Death Echo

was used to buy the contents of an orphan nuclear source—an abandoned lighthouse in Kamchatka. As the op evolved in Russia, it became a game of embarrassing the Georgians. We informed the Georgians, who decided to let the op go—and then swoop in at the last minute and embarrass the Russians.”
    â€œHow did the U.S. feel about it?” Mac asked.
    â€œWe collected intel every step of the way,” Alara said.
    â€œYou could have stopped it at any point.”
    â€œI? No. I wasn’t informed until the last minute, when Blackbird was identified as the twin of Black Swan, the primary pawn in the op.”
    Silence.
    â€œEventually,” Alara continued, “Grigori Sidorov took over the Russian end of the op. He decided he’d rather destroy an American city and blame it on the Georgians. After all, the Georgians had left a nuclear calling card—a rudimentary dirty bomb—in Moscow once, simply as a warning. Why would anyone doubt that they would do it again as payback to the U.S. for not supporting their government more boldly?”
    â€œWhat was in it for Sidorov?” Emma asked.
    â€œPower, of course. And a kind of patriotism. According to our intel, Sidorov wasn’t entirely sane.”
    â€œNo shit,” Faroe said under his breath.
    â€œHe grew up in the ruins of the former empire and was obsessed with making Russia powerful again, with himself as a kind of peasant tsar,” Alara said. “Demidov was his employee.”
    â€œGrigori Sidorov,” Emma said. “Last night, I saw that name in an online blog where present and former State Department types weigh in.”
    Mac nodded. “You read the blog to me. Something about a mafiya -style execution—no head, no hands, lots of torture. Heavy betting on who would come into power now.”
    â€œI heard that, too,” Alara said blandly.
    â€œJust somebody sending a message,” Faroe said. “Break the nuclear rules and die the hard way.”
    â€œWho dropped the hammer on Tommy?” Mac asked.
    â€œAccording to Lina, it was Demidov,” Alara said.
    â€œWhy?” Mac asked.
    â€œOur best guess is that Sidorov wanted to delay the op long enough for an important enemy to arrive in Seattle on international business. The man couldn’t be killed in Russia. Sidorov had tried several times.”
    â€œTake out a city, take out an enemy. A twofer,” Mac said. “Son of a bitch.”
    â€œSome people should have been killed at birth,” Emma said.
    â€œUnfortunately,” Alara said, “we don’t know which ones until it is too late.”
    Silence expanded.
    Emma looked at Mac. He shook his head.
    â€œNo more questions on our end,” she said.
    Alara nodded and turned to leave.
    â€œYou okay?” Faroe asked Mac and Emma.
    Mac took her hand again. “We’re good.”
    â€œI’ll check back in a few hours,” Faroe said.
    â€œWe’re fine,” Emma said.
    â€œTell it to Grace.”
    The door shut behind Alara and Faroe. Emma let out a long breath. So did Mac. He rubbed his cheek against her palm.
    â€œDid I thank you for saving my life?” he asked.
    â€œYou saved mine first. No way I could have taken Temuri down.”
    â€œYou know what they say about saving a life….”
    â€œWhat?” she asked.
    â€œThat life belongs to you.”
    â€œSo we belong to each other?” she asked.
    â€œSure do.”
    Emma touched Mac’s lips with their intertwined fingers and smiled.
    â€œWorks for me.”

About the Author
    ELIZABETH LOWELL is the author of many remarkable New York Times bestselling historical and contemporary novels. She lives in Washington with her husband with whom she writes mystery novels under a pseudonym.
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ALSO BY ELIZABETH LOWELL
    Blue Smoke and Murder
    Innocent as Sin
    The Wrong Hostage
    Whirlpool
    Always Time to Die
    The Secret Sister
    The Color of Death
    Death Is Forever
    Die in Plain Sight
    Running Scared
    Moving Target
    Midnight in Ruby Bayou
    Pearl Cove
    Jade Island
    Amber Beach

Credits
    Jacket design by Richard Aquan
    Jacket photograph by Olive/Getty Images

Copyright
    This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons,