Read Online Zero Separation by Philip Donlay - Free Book Online Page B

shown him, but he’d only drifted even farther away from his goal. All he’d found was a compromise, something he could only describe as a delicate state of negotiated peace, and all of that would vanish in an instant if the world found out Robert Huntington was still alive. The condemnation would be quick and certain. He’d deceived the entire world twenty years ago and lied to everyone he’d met since. It was a risk he’d taken. The price for failure would be the loss of anything he’d built as Donovan Nash.
    He pushed himself up out of the chair, unable to sit still any longer. The fact that Montero might be peeling away the layers of his life while he sat doing nothing was pure torture. Thoughts of what would happen if he lost Michael or Lauren or any of his other stabilizing influences began to work away at him, and he was surprised to find himself wanting a drink. He buried that thought; it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
    His eyes burned and he could feel the full effects of having gotten so little sleep. He blinked hard at the grit that seemed to be grinding away at his vision. Donovan went to the small bathroom, closed the door behind him, and stood in front of the mirror while the water ran. He winced at his reflection. The lines on his face all seemed to lead straight to his bloodshot eyes. He cupped his handsunder the cold water and then pressed his hands to his face as if he could rinse away the exhaustion. He switched from cold to hot water but the fatigue was still irrevocably stamped on his face.
    The instant he emerged from the bathroom, Donovan took in all the things that were wrong. The startled expression on the stranger’s face, the fact that his scrubs fit poorly, that his shoes were dirty. There was also no lanyard around his neck, no official ID. Donovan’s eyes flashed to Michael. The pillow beneath his head had been pulled out and hung in the man’s left hand.
    Donovan saw the dark shape of a silenced pistol as he started toward the man. In the moment it took the assassin to point the gun toward him, Donovan had covered the distance. Moving fast, he grabbed the assailant’s wrist with one hand and used his shoulder to slam him into the wall as hard as he could. Donovan heard the quiet cough of the gun as it went off over his shoulder. Still pinned up against the wall, Donovan kneed the intruder in the midsection.
    The man recovered quickly and swung an elbow. Donovan avoided the full force of the blow, but caught part of it off the side of his head. Donovan kept a death grip on the man’s wrist and ducked as another wild swing passed over his head. Once again, Donovan slammed his knee upward into the man’s stomach, doubling him over, then bent the gunman’s wrist backward until he felt it snap and heard the pistol clatter to the floor. The assassin grunted in pain, then swung his leg and took Donovan’s feet out from under him.
    Donovan tried to break his fall, but he careened backward and crashed hard against the bedside table losing his grip on the intruder. The assassin, holding his broken wrist, kicked Donovan in the stomach. He felt the pain as the air rushed from his lungs. He rolled out of the way away just as a second kick grazed his ribs.
    Donovan scrambled to his feet. He turned to rush his attacker and stopped—the barrel of the gun was pointed straight at his forehead. His eyes traveled past the black tube of the barrel and lockedonto the man’s face. The assassin was breathing heavily, the man’s dark eyes flared with a mixture of pain and fury. Donovan knew at that moment he’d lost.
    â€œFederal agent!” Montero yelled from the doorway at the same time she pulled the trigger on her Glock.
    Donovan recoiled as the side of the assassin’s head dissolved into a red mist that splattered the ceiling and wall. Donovan saw the man’s eyes go dead and sightless as he began to collapse. The pistol