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The thought had my jaw clenching with irritation.
Love was supposed to be nice.
It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.
Absently, and of my own volition, I rubbed at my chest. That was when Black clapped her hands and shouted, “Team, we need Eagle’s Claw live in five minutes for testing. Are we still on track?”
The emo kid called out, “We are.”
Black, folding her arms across her chest, nodded and fell silent so I did the same, except I leaned against the wall and studied the group.
Then, much as if a school bell had sounded—most of these fuckers seemed young enough to belong in high school anyway—they got up five minutes later and traipsed out.
As one, they all flicked a glance at me.
That was an interesting experience.
Some looks were covetous; others were heated. A few were bitter, and a couple were competitive.
“You’re their criterion,” Black informed me once we were alone.
I arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“The OG asset,” she mused. “The first of their kind.”
Clearly, I’d been slow on the uptake. “They’re like me?”
“Yes. Turned to Uncle Sam to get out of jail sentences. The program worked so well with you, Mr. O’Donnelly, that we decided to expand our team.”
“Why let me in on that secret?”
“Because it isn’t a secret and it’s good to know that you’re not irreplaceable or unique.”
“I never said I was either.” I smirked at her. “If anything, every time I get a call from Riggs,youdefinemeas such.”
She tipped her chin to the side. “Star said you were annoying.”
My smirk died as I straightened up. “You know Star? Star Sullivan?”
She matched my earlier smirk and topped it with…silence.
My left eye flickered at the clever tactic.
Rather than engage her in a topic she’d used to snare me, I demanded, “Why am I at Langley? The Secret Service isn’t overseen by the CIA.”
“I’m merely your courier, Mr. O’Donnelly. I was told to bring you here, and bring you here I have.”
Herewas a distinctly unimpressive workspace. I’d have preferred the usual non-entity office the NSA set me up in. At least there, I got windows.
Instead, a whiteboard covered one wall where, in a regular room, there’d have been some escape from the sea of blandness. In front of the whiteboard was a desk, which she pointed to.
“I assume you wish to use your own rig?” she questioned, watching as I walked over to the desk.
I dipped my chin in agreement.
On the surface, I found an envelope with my name on it. Without awaiting further instructions from Black, I tore it open and uncovered a note.
Dear Mr. O’Donnelly,
