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Her husband froze, his jaw clenching.
Maia sighed. “You didn’t blame him for me getting hurt, did you?”
“It was his fault more than you could imagine, Maia,” Jack said.
“If he withheld information and did not warn us, he had a valid reason,” Maia said. “The greater good, remember?”
“Well, the greater good nearly got you killed!” Jack snapped.
“I knew it. You two had a falling out.”
“I don’t know if I can ever forgive him, Maia.”
“Jack, you married me. Personal reasons aside, you know what it means to be married to me,” Maia said. “I miss him, Jack. Please let him visit me.”
“I didn’t tell him not to come,” Jack said. “But I’ll call him for you, babe.”
Maia smiled as her husband leaned in to kiss her.
He pulled away, sat on the chair, and started removing his boots.
“What are you doing?”
“I miss sleeping beside you, I can’t take it anymore,” Jack said as he stood up and pulled off his jeans.
Maia’s eyes widened. “You think the nurse will allow it?”
“I’d like to see her try and kick me out.” Jack smirked as he crawled in beside her.
The status reports lay idlyin front of her. Marissa’s mind wasn’t on them because her Sec-phone had been buzzing for the last few hours. Viktor wanted his answer, and she wasn’t ready to move in with him for protection or otherwise. She was team lead for CIA black ops for heaven’s sake. Besides, the agency had contingencies in place to protect their agents in case their cover was compromised. Viktor was treating her like some damsel-in-distress and it infuriated her. She didn’t need him. So she was avoiding him for as long as she could.
Allison Guthrie, her thirty-year-old analyst, swept by her desk and dropped a folder labeled “classified” in front of her.
“Latest from Damascus,” Allison said between chewing her gum. They’d been on the same team for two years. Marissa depended on her to sift through the pile of information to formulate cohesive and actionable intelligence. “They’re in concurrence that Rafiq Shadid is indeed in the U.S.”
“How did he make it through our borders?” Marissa demanded.
“They believe he crossed into the U.S. via Canada with a Canadian passport.”
“How long ago?”
“Three weeks.”
When the shit first hit the fan,Marissa thought. This solidified her theory that Shadid was, indeed, behind McCord’s abduction and torture. But who was behind the Paris ambush? Shadid was a well-known assassin-for-hire, but he couldn’t be in two places at the same time.
The door to her office opened, and another analyst stuckhis head in. “Director is calling an emergency meeting with our team.”
Marissa’s brows furrowed. “I thought Director Yeager was in New York?”
“He flew back this morning. Something came up.”
Thatsomethingsounded ominous.
Kyle Yeager had beenthe Director of the Clandestine Service division of the CIA for the past ten years. He was not a particularly handsome man, but he had a presence. Medium-height, stockily built, and always impeccably dressed in expensive suits, he ruled with sharp intellect and street smarts and had no time for political bullshit. Which was why Marissa liked working for him, and she believed he was also the reason why Viktor continued to accept assignments from the CIA.
The Director looked particularly troubled as he sat at the head of the conference table in one of the smaller briefing rooms at Langley.
There were other team leads and analysts present, but Yeager was looking at Marissa when he stated flatly, “Harry Matthews committed suicide last night.”
