“Winchester, you know it’s for her own good,” G said.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Winchester’s a bit of a boy scout,” G said to Rogers.
“Is that so? I don’t know many boy scouts who drug their girlfriends while they’re sleeping so they can implant a tracking device.”
The longest knife couldn’t have cut deeper.
“She’s not my girlfriend. Just a family friend.”
It was technically true, but I wasn’t convincing.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Rogers said.
He tore off his latex gloves and tugged on a fresh pair.
I would. I did.
Nina wasn’t my girlfriend. The only reason I agreed to the tracker was for her safety and the sake of the mission.
I understood the necessity of such drastic measures, but lying to Nina, regardless of the reason, would never sit well with me.
This mission, to protect Nina, solve the connected cases, and kill—catch, I corrected myself—the corrupt CIA officers, would rewrite my future.
As I waited for Rogers to insert the tracking device in my shoulder, I mentally drafted my resignation letter.
I’m not a Boy Scout. I might’ve been, once upon a time, but I’d broken too many rules and violated too many oaths to be considered one anymore.
How much would I report? All? Half? I wasn’t sure, but one thing I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt—I would close these cases before resigning. Or die trying.
I fully expected I’d have to mark several officers’ files as deceased before the mission was over. After everything I’d learned, I felt zero guilt about speeding up that process.
The sooner I closed these cases, the sooner Nina could rest at night without fear.
The sooner she can get her grandmother the full-time help she needs.
“I’m done. Here,” he handed me an ice pack, “this will help with the discomfort.”
I’d been so pre-occupied I hadn’t noticed the electric shock Roger’s had warned me about.
“Dude, you got it bad,” G teased.
“Just mission focused.”
Rogers took off his latex gloves and picked up his trash before making a call and verifying that all three trackers were online.
“You’re all set. We have a team nearby. Turns out one of the guys you sent a picture of was flagged, and we plan to stop him,” Rogers said, packing up the large black backpack that contained his supplies. “Call if you need us.”
“How long will you be here?” I asked.
“Until we get this motherfucker.” Anger flashed in Rogers’ eyes. “I’ll let you know before we leave.”
“Thanks, man, I really appreciate it,” I said, shaking his hand. It was the understatement of the year, but as men we weren’t into flowery gratitude.
“Don’t mention it.” Rogers paused. “Seriously, don’t mention it to anyone without a need to know and a signed NDA.”
“Copy that,” Gibson said. “Send me a copy and I’ll have everyone at SSI sign one tomorrow.”
