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It’s the closest he’s ever come to complimenting me. Grinning at him, I turn and walk toward the woman I’ve sacrificed everything for.
Mentally, I correct myself—Ann isn’t a sacrifice, she’s my everything.
There were two seaplanes waiting for us. Ours took us to Male International Airport, and Hank, Suzannah, and Jack went to God knows where. He might believe I’d do anything to protect Ann, but he’s a firm believer in everyone not knowing all his secrets.
Wraith
Special Agent Flint Armstrong has moved again. He thinks he can hide from me, but I keep tabs on him. His wife, Shannon, is pregnant with their second child, and his son, Finn, has shot up a foot since I last saw him. Their new home is at the end of a cul-de-sac, ranch-style with everything on one level, including lots of cameras and a brand-new security system.
Shannon and Finn are away at her mother’s, and Flint is home alone. I’m sitting at their dining table, in the dark, waiting for him. I think this is my favorite home he’s lived in, although I’m surprised he’s chosen to live in suburbia. The last two homes have been in the middle of nowhere. Flint is still wanted by the Harbingers of Death MC. They don’t take kindly to turncoats.
Keys in the front door signal Flint is home. He throws his keys on a small table near the front door, walks straight past me into the kitchen, where I hear him open the refrigerator.
“I’ll have one too,” I say into the darkness.
Lights immediately turn on. Flint enters the dining room, gun drawn, eyes blazing in anger. “Show me your hands!”
They’re splayed on the dining table, but I hold them up for him to see. “Calm down, Flint.”
“You enter my home again, motherfucker, and you expect me to be calm?”
“Shannon and Finn aren’t here.”
“Don’t you say their names! Don’t you fucking dare!”
He takes several steps toward me, gun raised, held with both hands, just like he’s trained to do. His finger is on the trigger. FBI agents are trained to kill. If he wanted to, Flint could put a bullet into me, and it would be ruled a righteous kill even though my gun isn’t in my hands—it’s taped under the table out of sight.
Standing, I keep my hands raised and bow a little. “I apologize.” Looking around, I say, “It’s a nice home.”
“Fuck you.”
“Why’d you help me?”
“Jonathan Stonewall is a powerful, pompous fucker. He needed to be pulled down a peg or two. I was happy to help, butwearenotfriends.”
“I’m lowering my arms.” I do this slowly and rest my hands on the back of one of his dining chairs. “No, we’re not, and this is the last time you’ll see me.”
Flint is rigid in his stance, tilting his head to the side, scowling at me. “I could shoot you.”
“You could, but then you’d never know what I did with that first briefcase I left you.”
Flint raises his eyebrows. “The first briefcase?”
I chuckle. He had it hidden in the basement behind some boxes. “You didn’t hide it well. You’re having a girl?” I ask to throw him off balance.
His eyes narrow, and the gun comes up a fraction in line with my head. “You searched my house?”
“I’m only here to thank you for helping us. There’s another briefcase.”
The gun lowers an inch. “Another one?”
“You and your family have done enough for your country, and Stonewall is a powerful enemy. Maybe it’s time you disappeared?”
“And you think I won’t take you in?”
There’s steel in his voice, a certainty to his words.
Slowly, I shake my head from side to side. “No, you won’t. For the same reason, you never reported the first briefcase. You want out too.”
