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“Hannah Stone is a freelance journalist, according to her LinkedIn profile.”
Will felt the blood drain from his face. A dozen words came to mind, and every single one was something his mother would wash from his mouth with soap.
“I’m an idiot,” he said instead.
“You couldn’t have known,” Joey tried to argue.
Will hung up the phone, his mind thinking back to only moments earlier in the bedroom when he’d been throwing himself at Melanie— Correction: Hannah. He cared about her? What a joke. She was using the entire situation. Was she even in danger? Was she part of the Syndicate? Or being played by them without even realizing?
There were so many pieces that fell into place. Why she was at the hotel. Why she thought about turning on her phone recording. Why she was trying to sell the video for a job.
She’d been lying to him every single step of the way. And here he was, basically falling in love with her? A reporter, of all things.
Unable to contain his frustration, Will swung a fist and took out his anger on the dashboard of the vehicle. Pierce shouted in surprise and the vehicle swerved before he regained control, a look of disbelief on his face as he alternated looking at the road with staring at Will.
One hit was all it took for him to regain control.
He leaned against the headrest, tipping his head back and knocking it against the soft surface.
Will had never felt like such a fool.
He’d been upset when Davis Mitchell had recorded a special feature and revealed classified details about an upcoming operation. It had ended up costing the brave and selfless woman helping them in Kabul her life.
Amira’s time had been cut short. All because of the ambitious recklessness of the reporter he’d trusted.
His dislike of the press hadn’t started there, but it had certainly been solidified.
Which is why Melanie or Hannah or whoever she was couldn’t have found a better way to alienate her fiercest ally.
Whatever had happened in her room before? That was done. Dead and buried like Amira and her children in the rubble of the trap meant for him and his team. Amira hadn’t asked to be part of the conflict. She’d just been doing the best she could for her children and community.
Hannah, on the other hand? She was just another ambitious reporter who had inserted themselves into a dangerous situation and gotten in too deep.
And he’d been so impressed with her craftiness and resilience. Nothing but tricks of the trade.
“Umm… Will? We’re here.”
Will opened his eyes to find that Pierce had parked the truck at a quaint neighborhood park. Kids played on the playground across the field, and a small sidewalk wound through the park and into the trees on the other side.
He took a deep breath and shoved all the anger and frustration and hurt aside. He checked his watch. “There’s our guy.”
They watched as a casually dressed man strolled through the park. He sat down on the park bench and pulled a burger out of a small fast-food bag. Sure enough, Will watched as he skillfully let the bag accidentally roll under his foot and to the side of the bench.
The man finished his food, tossed the small wrapper into the trash can, and stood, walking away.
“That’s our cue,” he said. “We’ll wait until he’s been gone a few minutes.”
“You want to tell me about that phone call while we wait?” Pierce asked.
“Nope.”
Will could tell Pierce was disappointed, but he didn’t press the issue.
A few minutes later, they both got out of the car and headed toward the recently vacated bench.
When they sat, Pierce tried again. “Come on, Square. What did Joey say?”
Will glared at the young soldier. “You’ll find out soon enough. I’m still processing. Just… drop it.”
