The Deception

Book 11: James Ryker

by Rob Sinclair

Genres: Mystery; Spy Thrillers

Synopsis

A notorious female assassin brings trouble straight to Ryker’s doorstep, in this new thriller from the bestselling author of Protector . . .

James Ryker knows the ghosts of his dark and violent past are never far away. Yet he’s still taken aback when he sees Leia Devereaux’s face at his door. Even more surprising is that the woman he knows to be a lethal assassin claims she’s not there to hurt him, but to ask for his help in keeping the stranger accompanying her, David Muller, alive.

She says Muller is more valuable than Ryker can imagine. But Ryker isn’t given any time to investigate before chaos descends upon them. In the aftermath, Devereaux disappears and Ryker is left with only questions.

Why would the deadly Leia Devereaux come to Ryker for help? What did the notorious assassin want with David Muller? Most importantly, who are the armed assailants now out for Ryker’s blood?

To find the answers, Ryker has only one choice: To do what he does best. Fight back . . .

Praise for the bestselling novels of Rob Sinclair

“A real page-turner, impossible to put down.” —Publishers Weekly

“A must read for fans of Lee Child and Robert Ludlum.” —Chelle’s Book Reviews

“An adrenaline shot right to the heart.” —The Best Thriller Books

 

Read more

Release date: March 21, 2023

Publisher: Bloodhound Books

Print pages: 347

Sample

CHAPTER 1

'This traffic will be the death of us,’ Muller grumbled as the sea of red brake lights in front of them blinked on yet again.

‘It won’t,’ Devereaux replied, gripping the steering wheel of the battered Opel that little bit more tightly to hide her frustration. They’d covered less than two miles across the gridlocked Italian capital in the last half hour, but what else did they expect trying to traverse central Rome during rush hour? And even if she was more well travelled than most, these were unfamiliar streets to Devereaux so she didn’t attempt any clever detours.

No need anyway. They neared their destination all the time, and they’d soon be off the main road.

Muller glanced over his shoulder and Devereaux caught his worried eyes as he turned back around.

‘There’s no one following us,’ she said. How many times had she repeated those words?

‘But how do you know?’

She thought before answering because she really didn’t want to have to go through the whole thing again. Particularly as her explanation only opened up holes, and questions in her own mind as to whether she’d done enough.

‘I already checked the car for trackers before you even got in it,’ she said, thinking out loud as much as anything else. ‘I checked my clothes, your clothes, our bags, everything we have with us.’ Which included not a single item of electronic equipment. They’d ditched all that before they’d even entered Italy.

But she couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure. A simple tracker could be a pinprick in size. Impossible to really find something so small in all the nooks and crannies of a car. But how would they have even had the chance to plant something like that?

Still, she was glad that Muller didn’t question her further.

‘We’re turning up ahead,’ she said. ‘We’ll be off the main road. We’ll be there soon enough.’

Muller mumbled under his breath. Devereaux didn’t bother to ask for clarification of what he’d said. She could only give him so much reassurance. Despite her continued pushback to his anxiousness, her heart rate steadily built as the red brake lights flicked off in unison in front of them and they slowly closed the distance to the turning.

She checked her mirrors, one after the other.
‘Who is he?’ Muller asked.
‘We’ve been through this already,’ Devereaux said, hiding

her exasperation well, she thought.
‘You told me his name, but not much else.’
‘I told you he’ll help us.’
‘How?’
‘He’s very... resourceful.’
‘Like you?’
She glanced at Muller who stared at her. She wasn’t sure

she liked the tone in which he’d said that. A little accusatory. A little derogatory. As though he didn’t like who she was. What she did.

But whatever preconception he had of her, he didn’t even know the start of it really...

‘You think he can help us?’ Muller said.
‘I know he can help us. That’s why we’re here.’
‘And you trust him?’
In short? No. But Devereaux saw trust as a very complicated

concept. Most people, most normal people, didn’t understand it at all. They had friends, families, work colleagues, people they shared their lives with. To them trust was almost an interchangeable word for ‘like’. People trusted people they liked, that they thought they knew well. Sometimes, ultimately, that trust was misplaced and it ended in the souring or even the end of a relationship, but that was about as disastrous as the misunderstanding of the concept of trust went for those people. For Devereaux, trust was very different, with much bigger and more severe consequences where it was misplaced. She’d come to learn that she knew no one that she could trust in every possible instance. But she did believe she’d made the right choice this time.

