"Rogue is fine."
"Rogue, then. Hartley. We haven't met."
"We haven't."
"I'd like to offer you the opportunity to come in voluntarily. The firm is prepared to consider it a reactivation if you cooperate. You'd come back with rank. Compensation adjusted for the gap. A clean record."
"No."
"That's the answer I expected."
"Then why call?"
"Out of courtesy. You used to be one of us. We give our former assets a chance to choose before we proceed."
"You're tellin' me because you want me to know the timeline."
A pause. "Forty-eight hours."
I set the burner down on the desk and hit speakerphone. Pick up a pen instead, because my hand needs something to do that isn't break the phone in half. "Hartley."
"Yes."
"Why call me. Why tip me off?"
A small sound on the other end. Almost a laugh. Not quite. "Because I like it when my prey knows I'm gettin' closer. The hunt is better when both parties are awake to it. If you're not one of us, you're against us, Rogue."
I sit very still. "That right?"
"That's right, Rogue. You taught me that, actually. In a briefing room in 2015. You said the only way to test what a man's made of is to let him see you coming. I never forgot it."
"You picked the wrong line to remember."
"We'll see."
I lift the pen off the desk. "Hartley, one more thing before you hang up."
"Yes."
"There are people on this ranch who aren't part of this. Civilians. A woman. A boy. You name them again and I'll bury you before you make it back to Llano."
The pause is longer this time. "I'm aware of them, Rogue. The firm is aware of them. It would be easier on the woman and the boy if you came in alone. I'm authorized to offer you that arrangement. You walk in voluntarily. They go on living. That is the offer."
The pen breaks in my hand. I look at the snapped halves. I set them down on the desk one at a time. I take a slow breath through my nose. "Hartley."
"Yes."
"You have forty-eight fucking hours to get ready for me."
He chuckles on the other end. "Oh, I'll be ready."
"I seriously doubt that."
The line clicks.
Hadley appears in the doorway of the front room. She has heard the last sentence of the call. Her eyes are on my face and they don't move. She doesn't ask what was said.
Her hand stays at her side. Her chin is up. Then she crosses the floor to me, stops at the desk, and puts her hand on my forearm where the patch is tattooed on the inside. "Tell me."
