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He picked up his phone and started to dial, just as he had a half dozen times over the past hour but always stopped just short of calling. And he did the same this time.
Miles would have received his messages.
He’d call in his own damn time and Travis knew that.
When that would be?
The fuck if Travis knew, although his gut told him it would be before morning. Miles wouldn’t risk him making good on his threat—and Travis wasn’t going to risk it, either, even if he told himself otherwise.
It was just as he was eying the cell, debating on starting a seventh dial when the phone rang.
The clouds had started to go all pink and gold with the coming sunset, but Travis hadn’t been able to appreciate their beauty or how soft the air had become.
Now, struggling to clear his head as he saw his mentor’s number on the screen, he blew out a breath.
It rang again and he answered, going through the rote process of identifying himself even though both he and Miles knew this call had nothing to do with the job.
“Identity confirmed,” Miles said, as he’d said for what was probably the thousandth time.
Then there was nothing between them but silence.
Travis swallowed.
Miles sighed.
“Who is going to go first?” the older man finally said.
“I might as well, since I’m the one with all the questions,” Travis muttered, feeling foolish, angry ... and so fucking sad. Miles’s silence over the past several moments had said far more than words could. “I know you’re sick. What’s wrong?”
“Cancer. I’ve got maybe a year if I keep up with chemo, but ... son, I’m fucking tired.”
Tears burned Travis’s eyes. As much antagonism as he’d often felt toward Miles, they’d developed a friendship over the years and he truly did respect his handler. “So there’s no real hope?”
“It was already spreading by the time I got diagnosed, Travis.” He huffed out a laugh. “When they tell you to get those damn screens once you start hitting your late forties, kid ... just do them. Don’t put them off.”
Unable to stay still, Travis pushed upright and paced over the railing of the deck, staring out over the water. The tide was out, baring rocks covered with seaweed. Gulls came swooping in, leaving just as swiftly. Travis saw all of it, but couldn’t focus on a damn thing.
“So, you’re fucking dying,” he finally said.
“Yes. I’m fucking dying,” Miles replied. “But, hell, aren’t we all?”
“Don’t get philosophical on me,” he snapped as he spun around. He wanted to hit something. Wanted to scream. He drove his fist into the rough wood of the house and felt pain hot and bright. “What the fuck, man? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were in deep on a dangerous op.” Miles’ response was blunt and to the point. “The last thing you needed was to be distracted. ThenIwould have been worried aboutyoudying ... on my watch.”
“And now I’m going to be stuck watching you die!”
“Trav ... ” Miles’ voice was gentler now. “I’m sick.”
That gentle voice cut through Travis’s rage like nothing else could. Numbly, Travis half-stumbled, half-walked over to the Adirondack chair where he’d been sitting and he sank down, watching the deepening colors of the sunset. “I don’t want to do this work without you there. I don’t trust anybody like I trust you.”
“That’s your call.” Miles cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this ... Travis, Iwantyou out. You’re young. You’vedone enough. You never should have been in this to begin with.”
“There is no enough,” he said. But he couldn’t regret the words he’d spoken. Although ... what the fuck was he going to do with himself? He knew how to fight. He knew how to charm and seduce information out of people. He knew how to infiltrate places he wasn’t supposed to even know about, much lessbein. And he knew how to kill people. Those weren’t useful skills that would fit in with the life he’d beenmeantto live. And now he didn’t even know what fucking life that was supposed to be.
And just like that, his thoughts landed squarely on Isabel.
“Why did you send me here, Miles?”