‘I asked, do you trust him?’ Muller said, his question more forceful.

‘He can help us. He will help us. That’s all you need to know.’ Muller sighed and looked out of his window.
Devereaux waited until the last second, making sure the

route ahead after the turning was clear – it was – before she pulled on the steering wheel then thumped the accelerator. The puny engine of the Opel whined as the car picked up speed – finally. Devereaux checked her mirrors again a couple of times as they left the traffic behind.

‘See,’ she said.
Muller looked behind him again but didn’t say anything, and Devereaux wished she’d felt more confident too. Why didn’t she? They’d already travelled more than a thousand miles without a hitch, without hint of them being followed.

‘How did you even find him here?’ Muller asked. ‘A man like... I don’t even know what type of man he is.’

‘I found him the same way I found you. It’s something I’m good at.’

He didn’t say anything more. She was glad. She kept on going through the quieter streets, finally covering some ground. Not too fast though. No need to alert the police.

‘Okay, this is it,’ Devereaux said as she pulled the car to the side of the road, deftly squeezing between two other parked vehicles.

She looked out of the window at the sandstone apartment block. Quaint? More like half-abandoned, the building seemed more ruinous than the three-thousand-year-old Roman remains that stood proudly only a few blocks away.

‘When you said he’s resourceful, you didn’t mean he had resources.’

Devereaux didn’t say anything but got out of the car. The air was warm, smoggy, clogged with the fumes from car exhausts, and the stench of food waste sitting in black bin bags that lined the streets, waiting for clean-up. She looked around as her hand brushed against the bottom edge of her leather jacket, feeling the butt of the Glock handgun underneath.

Would she need to use it?

‘We’re good,’ she said to Muller, before she headed for the entrance to the building. The outer doors weren’t locked and they walked into a dingy atrium where one wall was taken over by mailboxes. ‘This way.’

Muller followed a step behind as Devereaux headed up the stairs. Fourth floor. Fourth door along. No sounds from within the other apartments on this floor. Were they empty?

She stopped at the door and looked along the corridor. Quiet, and she couldn’t hear anything beyond the wood. She knocked and shuffled back, looking directly at the spyhole. Muller edged to her side – he’d be in view too.

She heard his footsteps on the other side. Held her breath. Put her hand to her hip once more, but didn’t draw the weapon. Not yet.

The door opened and she peered into his questioning eyes...

Chapter 2

James Ryker lay in the bed under a thin white sheet. His eyes remained closed even though he’d woken the best part of an hour ago. Relaxation time. Not just this morning, he’d

been in that mode for several months really. Relaxation? One way to describe his time here, at least. Transitioning perhaps. Waiting?

The sound of the city never fully died here, and as he lay in the bed he focused on the hum of nearby heavy traffic on the main road a couple of blocks away, and the heavier vibrations of intermittent cars heading down his street. He also heard the chatter of pedestrians here and there, their voices drifting in through the single-pane windows that let in not only plenty of noise, but far too much heat during the afternoon when the summer sun’s rays beat down on the apartment building for several hours without respite. One of the reasons why Ryker was so happy to lie back and relax now, while the bedroom remained cool.

He finally opened his eyes when he heard a car engine close by. Just a normal car, nothing to be excited about, but then the car stopped on the road outside and the engine shut down.

Ryker didn’t bother to go to the window to look out, but he did decide it was time to get out of bed. He stepped into a pair of jeans and threw on a T-shirt. He’d shower in the evening rather than the morning. In early summer, Rome was experiencing a mini-heatwave, with daily highs heading past thirty Celsius, which felt all the more hot in the stuffy air of the inner city. Ryker much preferred to get through the heat of the day and shower in the evening, going to bed cool and refreshed.

He moved out into the open-plan living area of the modest apartment. Crappy, in many ways, but he liked it, which explained why he’d stayed so long already – relatively speaking, at least. Despite its current state, the pre-war building had a charm of sorts, the apartment too. Nothing too showy, no extravagances, just functionality. And the location, for the price, couldn’t be beaten. No view as such from his apartment, but from the rooftop he had glimpses of all of Rome’s most famous sights, from the Coliseum, to the Forum. There was no rooftop garden, but on a warm evening Ryker was happy to sit up there nonetheless, watching the sun go down on one of his favourite cities. And the apartment block was more than half empty. Another plus point as far as Ryker was concerned.

