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Back Angels of Vengeance
Chapters (68)
  1. Blurb
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. CHARACTER LIST
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. TWO MONTHS LATER
  60. ONE YEAR LATER
  61. TWO YEARS LATER
  62. FOUR YEARS LATER
  63. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  64. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  65. Also by John Birmingham
  66. ALSO BY JOHN BIRMINGHAM
  67. Copyright
  68. Cover

The Romanian caught her eye when she was halfway through her second gin and tonic, and deep in conversation with a young American couple who’d got out of Acapulco a day before she had. She’d actually been enjoying herself here. Relaxing for the first time in weeks. Spending some of her stash. The Americans, Donna and Jeff, were on their second bottle of chardonnay and Jules had fallen so easily into chatting with them that she’d finished her first drink before she picked up on the warm, but unmistakably sexual vibe coming off the woman. Jules smiled, a little flattered that they were trying to pick her up and . . . Well, what the hell. It’d been a long time. The hot night, some very chilled tunes, the mellow warmth of candlelight flickering on the bare sandstone walls of the bar . . . it all put her in a generous, open frame of mind.

That is, until she caught a glimpse of the man in the heavy imitation-leather jacket regarding her with the cold, flat stare of a snake sizing up a newly hatched chick. His eyes flicked away as soon as she’d made him. He shifted in his seat, pretending not to have noticed her. The nasty, ill-fitting jacket grabbed under his armpit, outlining something there. A gun, she was certain.

A chain-mail fist clenched just under her heart and all of the warm, mellow feeling she had been enjoying sluiced out of her in an icy rush.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Donna, reaching over and lightly running her fingertips down Jules’s forearm. A few minutes earlier it might have elicited a tingle of sexual response. Now, she felt nothing.

‘Sorry. I have to go.’

‘Hey,’ said Donna’s boyfriend, ‘is everything okay? Did we . . .?’

The Englishwoman regarded him kindly, but with detachment. She could’ve told them that there was a man in the bar who may have been paid to kill her. But Jeff would likely get himself hurt, or worse, by fronting the guy. And if she left with them now, they’d either get in the way of what she had to do or get themselves killed. There was nothing for it. She had to shut them down.

‘Sorry,’ she repeated. ‘Gotta go.’

Julianne pushed away the unfinished drink, picked up her bag and left without another word. Estimating there might only be a few moments before the Romanian followed her (and assuming she wasn’t being a paranoid head case, of course), she hurried away from the small tavern.