Jet by Russell Blake

to accept Matt’s cash and leave the niggling details of papering the transaction for another time. The registration was still valid until the end of the year, and Matt had decided to worry about going legit with it then. His instinct was to stay out of any official systems, and vehicle registration was one that he knew was interconnected with other nations via Interpol, even if the amount of data was such that it was rarely accessed. But if he could avoid appearing in any databases, he would, just out of habit. His enemies had shown more than once that they were not only resourceful but held a grudge, and he was under no illusions that they’d given up on hunting him down.
    That he’d wound up living with another clandestine operative whose adversaries made his look tame was an irony that occasionally came to him in the darkest hours of night. But he’d fallen in love with her, and the heart wanted what the heart wanted, regardless of whether it was prudent. He’d debated slipping away and leaving Jet to a safer future, but could never bring himself to do so. She didn’t agree that she’d be safer without him, and he’d learned to trust her judgment. He’d never met anyone like her, and the combination of exotic good looks, incredible athleticism, off-the-charts intelligence, and lethal competence had proven impossible to resist. He considered himself lucky to have found her, and some days he couldn’t imagine what she saw in an aging ex-spook with more scars than a bait dog.
    The surprise for him was not that he’d fallen for her, but that he’d become so bonded to Hannah. His entire life he’d lived alone, with no thought of offspring, trained by his vocation to view people as useful assets or dangerous adversaries, automatically running equations to establish their value to him. The painful tug in his chest when he saw Hannah trot off to school was unexpected, but he’d grown to appreciate the ferocity with which a parent would fight to protect its young. The way she watched his every move, emulated both his and her mother’s gestures and expressions, was uncanny, and he’d late in life come to grasp why many believed the entire purpose of existence was the continuation of the species, raising children to take over from where adults dropped the ball.
    All of which was alien to his worldview as a cynical, jaded field operative. It had taken considerable adjustment, and now he barely recognized the cold, calculating automaton that he’d been when working for the agency.
    He rubbed his face with a gloved hand, his eyes heavy from the wood smoke that drifted across the city from the burning of the surrounding fields. The light changed, and he gunned the engine, the motor buzzing like a band saw as he coaxed the reluctant scooter forward. An impatient driver behind him honked at his inadequate acceleration and he pulled to the side of the road to allow those in a hurry to race to the next light, preferring to take his time to get to work.
    He turned onto the familiar cobblestone street where his shop was located, and almost missed the vibration and warble of his cell phone from his shirt pocket, such was the jostling from the ride. Matt cursed silently as he coasted to a stop and checked his messages – nobody had his number but Jet, Hannah’s school, and…the auto-call of the security system he’d installed at the shop.
    He read and then reread the short message, his eyes flat behind his sunglasses.
    There had been a breach at the store. Five minutes ago.
    In broad daylight.
    In a relatively busy commercial district of town.
    Which didn’t add up. Thieves didn’t operate that way, even if they could manage to get past the steel grid over the storefront or force their way through the rear exit. But that would be under cover of darkness, not at the beginning of a workday.
    Which meant it was something else.
    The timing troubled him for another reason. It implied that he might be under surveillance, and the