He’d agreed a cash deal with the landlord, a smarmy Turkish man named Mahmut. Six months up front for a hefty discount. Ryker wasn’t sure he’d stay in Rome that long, but way cheaper this way than staying in hotels, and Mahmut wasn’t the type to be bothered by identification checks or the like which perfectly suited Ryker. More than half of his tenancy had already come and gone, and quite frankly, Ryker was happy to stay a little longer. The last three months had been quiet, uneventful. Frustrating? Perhaps, but he’d badly needed the respite, both for body and mind recuperation.

He flicked the switch of the yellowed-plastic kettle and a couple of seconds later heard the crackle as the heating element got to work. He poured a glass of water to quench his thirst while he waited then checked the supplies in the near-empty fridge – he never bought more than a day or two’s worth of food in advance, as if keeping stocks low showed this was only a stopover, not a permanent place, despite the weeks passing by one after another.

His hand was on the nearly finished salami packet when yet another sound caught his attention. Footsteps, to be precise.

He left the meat in place and closed the fridge door. The racket from the kettle continued to rise, but above it Ryker focused on the sound outside his apartment door. Definitely footsteps. Why was that odd? No one else lived on this floor. And he never had any visitors.

He left the kettle to boil and moved toward the front door. He took his phone out of his jeans pocket to check the camera feed. He watched the man and woman walking along his corridor. No weapons in their hands. They came to a stop at his door. The woman knocked. The camera angle and her wavy brown hair meant he couldn’t see her face, but something about her was more than a little familiar. The man? Mid-height, casual clothes, a little pudgy, a big bald patch that made him look like a monk. Ryker was sure he didn’t recognise him.

His eyes still focused on the phone screen, Ryker didn’t bother to check the spyhole. Still no sign of this being an ambush, but still... When Ryker reached for the handle he put his right hand to the door frame, leaning forward. A nonchalant pose, except it wasn’t without purpose. Taped to the wall, inches from his fingertips, was a hunting knife with a seven-inch serrated blade. Just in case. He’d hinged a small picture frame by it, which he could quickly close to conceal the weapon. He’d never had to use the knife, but then no one had ever knocked on his door before.

He pushed down on the handle then slowly opened the door a few inches. His eyes found the man’s first, but it was the woman’s face, and eyes, that Ryker’s gaze soon settled on. As he’d thought, he didn’t recognise the man. The woman, on the other hand...

‘James...’ she said.
Ryker said nothing as he stared into the assassin’s eyes.

 

CHAPTER 3

Ryker glanced down to Leia Devereaux’s side. Whatever her motive, she wouldn’t have come here unarmed, even if he had no clue why she had come at all.

Not to kill him, he firmly believed. Otherwise she wouldn’t have simply knocked on the door.

Without his body moving, Ryker shifted his fingers further across the wall, wrapping them around the handle of the knife.

‘You’re not going to ask us inside?’ Devereaux said with her typically seductive yet devilish smile.

‘Why are you here?’ Ryker asked.
‘She told me you can help us,’ the man said.
Ryker’s eyes narrowed as he glanced to him, then back to

Devereaux. Whoever the man was, Ryker already figured he wasn’t like her. He was too... ordinary. Not a threat.

‘Help you with what?’ Ryker asked.
Devereaux looked along the corridor.
‘Why don’t we come inside so we can explain?’
Ryker didn’t like that idea at all. He would have said that

too, except the next moment more sounds from outside the apartment building grabbed his attention. Hers too. He could tell by the sudden sharp inhale she took. By the way her neck craned ever so slightly, as though angling her left ear to hear better. By the tiniest of dilations of her pupils – a reaction to the chemical change in her body. A spark of adrenaline.

Why? Vehicles. More than one. And they’d approached quickly. Purposefully.

Only one explanation...

‘Shit,’ the man said, his voice and his body language already panicky.

Ryker didn’t shift position at all. Neither did Devereaux.
‘Not what you expected?’ Ryker said to her.
A sly smile rose up her face. But not very far. ‘Actually...’ The next moment the man jumped, Devereaux flinched and

Ryker at first remained rooted when a glass pane behind him shattered and a small object clattered along the worn floorboards behind him.

Now it was time to move.

