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Chapter 2
“Why are we here?”
Miles Hawkins met the blue-green eyes of Travis Barnes and gave him a smile he didn’t feel. Acting came easy to him, though. At forty-six, he was fairly young to be in charge of his own division, but an injury a couple of years earlier had ended his career in the field.
That career had shown him too many things, shown him a world where the vicious preyed upon the weak and too often, those in power cared little to step in and help.
A couple of years earlier, a few months after Miles had mistakenly screwed up the lives of two innocent kids, one of those kids had showed up at his house.
Travis Barnes had shown an amazing resourcefulness, tracking him down as he had, something Miles had taken notice of. It wasn’t like FBI agents tended to keep a large profile. Travis hadn’t come looking for an apology, though. He’d demanded entrance to Miles’ world—for an absolution that only Miles owed.
But Travis hadn’t wanted to listen.
Because Miles understand the weight of guilt, and because he was too aware of the shit he’d slogged through and how unbalanced the scales were, he’d given Travis access to that world.
Travis could very well become one of the US government’s best assets. His affluent upbringing and keen intellect made it easy for him to gain entry into a world where the world’s elite used their money for craven, awful excess at the expense of others.
He had the gift of both charm and insight, and a natural ability to play chameleon, showing his targets whatever face they expected to see.
Now, just a few weeks shy of twenty-four, he’d already helped collect information on three high-profile targets—with actionable intelligence on all of them. Miles had just received confirmation that morning that two were expected to be in US custody by the end of the week.
Nobody would ever connect their arrest to the pretty-boy asset sitting next to Miles.
Granted, the man next to Miles currently looked nothing like the laughing, teasing playboy who’d wined and dined the wife of one of the biggest human traffickers in Europe while she was on holiday in Italy.
Had she, or any of her bodyguards, glimpsed this side of Travis Barnes, they would have stayed far clear—and possibly ordered his immediate assassination. It was getting to the point that his face would soon become a liability—and present a danger to the other person who shared that face. When Miles had pointed that out, Travis had calmly come up with a solution—a brilliant, drastic one that was, at the same time, ridiculously simple.
It was his knowledge, skills and abilities they really needed, after all. His face wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t need that face to know the ins and outs of high society.
And although Miles wanted to refuse the kid, time and again, he knew how desperately the skills and mindset of somebody like Travis were needed.
There wasn’t a day Miles didn’t worry Travis would slip, make a mistake and come back to the US in a body bag. Or not at all.
Miles still sent him out.
He’d do so as long as Travis was willing, or until it was obvious Miles could get no further use out of him—he was just that damn good.
Yet when Travis had ended up finishing his last job right at the same time Isabel had been scheduled to be in Boston, on the stand in yet another attempt by her father to get his sentence overturned, Miles knew he’d try again.
Every chance he got, he’d try.
“You said you wanted a drink and a damned steak that wasn’t like cooked until it resembled leather. So ... here we are.” Miles offered a crooked smile and gave a sweeping gesture that encompassed much of the luxurious lobby bar and restaurant, tucked into the corner of one of Boston’s most exclusive hotels.
Travis picked up his drink and tossed it back, treating the twenty-five-year single barrel malt like backyard moonshine. As he met Miles’s gaze, he put the now empty high ball glass down on the polished mahogany bar with a distinctclick. “Pricey place for a meal on Uncle Sam’s dime.”
