Page 31 of Destroyed With You

“Right.”

He watched the confusion wash over her face. He let her wonder for a while then said, “Convenient, don’t you think?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said I could call the NSC, but that’s not really possible. Organizations like the NSC or the Consortium tend to keep their former and current employee list secret, even from former sheriffs.”

She exhaled. “For fuck’s sake, Winston. What is it you think you know? What are you digging for?”

“Just the truth, darlin’. Just the truth.”

She lifted her hands and let them drop, then turned her attention to her dinner.

He let the silence linger, but she didn’t take the bait. Just dragged a french fry through ketchup, then ate it. Then another, and another.

And she didn’t say a thing.

He had to give her credit. There were very few people who could withstand the power of silence.

He waited another three minutes, then broke the silence himself. “Been to Seattle lately?”

He kept his eyes on her as he spoke, and he had to admit that she was good. Very good. She didn’t react at all. At least not so that a casual observer would see. But he knew her well, and he thought that maybe—just maybe—the corner of her eyes had crinkled in surprise.

He hoped so. He wanted her to know he was dangerous. And that she didn’t know him as well as she thought she had.

“Well?” he pressed.

“I was in Seattle not long ago. Why do you ask?”

“I think you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “No. I don’t. I had a meeting.” She shrugged, casual and easy. “Beyond that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then let me be more specific. You killed a man in cold blood. And now you’ve come here, to Austin, to kill Tommy Bartlett.”

Chapter Eleven

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The curse slams through my head even as I frown, furrow my brow as if confused, and say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You called me a killer for hire earlier, and now you’re saying I came here to kill the guy I picked up on a dating app? I told you the truth—I used to be in intelligence. And, yeah, I’ve had to kill people in the line of duty. But that is not who I am.”

To my ears, I sound convincing. But I know perfectly well I haven’t convinced Winston of anything. The man knows too much.

“Do not play games with me,” he says. “I really don’t have the patience.”

“Look, I get that you’re angry and that you don’t trust me. Honestly, I don’t blame you. But I am not in the spy business anymore. I met Bartlett on a dating app. If you think it was some sort of pre-arranged meet, then somebody else is pulling my strings.”

He exhales, sounding so exhausted and frustrated that I almost want to reach across the table and pat him on the shoulder.

“I’m not going to play games,” he says. “It’s time to lay all my cards on the table.”

“Great,” I say. “Clarity would be nice, because right now, I don’t know what the hell is going on.” Another easy lie. After so many years, I barely have to think about it anymore. And with every day that goes by, I become less and less sure that’s a good thing.

“Tommy Bartlett’s an accountant. And he has some information on that laptop over there that could put Billy Hawthorne and his people behind bars for a very long time. Bartlett’s the only person who can access that incredibly encrypted machine. But he’s agreed to do that and testify in exchange for immunity.”

“Really?” I feign surprise. “Sounds like a good deal for him. I imagine Billy Hawthorne’s pretty pissed off.” In truth, I don’t have to imagine it at all. I was standing not three feet away when Billy hurled one of his chrome and leather chairs through a plate glass window with a stunning view of Lake Erie.

“Oh, he’s pissed off, all right,” Winston says. “Mad enough to hire someone to kill Bartlett and recover the laptop. No evidence, no testimony. And Hawthorne’s organization continues to limp along until another opportunity comes along for an agent to get a foot in the door.”