If you wanted someone killed right, you had to do it yourself.
He should stitch that on a pillow. Damien Freihof smiled as he watched guests enter the church.
He knew from “Mr. Fawkes,” his mole inside Omega Sector, that the church had already been swept for explosives and there were guards posted at all the doors. No one without an invitation, and a facial scan to prove their ID, was getting into the building.
It was at least nice to see the law enforcement agency was taking him seriously.
But Damien wasn’t crashing the wedding today. Even though it was Brandon Han and Andrea Gordon’s, both of whom Damien knew personally. They’d all come so close to dying with each other last year—didn’t that bring people closer together?
Damien wasn’t at all surprised they were getting married today, just a year later, after the way Brandon had fought to free Andrea. It had been remarkable, really; the other man’s passion—utter determination—to save her.
He’d saved her that day, but in the end it wouldn’t be enough. Thanks to Mr. Fawkes’s plan, they would all die. Every single member of Omega Sector’s critical response team.
But that was for later. Not today.
Today, Damien was just here to look around. To prove to himself how close he could get without anyone realizing who he was. Snap a few pictures.
Particularly of the woman he planned to kill within the next few weeks.
He’d already picked her out. Knew who would die. He hadn’t yet decided exactly when or how, but he knew it would be with much fanfare and would definitely garner the attention of those working at Omega.
They had to pay—had to pay for what they’d done to him and his precious Natalie.
Damien’s more subtle approach at revenge—convincing others to stalk and kill the people beloved by Omega Sector—hadn’t been enough. Yes, one Omega Sector agent had been killed and another put in a coma, but there should’ve been much more bloodshed by now. Much more grieving.
But Damien had left the killing to others and they had not been able to live up to their commitment. He wouldn’t make that mistake this time. Now he would take matters into his own hands.
But not just yet.
Damien was nothing if not a patient man. It had been a while since he’d last struck and it would be a while before he struck again. Just enough time for the law enforcement agents to wonder if he was still here or if he was gone for good.
He hadn’t gone anywhere.
And soon, while their defenses were down, he would strike again. Strike at the very heart of them.
Everyone might survive the wedding today.
But they wouldn’t survive much longer.
Everyone wore their sidearm to the wedding.
Given that at the last wedding, two months ago, a maniac had burst in and tried to kill the wedding party, firearms were understandable.
Every member of the elite law enforcement task force known as Omega Sector remained determined not to be caught unawares again.
The psychopath at the last wedding had been arrested, and fortunately, no one had been hurt. But everyone knew that as long as Damien Freihof, the mastermind behind the recent attacks against Omega, remained at large, none of them would be safe.
So every agent at Brandon Han and Andrea Gordon’s wedding had some sort of holster. Waist, shoulder or ankle for most. A few of the female agents probably had weapons strapped to their thighs or in their evening clutch bags. None of the sidearms were noticeable, but they were there.
Roman Weber had one at both his waist and his ankle. And there was no way he was letting his guard down tonight.
Thanks to Damien Freihof, Roman hadn’t even been able to attend the last Omega Sector wedding. He’d been too busy coming out of a coma from an explosion Freihof had carefully planned. Another Omega Sector agent had been killed. If Roman had been two feet closer to the blast, he would’ve been killed, too.
So no, Roman wasn’t interested in laughing and drinking and dancing, even if many of his closest friends were in the room. Instead, he kept finding his eyes drawn to the multiple entrances to the ballroom of the ski resort here in Colorado Springs, where the reception was being held.
Two main doors leading into the resort, three separate kitchen entrances, and a set of double doors heading out to a terrace. Freihof could attempt to make his way through any of them.
He was around. Roman hadn’t seen the man anywhere, but knew in his gut that Freihof was nearby today. The man was so good at disguise it was possible he already waited here inside the room, although Roman didn’t think so. There were too many trained agents looking for Freihof for him to risk it.
The guy was a psycho, but he wasn’t stupid.
Still, Roman walked over to the shadows closer to the main doors. Just in case.
“See anything suspicious?”
Roman knew Steve Drackett, director of Omega Sector’s Critical Response Division, was present before he spoke. Grace Parker, Omega’s head psychiatrist, stood beside him.
“No. But it doesn’t hurt to keep looking.”
Steve nodded. “Damn right about that.”
Something inside Roman eased slightly. His boss didn’t think he was paranoid. Didn’t think searching for Freihof in the shadows of a wedding was being overly cautious.
Steve slapped Roman on the shoulder. “But you do know that watching for Freihof isn’t solely your responsibility.”
“Maybe not. But it’s definitely something I take personally.”
Grace smiled at him, tucking a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. “If you didn’t take it personally, given what happened, I’d be a lot more concerned.”
Roman had spent a lot of time talking to Grace