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CONOR

WARRIOR’S DANCE - THE PRODIGY

THREE HOURS LATER

Riggs’ head popped around the door, her brow puckered as she watched me dig into a mega slice of pizza. “Still uncaring about damaging your hearing, I see,” she chided.

Immediately, the volume of the music dropped.

I didn’t bother pouting—tonight’s job was definitely complete.

“I do my best work when my eardrums could burst,” I mocked as I devoured more of my snack.

“Three hours, Conor? Really?” She wasn’t talking about the pizza.

“What did you want me to do? Take my time?” I quipped, taking another bite that was slathered in pepperoni. “You didn’t have to drag my ass to Langley. We wasted time, taxpayer dollars, and increased my carbon footprint by flying me here.”

Riggs, to Black, huffed. “He’s always this annoying, yes.”

She rubbed her ear. “As I’ve learned over the past couple hours.”

“How long was the team working on that?” I questioned.

“We had a team of thirty working twelve-hour rolling shifts for the past ten weeks, twenty-four hours a day.” Riggs pursed her lips. “How hard was it to break in?”

“On a scale of the embassy in Mumbai or the attack on JFK Airport?”

She blinked. “That easy?”

I shrugged.

I hadn’t even needed to break out the worm to get into the comms platform.

If this was what they were throwing at the president’s security, then it was no wonder the First Lady had been murdered.

An annoyed breath rattled from her. “You made notes?”

“Of course.” I tipped my chin at Black. “Gave them to her.”

“We appreciate your service,” Riggs said flatly, sounding anything but appreciative.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Be grateful that the president isn’t dead because you guys developed a shitty comms platform.” I bared my teeth at her. “You can spin everything positively if you try, Riggs.”

She huffed. “See him out, Agent Black, if you would.”

Black didn’t answer, didn’t even nod.

Curious.

Before she could turn and leave, I queried, “Since when did you get pally with the CIA?”

“Since the First Lady’s death, inter-agency cooperation is at an all-time high.” It was a standard response.

Bullshit.

I narrowed my eyes at them both, well aware that something was going on here and that neither would tell me what.

Lips pursed, I carried on chewing the pizza I’d had Black supply me with before I’d finished worming my way into Eagle’s Claw just in case they thought they could deny me food after I beat their asses—I deserved a fucking snack after that hot-shit display of cracking genius—and I watched Riggs depart while Black strode over to me.

“You’re not her inferior,” I said once I was done chewing.

That had her arching a brow. “Says who?”

“Says me. So why is she bossing you around, getting you to escort me out?”

Black smiled. “Are you ready to leave, Mr. O’Donnelly?”

Not for the first time, that smile put me on edge.

“Am I going to be allowed to leave?” I queried, my voice unnaturally calm.

“There are many exits from this building,” she demurred. “We will be leaving via a different one than where we entered earlier.”

Uncertain why that both answered my question and didn’t, I got to my feet, rubbed my hands on a paper napkin that had come with the pizza box, and I grabbed my laptop bag, which I’d stowed away after I’d completed my task.

Case in hand, I checked the time and saw that it didn’t line up with the clock on the wall.

Frowning, I rubbed my forehead and followed Black out of the now-silent room.

The halls were empty.

It was nine-forty AM according to the wall clock. Ten-forty according to my watches.

This place should have always been ticking, but it was nine-forty in the goddamn morning, and there wasn’t a soul around.

Over the years of dealing with the government, I’d come to learn that as discomforting as life in the mob was, it was a kinder fate.

The mob would only torture and kill you.

The government would torture you, kill you, erase you, defame your name, malign your family, and maybe toss a couple of your brothers or sisters in jail at the same time.

“Fucking government,” I mumbled under my breath. “No wonder I have authority issues.”

The greasy pizza started to settle heavily in my gut, making me wish I hadn’t eaten the damn thing in the first place.

With every step I took, my level of unease grew as I failed to pass a single soul until, finally, I saw someone.

A guard.

Eyes blank, focus straight ahead. Black suit, black tie, white shirt. Translucent earpiece. Brown hair, a forgettable face.

Black didn’t nod at him, just went to the door and opened it.

As she walked in, she held the door for me, her gaze locked on mine in a silent order to follow.

I wasn’t a moron—this wasn’t a battle I needed to die fighting—so I traipsed in after her.

The second I did, I found a man standing by a wall of windows that overlooked a parking lot.

It, too, was empty.

What the fuck was going on here?

Since when was CIA HQ a ghost town?

Had there been a nuclear strike and I hadn’t heard it over noxxious ?

Black cleared her throat in a quiet prompt as she closed the door. I half expected her to step behind it but she didn’t. She remained in the room with us.

“How’s your first time at Langley been, Mr. O’Donnelly?”

“May I ask with whom I’m speaking?” I inquired politely once the stranger at the other end of the room finished his spiel.

His answer wasn’t forthcoming, so I strode toward the table that filled up most of the cavernous area and set my briefcase on it.

The table had to seat at least eighty people but only the three of us shared the same breathing space.

Because no one had pulled a gun on me yet— there was still time —and because I was in a boardroom and not a cell, I dragged out a chair, sank back into it, and kicked up my feet.

Black sighed at the sight, much as she’d done earlier when I’d done the same in that other barren office. “Director Reinier is gracing you with this meeting.”

My brow puckered at that.

Reinier.

The director of the CIA.

Here.

In front of me.

The man who’d sold Star out.

For the first time in my life, my brain froze.

Sometimes, it worked so fast that it outpaced my heartbeat, but at that moment, it literally stilled.

Was this what impending death felt like, or maybe I was just dealing with an aneurysm?

But my eyes were working.

My ears too.

I could still taste the spice from the pepperoni, and the air conditioning was on high for some bizarre reason considering we were in the depths of winter, and my nose discerned the faint notes of the aftershave I’d sprayed on earlier.

No, I was alive. I wasn’t dying.

Had I just entered a room where one of Star’s mortal enemies was breathing and existing?

One who was within arm’s reach…?

Fuck.