Page 9 of Girl Lost

Finding herself. Right. After ten years at the CIA, she’d buried herself under a layer of fiction so deep she wasn’t sure she could ever dig the real her back out.

“There’s been a wrinkle.”

Silence. Then, “A wrinkle?” He didn’t sound surprised. Annoyed, maybe. “You quit the Agency and you’ve been stateside less than thirty days and there’s already a wrinkle?”

“You could say that.” She glanced at the windshield. The AC was finally winning the battle against the heat.

“Spit it out.”

“It’s my mentor.” She avoided using real-world identities.

“Your mentor? What about him?”

“Someone kidnapped him this morning.”

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. She could practically hear the gears turning in Langston’s head. Calculating. Assessing.

“Sounds like a job for the locals.”

“They’re on it.” Luna turned the AC down, and the fan quieted. “But it’s personal. This isn’t some random act of violence. They took him for a reason.”

“I understand. The thing with your daughter...”

“It’s more than that.” She couldn’t tell him everything. Not over the phone. Not when she wasn’t sure who might be listening. “They targeted him. Maybe because of me. They might kill him if I don’t find him first.”

Another long silence. Then, “What do you need?”

“For starters, I need in his computer.”

“I know a guy.” Langston didn’t hesitate. “Brilliant mind. Egghead type. Does some consulting work for us. Mostly helps us with the really big, really bad cyber stuff. Trust me, if anyone can get you what you need, it’s this guy. And I think you know him.”

Her heart stuttered. Jett Nu? No. It couldn’t be. “Is this your ‘top gun’ contact?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you his number. Encrypted, of course.”

Of all the people, in all the world, Jett would be the one she’d call. Jett, ever the bookworm, spouting facts from a medical textbook, telling her all about what to expect when she was expecting. Jett, his eyes filled with compassion, assuring her that she would get through it. That she would be okay.

“Thanks,” she said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Just returning the favor.” Langston paused, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head again. “About your resignation...”

“Listen, I don’t want to—”

“Just hear me out. I know you’ve made up your mind. And I respect that. But you’re a good agent. One of the best I’ve ever seen. We’ve invested a lot in you. And I’d hate to lose you. Not like this.”

“I ... I appreciate that.” What else could she say?

“Just ... think about it, okay? For all of us.”

“I will.” She wouldn’t, though.

“Good. Now go find your mentor.”

The line went dead before she could ask about the AFIDs.

She stared at her reflection in the phone screen. Langston was right. She was a good agent. A great one. She’d given the Agency ten years of her life. Sacrificed everything.

Was she willing to throw it all away now? To walk away from her career? And for what? To chase after ghosts? To try and reclaim a past that was gone forever?