‘Muller, Get down!’ Devereaux shouted. She grabbed the man – Muller? – and flung herself to the side, out of the doorway. Ryker grabbed the knife and rolled out into the corridor, pulling the door closed with his trailing hand, but not quite quickly enough. The explosion threw him further forward. The flash of white was so intense it temporarily took his sight. The bang so loud it felt as though his bones were crushed from the pulsing air.

Several seconds passed as Ryker lay on the floor trying to regain his senses.

‘James,’ he heard her say.

She’d taken a lesser hit than he had. Was already on her feet, hunched down by him, gun in hand.

‘Come on!’ she said.
Ryker groaned and pulled himself up. Muller was already on his feet too, apparently not feeling the effects of the blast as much as Ryker either, even if his face gave away his panic.

‘Behind you!’ Ryker found the strength to shout, and a second later all three of them again threw themselves to the floor as another flashbang clattered along the corridor toward them from the stairwell.

With a little more time to brace himself – his head covered and his eyes squeezed shut – the debilitating effects of the second explosion were nowhere near as bad as before. But by the time Ryker uncurled his body and opened his eyes, he spotted the blur of moving figures through the smoke in front of them.

‘This way,’ Ryker said, tugging on Devereaux’s coat sleeve.

He spun and dashed along the corridor and away from the main stairwell, moving as best he could on wobbly legs, his balance all over the place as the stabilising effect of his inner ears struggled to recover. He slammed into the door at the end.

‘Where are we going?’ Muller shouted, all in a panic still.

Ryker looked over the handrail. Not down. Even though he couldn’t see or hear anyone coming up, going down the fire escape would still bring them right out onto the street where this attack party had arrived. No doubt there’d be people waiting there.

Ryker dashed up the stairs without saying a word. Muller followed behind. Devereaux stayed at the back, swinging around every few steps, gun held out, ready to unload.

She didn’t have to, because they reached the eighth and final floor soon after, then the roof level. Ryker stumbled out into the open, wincing as the sun momentarily dazzled him.

He came to a stop. Devereaux and Muller did too. Both looked to him expectantly.

‘What now?’ Muller asked.
‘Now you tell me what’s going on,’ Ryker said.

‘We don’t have time!’ Devereaux shouted. ‘There’s no we,’ Ryker said.

‘Ryker, I need your help. Please.’
‘Who’s attacking us?’

‘I can’t explain right now.’ She looked to the door to the roof. Ryker heard the footsteps too. ‘Get us safe, I’ll explain everything.’

‘What if there isn’t another way down?’ Ryker said.

‘I know you. You have an escape route. That’s why we’re up here.’

Did she know him? Perhaps. For one, she knew him enough to have tracked him down, even if he had no clue why. And she was right. Ryker did have an escape route. Not all of his time up on this rooftop had been to enjoy the sunsets.

‘This way,’ Ryker said.

They sprinted along the rooftop to the edge of the building, where the next block along had been built right into the wall, even if its roof stood several feet lower.

‘Jump,’ Ryker said, not breaking stride as he leaped over the edge. He rolled into the landing, but nonetheless a shot of pain stabbed up his leg from the jarring impact. ‘I’m too old for this,’ he mumbled under his breath as Devereaux and Muller thudded down next to him, Muller’s landing the least graceful of all.

A second later and a gunshot boomed, though the bullet clanked harmlessly into the stonework behind them. Now at a lower level, they were at least temporarily out of sight from the shooter – shooters? – behind, but the next building along, the one they needed to get to, stood thirty yards away.

Could they reach it in time before they were open targets? Ryker pulled ahead.
‘Get ready. Don’t look down. Just jump.’

A roughly three-yard gap. A leap the majority of people could make, moving at speed, if they didn’t panic.

Ryker prepared himself. Then Muller, behind him, shouted out. Ryker slid to a stop and turned. Muller had taken a tumble and lay in a heap. Devereaux leaned down to help haul him up.

Back at the edge of the building they’d come from...
‘Behind you!’ Ryker shouted.
Devereaux ducked and spun and let off two shots with her

gun just as the attackers fired bullets their way. All efforts rushed, but Devereaux’s quick moves at least caused the two figures further afield to cower back out of view.

‘Help me!’ she shouted to Ryker.

He really didn’t want to. He held no loyalty to these two. He could quite easily carry on and make his own escape and figure out what was going on after.

Instead, he ducked and dashed to Devereaux and helped her to pull Muller to his feet.

