Breaking (Fall or Break #2) by Barbara Elsborg Page B

questions about William Connor could bring Archer all sorts of unwanted attention. Maybe Phoenix had even supplied the name to trap him.
    Who wanted him dead? Broker or client? Neither? A relative of someone he’d killed, except how would they know it was him unless a broker told them and theoretically none of his brokers knew what he looked like. He thought of the photo in his bag. Someone did. He was glad he’d not told Phoenix about that photo. Archer currently didn’t trust any contact enough to ask them to check the shooter’s DNA. Chances were it wouldn’t even be in the databank.
    His brokers were middlemen between him and the clients who’d never know his identity. All correspondence between Archer and his brokers took place over the Internet, apart from a small amount of telephone contact with Phoenix. They supplied dossiers, provided weapons and arranged payment. Archer worked with two other brokers, Devros and Sayeed. But he’d been on a job for Phoenix when the attempt had been made on his life. It was a job for Phoenix he’d been on in Moscow. It was Phoenix who’d gone to the effort of finding his new email address, and Phoenix who still wanted him in contact and working. Though that wasn’t proof of anything. It could be proof of innocence.
    Archer ran in a wide curve to avoid an expanse of shallow water left by the retreating sea. Discovering how someone had found out who he was might lead him to more answers. Once he’d stopped working for the SIS, the Secret Intelligence Service, a few years ago, he’d fiercely guarded his identity, but if it was them who wanted him dead, or the CIA, or even worse, Mossad, he couldn’t escape. All he was doing was delaying the inevitable. One slip and he was done for.
    A thought that dragged him straight to Chris and the mountain, and as the memories of what happened that day flooded his head, he stumbled on the sand, tripped over a small ripple. One slip. One error. He shuddered. Fine one moment and then not the next. For all he knew, a killer was on his way to Marram Cottage right this minute. A problem not just for him but for Conrad. It was those sorts of thoughts that kept him on edge and destroyed any chance for a normal life.
    He increased his speed as he ran at the edge of the sea. As long as someone wasn’t chasing him with a gun, at least he had this. The sheer exhilaration of moving fast under his own power was hard to beat. The increased endorphins in his brain gave him a natural high, the exercise strengthened his heart, lungs and muscles, helped his blood circulate more efficiently, and kept him trim.
    But it was more than that. He’d survived in the business as long as he had because he was an overachiever. Everything had to be done to an increasingly high standard. Assembling and disassembling his rifle. Judgment of distance. Accuracy of his strikes. His ability to lie still and wait like any predator. The tougher the challenge, the better. Life was fucking tough. Running faster or farther, tackling more difficult routes allowed him to set goals and strive to meet them, enabled him to feel satisfaction in something other than completing a mission. Now he had the hardest job of all. Surviving.
    For a while he managed to zone out and let running be the only thing in his head. He increased his speed until he seemed to fly over the sand. When he reached the end of the beach where waves pounded the rocky headland, he paused to take in the power of the sea, the slam and hiss of the surf. Water surged into a fissure in the rocks before pouring out again. He wondered if it was a cave. Not a good place to hide with only one way in and out, particularly if it filled with water, but if that wasn’t the case, for a temporary hiding place, it could prove useful. Archer sighed. So much for letting running be the only thing in his head. Everywhere he went, in everything he did, he looked for an escape plan.
    He turned and ran back, Deefor bounding along at