Page 58 of Agency

I shrugged. “Oddly enough, I think it kind of matters that she thinks she’s only going after bad people. Sure, she’s an assassin, but was she really doing any different than we sometimes did?”

“We only went after people that were determined to be clear and present dangers to national security,” Jericho said, and the way he rattled the words off had an almost reflexive feel to them. “When we did kill them, we killed them with executive blessing, under legal orders.”

I shrugged. “Man, sometimes our targets didn’t even have a gun in their hand, and they were almost never on a battlefield. That didn’t fuck with you?” I glanced to Andrew. “Neither of you? Not even a little bit?”

Andrew looked away, but Jericho didn’t. His eyes were steely. “No. Because they were bad people.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “That’s exactly how I rationalized it away, too. Now, imagine if you found out one of those targets was simply someone trying to sue the US government, or some shit? Think about how easy it would be for them to lie to us, and how we’d just go along with killing an innocent person. I’m not saying any of our COs ever did that, or that any of our kills weren’t legal and good. But think about it, okay? Because, even with this being a hypothetical, I can see your hackles going up. Now, think about Ambyr in there.”

“He’s got a point, Jericho. Maybe she’s not lying. Maybe she was being manipulated.”

“I still don’t see why it would matter. She’s been lying to us the whole time. Clearly she doesn’t care that much about the truth.”

“She was lying to us,” I said, “because that’s all just part of her cover, same as what we do. That’s not real lies. But her agency? She trusted them. She trusted them, and they lied to her. Which means they broke her trust.”

“And…?”

“And we can use that to our advantage,” I replied. “You want to find out who’s fucking with Stella? We find out through her.”

“Maybe,” Jericho said after a moment’s grudging hesitation. “I’ll give you that. But, first… First, I want to look over that dossier, if she still has it.”

“I do,” Ambyr called from the bedroom. “Have it, I mean.”

The three of us exchanged looks before peering back through the darkness at her.

“What?” she asked. “Is it my fault you guys shout when you think you’re whispering? Should have used better ear protection while on the live fire range.”

As we all exchanged another look, Andrew squinted while wiggling the tip of his pinkie in his ear. “I don’t shout. Do I?”

“And I’ll need new clothes,” she called. “I know black is supposed to be chic, and all, but I don’t think they mean ‘tactical black’ when they say that.”

Chapter Sixteen

Ambyr

“This isn’t what I meant when I said I needed new clothes.” I adjusted the ballooning front of Stella’s mustard yellow maternity dress and tried to make myself feel less like I was wearing an off-color sack. I’d have loved a better look in the spare bedroom’s mirror, just to see how the yellow went with my black tactical pants, but the power still hadn’t come back up.

Guess that was my own fault.

“Well, it’s the best we have on short notice,” Morgan said. “Next time, try sending a text before you come storming in to assassinate our client, and maybe we’ll have some clothes that are a better fit.” Reaching into his pocket, he paused. “Wait, that’s right. You never got my number.”

“Touche.” Reaching down and grabbing the hem, I smelled the fabric. “Is this even clean?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

“Dunno,” he said, hands reaching down to join mine as he leaned in closer. At first, I thought he was going to smell the dress and confirm my suspicions one way or the other, but then the cool, metallic grasp of a pair of handcuffs were closing over my wrists.

“Sneaky,” I said, sighing in resignation as the bracelets tightened, my “scar” on my back already tingling.

“Figured you shouldn’t get to have all the fun.” He pushed me out ahead of him, towards the living room. “Now, go on. Time’s a wastin’.”

“What makes you think I’m going to try and run off, anyways? Iamthe one providing evidence I was lied to, after all.”

“Only because you don’t want us turning you over to the police.”

“Ever thought that maybe I’m tired of this kind of work, and this is an opportunity for me to finally get free of it? Or that I’m more worried about the Agency than I am about the cops?”

“Whatever the case,” Morgan said, his voice cold and detached, “I know you’re not doing this because it benefits either us, or our client, or out of the goodness of your own heart. It’s selfish, through and through.”

Wincing at his words, I didn’t reply. Because, ultimately, he was right. My helping them by providing the dossier had absolutely nothing to do with them. Any of them.