck knew that. Perhaps his bosses knew too. Hell, that's the reason he made her wait. The reason he left before she opened the folder. She wasn't
    done with training. Taking down Charles would be the final test.
    And she couldn't fail.
    She enlarged the picture of Charles until his ugly face filled her monitor.
    "Son of a bitch," she muttered as anger filled her veins. He'd beaten her. He'd shot her. But he'd failed to end her life.
    And for that, he'd pay.
     

Chapter 8
    Upstate, New York.

    ONE OF THE BMW's windows shattered. A thousand pieces of glass smashed against one another, like a waterfall of ice chips.
    Paolo left his feet. His bloodied head met Milano's, and both tumbled to the ground.
    Endrizzi fired wildly, missing Paolo and hitting Milano at least once. The bullet slammed into the guy's flesh like a meat tenderizer pounding a sirloin.
    Paolo whipped his head back and drove it forward, multiple times, each strike smashing Milano's forehead, nose, mouth, eyes. After the sixth head butt, the
    man stopped responding.
    Endrizzi's pistol emitted a clicking sound when he tried to fire it. He threw it at Paolo. "I'm gonna rip your nuts off."
    Paolo rolled to his right several times. He felt Milano's pistol under his midsection at one point. As he hopped from his knees to his feet, Endrizzi
    charged. Paolo held his position until the last possible second, then sidestepped left while bringing his right knee up. It connected with Endrizzi's soft
    mid-section and the guy stumbled to the ground, doubled over on his knees. Paolo glanced around, then ran up to Endrizzi and used the only weapon available
    to him. His feet. He kicked and stomped on Endrizzi's head, neck and chest.
    Milano rolled over and got to his hands and knees. His right hand swept the ground, presumably in an attempt to locate his missing firearm. Perhaps giving
    up, he reached into his pants pocket. A moment later, a knife blade glinted in what little light penetrated the thick cover. Before Paolo could cover the
    distance, Milano was on his feet. Unsteady, but upright nonetheless.
    The pistol remained on the ground between them.
    Milano moved toward it, slowly, cautiously, each step deliberate, knife extended.
    Behind Paolo, Endrizzi choked on his own blood. Maybe a couple teeth.
    If Milano got to the pistol, it was over. Paolo would rather deal with a stab wound up close, than a shot fired from ten feet away. He sprinted forward,
    and, like a striker kicking the winning goal, angled his body low and to the side and kicked with his right foot. He connected with the pistol and sent it
    skidding into high grass.
    Milano dove forward, slicing right to left with the knife. The blade caught Paolo's left calf. He lurched to his right, out of reach from a second strike.
    The missed opportunity left Milano unbalanced and sent him to his torso, like a base runner sliding into home while trying to avoid a collision with the
    catcher. Paolo struck with a right foot to Milano's side. The pain of using his left leg to support him was