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The last time she had been here, she had been enraged, chafing at the restrictions placed on her, furious at the orders that had held her back for so long. And betrayed. Betrayed that her director, a friend of her father’s, had actually approved her interrogation by agents that had no agency and no name.
Now, she was mildly curious, distrustful. But the anger was gone.
“Bailey.” Milburn rose to his feet from behind the monstrous cherrywood desk that was the focal point of the room.
In front of the desk another man rose. Jordan Malone, former Navy SEAL, retired after the death of his nephew Nathan Malone. Short black hair revealed sharp, darkly tanned features. Brilliant blue eyes stared back at her coolly as his lips seemed to thin further at the sight of her.
She knew those eyes. She had seen them two nights before in the Grace mansion ordering John from the scene and back to his “death.” John had refused to go. He still hadn’t left for that debriefing, and she knew he was ignoring his cellphone. Demands that he return. Threats perhaps.
“Director Rushmore.” She moved to the desk and stood before him.
This time, she wasn’t an angry agent. She was a free agent. And she intended to stay free, at least from the CIA.
“Meet Jordan Malone. Jordan, Bailey Serborne.” Milburn introduced them.
“Mr. Malone.” She took the proffered handshake, watching him warily. She had a feeling this meeting had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the agent that he wanted back.
“Ms. Serborne.” His tone was icy. “Thank you for coming in.”
She arched a brow mockingly as she glanced back at Milburn.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Malone.” Her tone was just sarcastic enough to assure him that she knew what his game was.
“Sit, Bailey, please,” Milburn invited as he waved his hand to the vacant seat beside Malone. “I wanted to thank you personally for your help with the Grace situation. None of us could have known what was going on there. Without you, we could never have neutralized Wagner.” His voice seemed to crack as Bailey breathed in deeply.
Milburn had been her father’s friend. He was Ford’s friend. He was a friend to sheiks, kings, and to four of the richest men in the world. And he had been Wagner’s godfather.
“He had journals,” she said. “You found them?”
She needed answers, not just for herself but for Jules as well. There was still an edge of disbelief that it had happened like this. That Wagner had been the villain. No, more than a villain. He had been a monster. A monster that had gone to extraordinary lengths to frame his father for his own crimes.
“We found the journals. Thank you for letting us know they existed.” His face creased for the barest second with grief.
Wagner had kept journals since he was a boy. Anna had told her about them once, when they were younger. Strange that she hadn’t told Bailey that it was Wagner who was abusing her. She had never said Ford had done it, that had been an assumption that Bailey had made. An erroneous one.
“What happened, Milburn?” she asked. “I never suspected Wagner. I would never have believed it if I hadn’t been there.”
Milburn shook his head sadly. “He was twisted, Bailey. He was a missing a soul, and he was very good at hiding it.”
“Wagner began early in his teen years learning how to steal information and how to use it,” Jordan broke in at that point. “As Milburn said, he had no soul. As with most psychopaths, he was incredibly intuitive and intelligent. He lived for the power, directing lives, taking lives. Men like that live for a single reason, to attain a god-like status while holding everyone in thrall with fear. He thought he was invincible. He learned better.”
She shook her head. She would never make sense of it. It was impossible to understand.
“He was going to kill his father. Make it look like Ford killed me, then killed himself because he knew he was caught.”
“And he would have succeeded had the men working with John not been prepared for Warbucks to pull a surprise. He’s been rather good at that over the years.”
/> Yes, he had been. That should have been their first warning. Warbucks had always kept an ace up his sleeve. He’d always managed to lay evidence at others’ doors and keep suspicions from himself. They hadn’t learned his identity for a reason: because he knew how to keep the attention focused on his father rather than himself.
“So why am I here?” She turned to Jordan rather than focusing the question on Milburn.
Jordan leaned back in his chair as he turned to her, his hand lifting to allow his finger to stroke over his upper lip thoughtfully, a considering expression moving over his face.
“You haven’t guessed?” he asked silkily, dangerously.
“You want John back.” She wasn’t beating around the bush.
His lips quirked in amusement. “I haven’t lost John,” he stated thoughtfully. “Are you under the impression I have?”
