The Artisan: An Artistic Assassin Thriller by Dyal Bailey

Author:Dyal Bailey [Bailey, Dyal]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Humor, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Espionage, Humor & Satire, General Humor, United States, African American, Crime Fiction, Organized Crime, Thrillers
Amazon: B00JPOP7IW
Publisher: Unlimited Media
Published: 2014-07-24T04:00:00+00:00

…

Inside the CIA’s secret high-tech hospital, Rafaela’s eyes fluttered. The grazes from the bullets had caused her to lose a great deal of blood. They had rushed her into surgery and now, hours later, she began drifting in and out of consciousness. The room was silent, other than the monotonous beeping of her heart monitor. A slight moan escaped her lips. At the sound, Dickinson stood up and looked her over. He returned to his seat by her bedside. A moment later, Bailey burst in.

Dickinson sat up straight. “I think she’s starting to come around, sir.”

Bailey huffed, “I’d like to throw some salt in her wounds for this one.”

He sighed. “I think she’s in a great deal of pain already.”

“It serves her right for getting distracted and diddling around in Georgia for so long.” Bailey stalked back and forth, grinding his fist into his hand.

“Is the bio and tracking device still functioning behind her ear?”

Dickinson nodded. “Yes, but she’s taught herself so thoroughly to keep calm, that her heart beat didn’t even increase until after she’d been shot. Then she somehow slowed it down after only a few minutes.”

Bailey paused before he spoke, “What’s the deal with her getting a report on that Micah Carteret fellow?”

Dickinson shrugged and pulled out a roll of mints, popping one in his mouth.

“Who the hell is this DNA sequencing guy anyway?” His voice boomed, but he didn’t miss a step.

Dickinson swallowed and looked at him. “Just a fling.”

Bailey stopped. “Rafaela has encounters, not flings.”

Dickinson turned toward him. “I guess—now she has flings.”

He started pacing again. “And the Serbian?”

Dickinson shook his head.

Bailey exploded. “I need that Serbian dead now!”

“Do you want our guys to handle it?” Dickinson offered quickly.

“No! I want her to handle it.”

Pulling out his iPhone, Dickinson typed and read, “He’ll be back in New Orleans in a week.”

“Then you the hell better make sure she is there when he is.” He pivoted on his heel and exited.

Dickinson sighed, realizing he’d been holding his breath. He took out another mint and chewed it without thinking. This job would be the death of him. To think, the position of playing watchdog to the beautiful Rafaela had been a promotion! He had been so excited when he got the call. Now he doubted he’d last any longer than the last guy.

Studying her, he tried to decide how he felt about what happened to her. Not sympathy? He shook his head. She brought this on herself. Refusing to let his men go in ahead of her to check out the bed and breakfast was an arrogant and rebellious move. Did he feel pity? He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with the palms of his hands. No way. From what he heard, she made ten times his salary, barely broke a sweat, and did pretty much as she pleased. And he did not feel any camaraderie. Dr. Rafaela Ramos was friends with no one.

He guessed the only thing he felt was numb. Numb to her, numb to Bailey, and numb to whatever consequences were ahead of him for not being perfect.

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