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Lachlan had left the CIA years ago and he wanted nothing to do with it. He’d built a quiet life in Redwater, finally able to start healing after his wife’s murder.
But this phone call was going to change everything.
LACHLAN
His footsteps echoed in the sparse hallway like a mirror of his stammering heart.
He didn’t want to be here.
He promised himself he’d never return.
He was done with the CIA, done with his past. For the first time in years, he was happy. He’d faced his demons, cleaned up his past, and started over. And yet, here he was, walking the hallways of the CIA’s headquarters.
He stopped at the door numbered ten as per the instructions he’d been given by the woman at the reception desk. He stared at the door a long moment. He could turn around and leave. No one could force him to return to the CIA and work for them again. He could honor the promise he’d made himself to never return because his role in the CIA had made him into someone he hadn’t liked much: a merciless, ruthless killer. An assassin. He would not go back to being that person, he couldn’t. He’d promised himself that much.
Lachlan turned to leave and stepped away from the door, then stopped again, pressing his eyes shut.
Was he running from his past again?
He might not trust the CIA, but he trusted Samuel, and Samuel had called him.
Lachlan turned back at the door. On the other side of it were the answers he needed—the reason he’d been called back. Once he had the information, he could decide whether he wanted to leave or stay, he rationalized.
He raised his hand and knocked twice.
“Come in!”
Lachlan drew a deep, steadying breath and opened the door, his eyes landing on the man sitting behind a large desk. The room was clinical, much like the rest of the headquarters seemed to be. And the desk was immaculately clean—barely a piece of paper. No photographs, no personal items.
“Lachlan,” the man said, standing.
Lachlan stared at his black eyes, wondering if he could trust them. From what he’d been able to glean from the few contacts he still had in the CIA, James Thomas was a man of his word and could be—and should be—trusted.
James extended his hand and Lachlan stepped forward, shaking it.
“Take a seat,” James said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk.
Lachlan hesitated for the briefest of moments, and James didn’t miss it.
“I had the same reaction, no doubt the same thoughts, of returning to the CIA. I swore—after they tried to kill me—I would never again have anything to do with the agency. But time changes things, or rather, people change things. I understand your hesitancy to even be here, so I’m grateful you came. I know I have Samuel to thank for that,” he said with a small smile. “I want to show you a photograph and ask you a few questions. If you want to leave after that, I won’t stop you and I won’t bother you again. But if I’m right about this case, I think you’ll want to stay.”
Lachlan searched his eyes, but he saw nothing hidden in them. He didn’t appear calculating, nor did he seem disingenuous.
Lachlan took a seat and James slid a photograph across the table. As soon as Lachlan’s eyes landed on it, he recognized her. Then he looked to the time stamp and his eyes widened.
“She’s back,” Lachlan said, his voice thick.
James nodded slowly. “That was exactly my reaction. We were able to do some surveillance on her yesterday. We thought she was doing a crossword puzzle, but it seems she was making a list: perhaps a to-do list, some heads to knock-off before she disappears again.”
Lachlan raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, my name was on it.”
James gave a resigned smile. “If it makes you feel any better, mine was at the top of the list. You were number two. Whether the order of the list is important, we don’t know. There were five names in total, all CIA, or ex-CIA agents.”
Lachlan looked around the office. “Why aren’t the others here?”
James held his gaze. “Because they’re dead. Two died on missions last year, the other was killed a week ago. She’d written their names then crossed them out. Strange, for sure, but perhaps in line with what we know about her.”
Lachlan swallowed. “She wrote the names then crossed them out? Why? For fun?”
