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She said nothing, settling into the opposite corner, frozen with fury and disbelief. Her whole world had been turned upside down, and worst of all was how damn stupid she’d been. Why hadn’t she seen the signs? Now that she knew the truth it was painfully obvious. The botched missions that had saved so many lives. The unprecedented access to intel he would have had over the years.
She knew what deep cover was like, but that was nothing compared to what Killian must have lived through. Two decades of lies and betrayal, of dealing death while he was ostensibly on the side of the bad guys. Of killing people who didn’t deserve to be killed, just to keep up his cover. Yes, she knew what that was like.
In their life there was no such thing as good guys and bad guys. He was still a monster. He was simply the same kind of monster she was.
“There was no sign of him,” Peter said from the front seat as Bastien pulled out into the rainy street. “It’s going to take him some time to get there—first he has to steal a car, then he was to figure out the roads, and there’s been some bad weather out there. Freezing fog. It’ll coat everything with ice, and he’s not likely to steal a car that can handle it.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Bastien said. “He hasn’t stayed alive this long without paying attention to details. He’ll find an SUV, maybe with studded tires.”
“Studded tires are illegal over here,” Peter said.
“He’ll find one anyway.”
“I’m not talking to you,” Isobel told Bastien in a sharp voice.
“Don’t be petty. Killian and I had an arrangement. He was out of the picture at the time I retired.”
“And you didn’t think I needed to know a piece of information that crucial?”
Bastien shrugged. “I wasn’t particularly interested in anything the Committee needed.”
“I think Peter should drive. You’ve been driving on the wrong side of the road for the last three years.”
“Don’t worry, Isobel. I’ve lived on top of a mountain—I know how to deal with ice and snow.”
She sank back, resisting the impulse to snarl. There was no place for emotions right now, no time for anger. There was simply the job ahead of them and no room for anything else.
She glanced over at the silent Reno. He had something in his hand, a string of beads he was running through his bloodstained fingers. They looked familiar.
“Are those Mahmoud’s?”
He jerked his head, startled. “Yes,” he said finally. “He gave them to me. They belonged to his foster sister.”
“The one Killian shot?”
“Yes.”
Isobel had been hoping that was a lie. “Why did he give you the beads? They were his most valued possession.”
“We exchanged gifts. He was ready to give these up, he said. Along with his oath to kill the man responsible.”
“Why did he kill her?” She ignored the men in the front seat.
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Killian told me nothing but lies.”
“Mahmoud’s foster sister was a suicide bomber. She was in the middle of a crowded marketplace, holding on to Mahmoud with one hand, the detonator with the other. Killian shot her before she could detonate it.”
Isobel closed her eyes for a moment. In the darkness no one could see her reaction. She swallowed. “He took a big chance,” she said. “The girl could have hit the button in reflex even as she died.”
“She could. Either way there would have been scores, maybe hundreds of people dead. He took Mahmoud and got out of there.”
“And the girl? She was pregnant. The baby…?”
“From what Mahmoud said it sounded as if the people in the marketplace pulled her body apart. Too many suicide bombings, too many deaths.”
There was nothing Isobel could say. At another time she?
