Page 37 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

Chapter Thirty-One

Sydney

I touch his wrist, tentatively, hoping for connection.

With a slight shake of his head, he withdraws, choosing a lone chair to sit.

He closes his eyes and, with a frustrated sigh, rests his head on the back of the chair.

“The leak—what exactly made you think it came from ARGUS?”

I understand his question. Leaks in the intelligence world have been occurring since before the world wars. There are any number of options.

“We were careful,” I say, remembering the meetings, the plan. “Nothing was in writing. There was no list.”

“Did you not pay these assets?”

“We did,” I acknowledge. “But never the same way. Not all assets wish for financial compensation.” I chew at the corner of my lip, debating sharing more, but at this point, I’ve nothing to lose.

“Our caseload expanded. Consequence of department cuts. Same old thing. I’d been in Paris for about a year. Working at the embassy.”

“Didn’t that automatically make you likely CIA?”

“Maybe. My cover was that I was the girlfriend of a wealthy American pursuing his PhD at the Sorbonne.”

“Did you date him? For real?”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. “No. I’m fairly certain he was?—”

“Gay,” Rhodes interrupts, and from his tone, I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

“I was going to say asexual. I never saw him with anyone. I didn’t get to know him well. He also, obviously, worked for the CIA.”

“Right. And how did you lure your assets?”

“Any number of ways. Yoga class. Portuguese lessons. Dog park.”

“Hiking?”

He hates me. As he should. “I once bumped into someone at the Louvre. That didn’t lead anywhere. There are more misses than hits.”

“Do the misses often involve sex?”

This time I’m the one closing my eyes, pulling on reserves deep within to remain calm.

When my eyelids rise, I sit in silence until he returns my gaze.

“I’ve never slept with a target. Although, in the spirit of honesty, during training, I told myself I would if necessary.

There’s no reason to be precious about sex. ”

His chest rises with an inhale. “Right.” His lips scrunch. “The end justifies the means. And sex is just sex.”

I open my mouth to argue but he dismisses me with a condescending expression that I possibly deserve.

“Let’s stay on topic. How is ARGUS connected?”

“I used different processes with each of my assets. Different contact points. Methods. One was a gardener for a high-ranking Russian diplomat. A driver for the same.”

“In Paris?”

“Yes. Another was a hairdresser for a different representative’s spouse.”

“Doesn’t seem particularly valuable.”

“Intelligence is valuable when pieced together. My most valuable asset was a secretary. When she committed suicide, I obviously suspected she’d been discovered. They watch lower ranking employees with a hawk’s eye. But then the others…one by one.”

“They didn’t know each other?”

“Absolutely not. But it came to our attention that the surveillance feed within the city was uploaded to ARGUS. As is spending data and banking deposits. Online behavior. With the right queries, we were told ARGUS could reliably pinpoint?—”

“Contacts within the embassy. You believe someone ran a query and derived a list of suspects?”

“That’s what we believe, yes. Not just my assets, mind you. But, when my last asset died in suspicious circumstances?—”

“Another suicide?”

“No. Car wreck.”

“They pulled you?”

“If someone had a list of my assets, they would know…” I shrug.

It’s obvious. I wasn’t allowed to return to my apartment as it was deemed too dangerous.

Met my CIA handler in the park and was instructed to get in a limousine that whisked me away to the airport.

Everything in my apartment arrived two weeks later neatly packed by professional shippers.

“If you’re right, then ARGUS is being used by clients to comb through surveillance data to answer specific questions. Why assume I’m involved?”

“The assumption wasn’t specifically you. The desire is to learn more about how ARGUS works. You’re one of the creators. The lead.”

“I work with the Pentagon. Closely. The DoD. If the CIA has these questions, why not come to me?”

“Perhaps they did. As I understand it, a congressional hearing was?—”

“Hold a hearing and you might as well be making announcements to the world.”

“Well, that’s why there’s a covert investigation. The world won’t find out what’s going on at ARGUS.”

“The Pentagon, our biggest client, doesn’t believe us?”

“Maybe your contacts believe you, but maybe their contacts don’t.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. If we’d fielded employees, it would’ve been better. Me getting close to Rhodes… “Is it possible that someone within ARGUS is doing queries and selling the data?”

