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Nope.
That was not my life.
Never had been.
Never would be.
I didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand when I answered, “I always have a plan.”
He didn’t lean away when he murmured, “That tracks.”
Easton’s gravelly voice turned the belly flutters into a shiver.
The elevator door slid open. I hustled in, not caring it was obvious I was trying to flee the warmth at my back, the scent of his soap, the way his slight touch stirred a riot of unwanted sensations not only in my belly but other parts besides.
It wasn’t my proudest moment, but necessary.
Once the door slid closed I shoved my reaction to Easton aside and went back to planning the rest of my day. I’d call an Uber, get to the airport, then head to Florida. I had enough contacts down there I could get anything I needed within hours of landing. I needed to get to Egypt, sit down with Amani Carver, and warn him Maddon was tying up loose ends. Not that I labored under any notion Amani didn’t know the state of play, but the man was about loyalty and trust. A sit-down would be viewed as a show of respect and I needed all the allies I could get.
My father had taught me that, as had Maddon before the bastard turned and got greedy. They drilled into me never to miss an opportunity to turn a foe into a friend. That advice had served me well, as it had Maddon, and therein lay the bigger problem—Maddon’s network was such it would take a miracle to breach. I had to outsmart the man who had taught me everything I knew. I had to figure out a way to outmaneuver the man who had spent more years than I’d been alive building his web.
Now that Zane wasn’t an option—not that I ever believed he would be—I had no choice except to go at this alone. Not that I wasn’t used to that. I was the Mediator, the Dove, the woman who was called in to solve problems however those problems needed to be resolved. I’d earned respect, I’d proven I went above and beyond to get the job done—whatever that job may be.
The elevator came to a stop, the door opened, and without a word I hastily exited. The sooner I got away from Easton the better.
With the exit to the lobby fast approaching Easton broke the silence.
“You know who I am.”
Again, I didn’t waste precious time demurring.
“Yes, I knew you were Patheon before you and Theo retrieved me from my father’s house. For the last five years I knew Patheon was in play, but I didn’t know where until I showed up in the same region. Then I did my best not to let my business interfere with yours. Unless, of course it was unavoidable like with Smith and the prison. But still, I stayed clear of him and got out without interrupting his mission. And I’d heard the rumors you all had joined Zane’s team but I didn’t have confirmation until I entered the conference room.”
I paused when I got to the door and made the grave mistake of looking at Easton’s handsome face. The rest of my explanation died in my throat when I caught sight of those sapphire eyes now full of suspicion.
I was used to that look, the one that stated plain the giver of that look was sussing out the truthfulness of my words. But for some reason Easton staring at me like he didn’t believe me, cut to the bone.
I was immune to lying; I did it often and I did it well. However, I had yet to tell him an untruth.
“Charlie Michaels is CIA,” he stated.
“Semi-retired, CIA.” I corrected.
“How does that work?”
“The Agency still calls on him from time to time, but he is no longer in the field or active. He’s more of a contractor. When they need his contacts, they call. Other than that, he’s out of the game.”
Easton nodded then asked, “And you? You’re Agency?”
There had been a time I’d flirted with the idea of following my father’s footsteps, but he’d quickly shot down the idea. And not because there was more money to be made in the private sector. Charlie had been clear he didn’t want that life for me. Though the one I’d forged came with its own moral dilemmas.
“No.”
Naturally my answer was met with heavy skepticism. To drive his point home, Easton lifted a brow in disbelief. The brow lift was unnecessary, his gaze said it all.
“PMC?”
Private military contractor.
