Ian didn't wait for the police. He sprinted for the floor-to-ceiling window. "I hate heights, Charlie." "You love the drama," she retorted.
An hour later, stripped of the tuxedo and smelling of lake water, Ian climbed into the back of a nondescript van. Charlie was there, her laptop glowing in the dark. She didn't look up, but she reached out a hand, her fingers interlacing with his.
Ian threw a heavy chair through the glass, shattering the reinforced pane, and plummeted into the Zurich night. The parachute deployed with a bone-jarring snap, drifting him toward the dark waters of the lake where a speedboat waited. No Time to Lie by Lexi Blake
"You’re a dead man," Volkov sneered. "My men will peel the skin from your bones before you reach the lobby."
When Volkov burst into the room, flanked by two silent, mountain-sized guards, he found Ian sitting in his desk chair, feet up, tossing the Icarus drive into the air and catching it with bored precision. "Vane?" Volkov spat, his hand moving toward his holster. Ian didn't wait for the police
The alarm in the Zurich penthouse didn’t sound like a siren; it was a low-frequency hum that vibrated in Ian Taggart’s marrow.
Create a for a new operative in this world An hour later, stripped of the tuxedo and
"We have three minutes before the kinetic locks engage," a voice crackled in his ear. It was Charlotte “Charlie” Taggart, his partner and the only woman who knew exactly how many layers of lies Ian wore on a daily basis.