“No.” He’s too quick to answer. “We have precautions in place.”

“If you hadn’t pulled strings to close down the congressional investigation, we probably wouldn’t be here.” My goal isn’t to gaslight him, but it is the truth. The FBI floated opening an investigation to the DOJ—also shut down. Red flags.

He folds his hands, elbows on his knees, resembling the thinker. “I understand now. Thank you.”

The formality, the coldness. It’s all what I deserve but I at least need to try for him to understand. I sink to the floor, hands on his knees.

“My intention was never to hurt you.”

I’m kneeling before him, sitting on my ankles. The posture feels foreign—vulnerable in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be with a target. The subservience is not lost on me. I don’t kneel. I don’t apologize. And I also complete the mission at all costs.

But this isn’t about a mission anymore.

I stare at my hands, remembering them on his body last night.

Remembering them on my service weapon in Paris.

The same hands that caressed him set tracking devices, picked locks, even coerced innocent civilians into helping us, only for them to lose their lives.

Working for KOAN, I’ve crossed professional lines and violated principles.

But more importantly, I’ve been dishonest with someone who, against all protocols and predictions, I’ve come to care about and it’s not a textbook phenomenon.

“If you discovered I was breaking the law, would you have turned me in?” His eyes hold mine, searching for truth—or perhaps a comfortable lie.

I consider deflecting but opt for honesty. “If you were breaking the law, yes.” I pause, weighing my next words. “But laws and ethics aren’t always aligned. The CIA taught me that some laws exist to protect power, not people.”

His eyebrow raises slightly.

“When I say no one is above the law, I mean it. But I also know that not all laws deserve equal reverence.” I think of classified operations I’ve taken part in—technically legal but morally questionable. “I’d want to know why you broke it. The motivation matters to me.”

“Does it?” His voice is soft but intentional. “Or is that something you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

The question hits closer to home than he could know. How many nights have I lain awake justifying actions taken “for the greater good”?

“Fair question,” I admit. “I guess we all draw our lines somewhere.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with my imperfect answer. “Fair enough.”

“I’ve gotten to know you over these last few days and I don’t believe you’re unconscionable. If anything, I believe you’re burdened with your responsibility. That’s why your partner urged you to vacation, isn’t it? It’s been getting to you.”

He extends a hand. “Don’t sit on the floor.”

I lay my hand on his, and the warmth of his skin penetrates deep within. As I rise, it feels like he might urge me onto his lap, but he doesn’t. I stand before him, uncertain.

But uncertainty isn’t warranted. That’s just wishful thinking.

“We’ll work together? My team with ARGUS. We want the same thing, right?”

His lips purse, and after a slight squeeze, he releases my hand. My heart pinches at the loss.

“My word is good. I’ll work with you,” he says. “And you’re right.”

“About?”

“The pressure.” His phone sits silent on the side table. For once, the world isn’t demanding his immediate attention. “I haven’t taken a vacation in years.” His voice carries a weight I hadn’t noticed before.

“Not since you launched ARGUS?” He blinks the slightest confirmation. The admission seems to cost him something.

“Rhodes.” I step closer, drawn by the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His eyes meet mine, searching, then drift past me to the window overlooking the city.

“Do you understand what I built, Sydney? Really understand it?” His voice drops to barely above a whisper.

“ARGUS doesn’t just connect databases—it sees patterns humans miss.

It can trace a digital breadcrumb from a coffee purchase to a safe house.

From a phone ping to an identity. From surveillance footage to…

” He swallows hard. “To dead operatives.”

The full weight of his words settles between us.

“Every query that runs through my system has the potential to be weaponized. Every client I trust could be the next one to sell a kill list.” His hand rises to rub the back of his neck—that familiar gesture of frustration, but now I see it’s something deeper.

Fear. “I created the most sophisticated surveillance tool on the planet, and I’m only now realizing I can’t control who uses it or how. ”

“Rhodes—”

“Everyone who gets close to this world—to me—ends up compromised. Your assets. Your safety. Even this conversation puts you at risk.” His eyes return to mine, and I see the terrible understanding there.

“Because if someone can identify CIA operatives through ARGUS, they can identify anyone. Including the people I…” He stops himself.

“Including the people you what?”