‘My ankle!’ Muller shouted, grimacing in pain.
‘We’ll get you some painkillers later. First, you jump.’
Ryker pulled him along a couple of steps before letting go

and preparing himself for the leap.
Made it. He rolled to a stop, spun around. Muller hesitated

before jumping. Ryker willed him on. His front foot landed safely. His back foot...

Hit the ledge of the roof. A moment of panic burst in Muller’s eyes, but his momentum sent him forward to safety.

Devereaux...

She got ready to leap, but one of the shooters popped into view behind her. Ryker said nothing but the look in his eyes must have told her. She looked behind as she set off into the air. A gunshot boomed. Ryker clenched his teeth at the thwack and a spurt of blood erupted from Devereaux’s ankle.

She landed much like Muller had, except, fighting through pain, or maybe just bad luck, her back foot slipped the wrong way and she slid down. Ryker dove forward and grabbed her arm. He roared with effort and helped her to roll up onto the roof before she fired off two more warning shots from where she lay.

‘Please tell me there aren’t any more jumps like that one.’ Ryker didn’t say anything.
The three of them set off again, but Devereaux and Muller

struggled to keep up.
Ryker pulled to a stop behind a stairwell door.
‘We can go down here,’ he said.
‘But it’s not your planned route?’ Devereaux said, as though

she’d figured his thoughts. ‘No.’

His planned route involved another jump, as large as the last, followed by a four-floor descent, followed by a trek along an apartment block corridor to a service door that led down into the joint basement of two adjoining buildings. The basement itself held an access route into the city’s sewer lines, which Ryker would use to travel back the way he’d come, beyond his apartment building to a hatch which opened up into a multi-storey car park. Within the car park he’d a motorbike – key hidden nearby – which he could use to escape the city.

‘There’s a subway station right across the street from the exit down there,’ he said, indicating the door behind Devereaux. ‘You’ll be safer in a busy area.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You both go your way. I’ll wait here. I’ll take out those bastards then I’ll follow on if I can. If not, I’ll take this way out.’

‘How will you find us?’ Muller asked.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Devereaux said with a wink, no hint of panic in her words or her manner.

‘Come on,’ Ryker said, pulling on Muller’s arm to get him moving.

‘Ryker,’ Devereaux said. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. ‘He’s more valuable than you can imagine. You have to keep him alive.’

Ryker said nothing but turned and ran.

Muller was soon flagging once more, moaning every other step.

‘I can’t do it!’ he shouted.
‘You have to,’ Ryker said without looking back.
Two more gunshots. Not aimed at him. Devereaux. Another

shot. Two more.
Ryker leaped into the air. He cleared the gap by a couple of

feet. He turned...
Muller. The look on his face. Ryker knew he wouldn’t make

it even before he’d set off. He fell forward, stomach on the rooftop. His hands slapped down on the cement as he teetered. Ryker grabbed his wrists. Muller shouted in pain as the weight of his body pulled down on his shoulder joints.

‘Use your feet to climb up!’ Ryker shouted, grimacing with effort.

‘I... can’t!’
‘You don’t have a choice.’
Movement across the way. Ryker hoped to see Devereaux

there at the building’s edge. No. A man. Where was she? Dead or captured or had she run?

The man, casually dressed, sweat glistening on his forehead, lifted his weapon.

He fired.

Ryker flinched. Muller cried in pain as the bullet tore into his shoulder. His grip faltered. Ryker could do nothing. Muller slipped away, out of sight, screaming as he went.

A sickening thud. No way to survive that.

The gunner shifted his aim. Ryker bolted. A bullet zinged into the concrete inches from Ryker’s toes. He dove for cover behind an air-con duct. He waited a few seconds as he thought. He peeked out. No sign of the shooter. But he hadn’t jumped. Ryker would have heard him landing. So where was he?

Ryker risked another look. He slowly moved into the open. Still no sign of the man. No sign of anyone else on the rooftops at all, Devereaux included.

Plenty of noise though. From down below. Sirens. From every direction. Screams of bystanders. Ryker imagined them clustered on the street around Muller’s lifeless body.

Who was he?

Ryker had no clue. Devereaux said she’d come to Ryker for help. With what?

He’s more valuable than you can imagine. You have to keep him alive.

Ryker had already failed at that.
What would the fallout be? Time, he was sure, would tell. He ran for the door to take him down.