BULLETPROOF HEART

BRUSSELS

BULLETPROOF HEART - CHAPTER 16: BRUSSELS

Brussels was supposed to be a honeymoon that wasn't a honeymoon.

Interpol had given them 72 hours off between The Hague and Port Harcourt. No debriefs. No courthouses. Agent Laurent booked them one hotel room — "for budget reasons," she said, not looking at either of them — at the Hotel Amigo, overlooking the Grand Place.

One bed. Again.

"She did that on purpose," Amara said, dropping her bag the second they walked in. Same patched tactical bag from Port Harcourt. Now with a Hague airport sticker on it.

"100 percent on purpose," Marcus said, locking the door, checking the window, checking the bathroom, old habits. Then he saw the bed. King. White duvet. And a little chocolate on the pillows that said _Bienvenue_.

Amara picked up the chocolate, looked at him.

"Rule 1?" she said.

"Rule 1 is we check the perimeter," he said, trying to be professional.

"Perimeter checked, Sergeant. I checked it from the door. It's safe."

Marcus walked over, took the chocolate from her hand, put it back.

"You know, when you first hired me, you said one bed was perfect," he said.

"I remember," she said. "I was being brave."

"And now?"

"Now I'm not being brave. I'm being honest. I like one bed."

She reached up and fixed his collar — new civilian shirt, no tac vest, but he still wore it like armor.

"We haven't had one bed that wasn't about hiding," she said quietly. "Port Harcourt was hiding. Abuja safe house was hiding from my father. The Hague apartment was hiding from the press. This is the first bed that is just... ours."

Marcus swallowed. He cupped her face, thumb on her cheekbone like in Room 7.

"Just ours," he repeated.

Outside, Brussels was ringing — Christmas market starting early, church bells, tourists.

Inside, his phone buzzed. Not his phone — his work phone. The one Laurent gave him.

He looked. One line: *PRICE ESCAPED CUSTODY 04:12 BRUSSELS TRANSFER. DO NOT LEAVE HOTEL.*

His face changed. Soldier face. Back.

Amara saw it instantly. "What?"

He locked the phone, put it in his pocket.

"Change of plans," he whispered, exactly like he had on the fire escape in Chapter 4.

Amara's hand went to her badge on the dresser. To her bag.

"No," Marcus said. "This time we don't run."

He pulled the curtain one centimeter. Across the Grand Place, a man in a black coat stood looking up at their window. Not Dele's men. Taller. American. Crew cut.

Colonel Price.

Alive. Free. Smiling up at them.

Marcus let the curtain fall.

"He found us," Amara said, not scared now. Angry.

"Yeah," Marcus said. He turned from the window, picked up his old pistol — same one from Room 7 — and checked it. Six bullets. Always six.

He looked at Amara in her blue suit from The Hague, barefoot now on the Brussels carpet, holding the tactical bag that had started all this.

"You good?" he asked, like on the roof.

"I am now," she said, same answer as then. But this time she added: "Together?"

"Together," he said.

And from the street below, Price started walking toward the hotel entrance.

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*END OF CHAPTER 16*