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Chapter1
The bitch better have my money
MIA
Okay, fine. I admit it. I can’t help myself.
I’m a pimp, and intel is my whore.
But the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right? No clue what the second step is, but that’s fine, because I’m nowhere near ready to kick the habit.
After ending the call with the head of Redleg Security, I glance at my laptop, but I force my gaze back to my coffee.
Don’t do it, Mia.
Do not fucking do it.
While frantically tapping my nails on my mug, I bite my lip and attempt to distract myself. I shouldn’tneedto dig up every ounce of intel about my potential new employer. I should interview for the position and learn about the Redleg employees like the average Josephine.
Three seconds later, my gaze still burns into the computer on my desk. It’s freaking calling to me. I need intel like Cheech needs Chong.
No. Stop it. Just be normal for once.
But I’m not normal.
The CIA beat that shit out of me during training.
Yeah, but that’s why you’re leaving. To live a normal life.
I spend the next five minutes arguing with myself like a head case.
Fuck it.
I already know I’m going to do it, so why fight it? A zebra doesn’t change its stripes.
Besides, with the enemies I’ve accumulated over the years, it’d be dangerous to walk into a potential new employer unprepared.
There. A nice, logical rationalization.
After grabbing the laptop, I return to my couch and absorb everything available about the key players at Redleg Security.
My fingers move across the laptop keys with the precision of a surgeon, and my hand directs the mouse like it’s my scalpel. Data, pictures, and documents all come together to tell me a story.
Inhale information… exhale uncertainty.
Most of it is information I need. And I use it to help people.
Sort of.
But I’m apeople, so it counts, right?
Before I called Big Al— Alan Lancaster— back about the job opportunity earlier, I unearthed mountains of shit on their client roster to determine the types of cases they handled. I’m not going to leave the CIA for a private security company where I’ll be bored to tears. It’s dangerous for hands like mine to become idle.
Redleg Security had my undivided attention from the moment I saw thepakhanof the Russian mafia, Nikolai Lenkov, in their files.
This security firm operates on a whole other level; noPaul Blart: Mall Copthere, that’s for damn sure. These are men and women who use their experience in military special ops to help average citizens in danger. Is there a more noble profession? A few come to mind, but none that I’m suited for like this one.
The deeper my search went, the more I became convinced my old buddy Shepherd Collins was leading me along the right path, which makes sense because the retired Army Ranger wouldn’t work somewhere they didn’t utilize his specialized skills.
