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When I reported back to the U.S., I spent a month on leave, laying in bed crying and hoping to talk to Alana. Like she would give me some sort of insight to Dimitri and the others. But that plan was thwarted when I got back to my apartment and figured out how Alana had been breaking in. She wasn’t a stealthy ninja. Nope. She cut a hole in my closet and had been using my bedroom as extra storage.

When the super found out, Alana was evicted. Instead of answers and a connection I was craving, I got a shitty spackle job to fix the drywall in my closet, and no way to reach out to Alana.

Hoping to console myself, I waited to get a secret code for the Amanda Chase world tour. But the website crashed and everything was sold out in under three minutes.

No boyfriend, a hole in my closet, and I’ll never see my idol live in concert. Fucking bullshit.

Then I got the call to come in.

But I walked into the federal building a pariah. People I didn’t know whispered about me as I walked passed. I hadn’t been back in the states in years, and everyone I knew had movedtheir offices. There’s nothing worse than being lost in a familiar space. No. Actually there are lots of things that are worse.

Once back on American soil, I felt powerless. As the sole survivor from the St. Petersburg field office—well, at least as far as everyone else knew—I was brought in to debrief the interagency task force.

CIA, FBI, DEA, and a few people from local law enforcement all sat in a conference room. At least there was one familiar face in the crowd. Marshall had been my boss before I went out into the field. His jaw hung open as I walked through the door. “Katie?”

I gave him a small wave. “Hey, Marshall.”

His lips pulled into a smile, but it was one of those PanAm smiles. It wasn’t genuine. But that wasn’t really surprising—he never did like me much anyway. “I heard there was a body at the office that fit your description.”

I’ve gotten so used to the guilt, it feels like a friend giving me a warm hug, while simultaneously stabbing me in the back with spikes. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He laughed, “No, I’m thrilled you’re safe.”

He never asked about who my body double was, instead he moved forward with the meeting. “Majesty has been seen in Russia and other Eastern European countries. It’s new, addictive, and deadly. Worst of all, it’s cheap. And the first shipment hit Maine a week ago.”

I deflated. I walked away from Dimitri and Markus for nothing. Majesty still got into the states. People will die, and it’s my fault.

“This interagency task force was created to stop Majesty before it becomes the next crack epidemic. Katie here has spent time on the front lines, tracking the Koslov Family, the main mules of the drug in Russian.”

All eyes burned into my soul as I spoke up. “It’s not the Koslovs. They were killed by the Smirnov family. As far as I can tell, the Smirnovs have been working for The Deviant.” I didn’t say anything about the mole we have. Telling them their intel was wrong should have been more than enough.

Marshall scrutinized his notes and looked back up at me. “But our intel and informants have been reliable. Do you have evidence to back up this theory?”

Was he fucking kidding me right now? “Well the Koslov family is dead, and the Smirnov family isn’t.”

Between the side eyes and the shifting of bodies in chairs, tapping pens on tables or disengaging to be on a cellphone, the people in the room were shouting their opinions in ignorant silence.

After everything I’d walked away from, they didn’t believe me.

Fine. Their opinions didn’t matter, but keeping Majesty off the streets, that’s what was important. The greater good. My little feelings weren’t going to fix the problem. But being on the team, that made the world safer.

A world Dimitri and Ian live in.

And that’s what mattered.

Now, it’s been six months since I made the single hardest decision of my life. I watched the plane fly away with my partner, my friend, the sweetest and most scared little boy, and the love of my life.

Five months since the disastrous debriefing and being cross-examined a million times. Sure, I was finally let back into the fold, but it’s taken those five months to earn back their trust. The more we dig, the more I’m starting to think The Deviant isn’t one man, but it’s a title passed down to successors. I understand diversifying your income, but in the past, The Deviant focused on human trafficking, not drugs. This is new. Almost like a newperson has come into play. Someone with different intentions. And different hangups. When I suggested that, I was laughed out of the meeting.

We have three leads that tie directly to Majesty and, more importantly, The Deviant. The FBI agent, who was supposed to go undercover, broke her ankle thanks to an uneven sidewalk. It’s always the innocuous things that fuck up a mission. So that’s how I wound up undercover again. My first mission: get intel from a low level minion who appears to be all talk and little action. And if the direct method is the only way that would work, fine. That’s why I’m trying to get Brian to fall for me.

Brian. He’s so average it’s like he’s an AI generated image white boy with a chip on his shoulder who thinks he’s a badass.

News flash: He is not.

He seemed interested enough in me for a date or two. It was his idea to come to The Playground. Fine. It means his apartment is empty, and another team can search it. Is the guy creepy as fuck? Yes. Was I expecting to end up at a sex club when I accepted this mission? No. Was I expecting to see Dimitri at said sex club? Absolutely not. Did I enjoy watching Tits McGee flirt with him? Hell no. But what really fucked up my night was when my asset was put in a chokehold.

And now I need to come up with something witty and clever to defuse the situation.