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Rhett shrugged, shooting a quick glance at his open laptop on the standing desk. The screen had been blank but now the pop-up password prompt flashed. Rhett chuckled inwardly. Same old Benson. That seemingly nonchalant knuckle-rap on the desk had jostled the laptop just enough to bring it back to life.
Had Benson been hoping the screen wasn’t locked, that Rhett would be caught red-handed with his fingers in the pie, sticky sweetness all over his grubby fingernails?
Nah, Rhett thought as Benson’s eyes flashed with that trademark mixture of mischief and manipulation. Benson was just sending another message.
In fact everything about this little visit to say “hello” was a message.
Benson knew.
Of course he fucking knew.
Rhett wouldn’t expect any less from the crafty old bastard.
The crafty old bastard who was single-handedly responsible for the trajectory of Rhett Rodgers’s life.
At least the past thirty years of it.
“What do you want, John?” Rhett let an edge creep into his tone. Benson might know, but he couldn’t prove a damn thing. It was time for Rhett to send his own damn message.
That this was Rhett’s CIA now.
Benson was old news, just like Kaiser would be old news soon enough.
Benson shrugged, kept his gaze fixed on Rhett’s, strolled languidly across the room, stopping at the door and shrugging again. “Like I said, just stopped by to say hello to some old friends. Nostalgia, I guess.”
Rhett chuckled darkly. “We were never friends, John. But nice to see you’re enjoying your retirement.” He took a breath, glanced pointedly up at the ceiling, tapped his lower lip and then cocked his head. “Darkwater, isn’t it? That’s what you’re doing now?”
Benson didn’t flinch, but Rhett sensed a flicker of something behind those wily silver eyes.
The flicker didn’t last long, and suddenly Benson cracked a grin. “Why, you looking for a side-gig? Got something you need done off the books?”
Rhett blinked, momentarily taken aback. But he recovered in a flash, grinned back at Benson. “If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t call your guys. Not unless I wanted to spend the next six months engineering a massive cover-up for another Darkwater mess. Is that why you’re here today? Getting Kaiser to clean up another mess like that shitshow in Somalia? Or Hong Kong? Iceland? Scotland? Or like that mother of all clusterfucks on theRivingtona few months ago? Nice job unleashing Diego Vargas on Senator Robinson and his family, by the way.”
Now Benson really did flinch. Rhett smiled as the energy surged through his still-hard body, his wire-tight frame that was always coiled and ready like a viper. He still loved the game, and clearly Benson loved it too.
Especially when the stakes were this high.
“Robinson doesn’t need to worry about Diego Vargas,” Benson said stiffly, his eyes sharpening. “And Kaiser doesn’t need to worry about cleaning up another Darkwater mess.” He took a breath, huffed it out, shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s why I’m at Langley today. Kaiser called me in, told me it’s over, that he can’t cover for my ancient, out-of-control ass any longer.” Benson sighed, flashed a pointed look in Rhett’s direction. “Apparently I’m now a liability for Martin. A drag on his reputation. There are people gunning for him, it appears. Ambitious up-and-comers eyeing the corner office, the director’s chair.”
Rhett let out a laugh, open-mouthed and hearty. “This building is filled with professional back-stabbers and world-champion double-crossers. There’s always someone scheming for the next rung up in the ladder.” He laughed again, shook his head in semi-disbelief at the barely veiled threat. “I’m not going to apologize for being ambitious, John. And if you came here to dangle my past in front of me like a threat, it’s not going to work. I’ve paid my debts, devoted thirty years of my life to this country. There’s no physical evidence that can hold up after all these years. And you sure as hell don’t have anymoralhold on me. My conscience is clear, John.”
Benson snorted. “Your conscience wasalwaysclear, Rhett. There was never anymoralhold on you. You took my deal based on ruthless self-interest and supreme self-awareness. You knew what you were inside, and I knew it too. I offered you the chance to channel that ruthlessness into service for your country. You took the offer, and you did your job. But let’s not kid ourselves that you did it for patriotism or any higher moral calling. You did it to save your own ass.”
Rhett snorted back, ran his hand through his still-thick salt-and-pepper hair. “Fuck you, John. I’m not the same man I was thirty years ago. Not after three decades of working in the shadows, doing things thatnobodywants to admit the Agency does.”
Benson’s well-lined face settled into a tight smile. “Oh, please. Nobody survives in the shadows that long unless they’re a cold-hearted snake. Don’t pretend like you didn’t love every minute of it, Rhett. The only thing that’s changed about you is that you’ve had thirty years of practice being the same fucking guy you always were.” He chuckled once, exhaled hard, shook his head and pulled open the door. “I didn’t come to threaten you with the past. After all, it’smypast too. I’m already on shaky ground with Kaiser and Robinson. It’s not like I come out smelling like roses if I start telling tales about our shared history.” He stepped out into the empty hallway, turned and narrowed those wolf-eyes for a parting shot. “Good luck, Rhett Rodgers.” He grinned wide. “You know, I still love the name you picked. Rhett Rodgers. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Smooth as butter. Slick as oil.” He shrugged coolly, his grin settling into a knowing smile. “Names are meaningful, Rhett. Especially the ones we choose for ourselves.”
And with that Benson turned on his heel and was gone, striding down the long dark hallway like a man on a mission, a man who’d done what he came to do, a man who’d never stopped playing the game.
“Fuck,” Rhett muttered as he watched Benson disappear around the corner. He sniffed hard through his stuffy left nostril, picking up the hint of dried blood in his raw nasal cavity. “Damn it.”
He closed the door and locked it, then strode over to his desk and snatched another tissue from the box. Blew his nose and cursed at the streak of blood. He tossed the tissue, then blasted his nostrils with saline nose-drops from a squeeze-bottle, blinking away tears and coughing twice.
It had been almost a decade since he’d kicked that nasty cocaine habit he’d picked up on that undercover assignment in Eastern Europe, when he’d infiltrated the inner circles of Belarusian High Society and had to play the part, play his role, play the game.
The snorting had only lasted a year, but the well-connected heiress he’d been “working” was one hell of a party-girl and keeping up with her had gotten him dangerously addicted. Of course, Rhett dug himself out of that hole with the same discipline and commitment he put into his work, but that year of rampant cocaine-use permanently damaged the mucous membranes in Rhett’s sinuses. He fucking hated it, hated her for it, made sure she fucking felt it when it came time to end both the assignment and that bitch’s useless life.
Now Rhett cursed again as he thought of the latest bitch who was rapidly outliving her usefulness.