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PROLOGUE

Marietta, Ohio

Twenty-six years ago…

“There has to be another way.” Michael Stanton stared at the ranch-style home through the lenses of his TT260 night imaging monocular. “She’s a mom, for Christ’s sake. Her daughter’s only like, what…six?”

The man on the other end of the encrypted phone call blew out an exasperated breath. “Her kid is not my problem, and she sure as hell shouldn’t be yours, either,” Douglas Easton shot back. “You know how this works, Michael. There’s too much at stake to back out now. If you don’t follow orders they’ll just send someone else to clean up your mess. And if that happens, you know they won’t stop with just her.”

The cold-hearted prick’s point was crystal fucking clear. Either Michael eliminated the person threatening to expose him for what he really was, or the people he worked for would do it for him.

They’d kill her. The kid. And when they were finished with that…

They’d kill me, too.

He sat back into his leather seat and studied the house again. Michael had known for a long damn time that this day was always a possibility. The risks of getting involved were perfectly clear, even before he chose to sell his soul to the Devil.

But the temptation was too great, his greed too strong. And when he’d gotten his first glimpse of how the other half lived, the rewards seemed to heavily outweigh the risks.

The connections. The money. The power. It was all far more than a man like him could have ever imagined. But now, because of the choices he’d made…

It’s either her or me.

He’d spent a lot of time these last few weeks pondering his life choices, reflecting on that which he could have done differently. Things he probably should have done differently.

Both lists were long and filled with his own version of regret, but it wasn’t enough for him to try to make amends. And backing out now, well…that wouldn’t change a fucking thing. Nothing other than getting his ass killed, of course.

The truth was Michael loved his life. Loved the promise of the lavish lifestyle he was mere months away from securing. And dammit, he fucking deserved it.

He’d given up too much and worked too damn hard to lose it all now. Especially to a woman who should have had his back as he’d had hers.

Michael had tried to reason with her, too. He’d even offered to cut her in on his part of the take. But rather than seeing the opportunity for what it was, the bitch had threatened to oust him.

Only she wasn’t a bitch, which was what made this so fucking hard.

Amanda Owens was kind. Brilliant. A loving wife and an incredible mother. As an agent, she was every bit as brilliant, and when the situation arose, the woman was as deadly as they came.

But she wasn’t just a loving wife and mother, nor were her talents confined to playing whichever part the Agency assigned. His partner had also been the one to show him the ropes when he’d first been assigned to their unit.

Everything Michael knew about being a master spy he’d learned from her. Now, in a twist of a fate that existed solely because of one stupid, idiotic mistake, he was about to use what he’d learned against her in the most heinous of ways.

It’s either her or me. Her or me. Her or me.

Over and over, the mantra rolled around inside his head as if it were stuck on a never-ending loop. The words his mind had created served as a reminder of what was at stake.

His future.

His freedom.

His life.

And when it came down to it, he was a selfish fucking bastard who was nowhere near ready to die.

“You’re right,” he told the man on the phone, cutting the car’s engine with a quick turn of his wrist. “I’ve got this.”

“You’d better. Otherwise, you know I’ll have no choice but to?—”

“I said I’ve fucking got this,” Michael growled through a set of clenched teeth.

“Good.” The smug asshole sounded pleased as punch. “I’m assuming you have what you need to take care of the phones, alarm system, and any externally linked cameras?”

“Jammer’s already set up and ready to roll.”

“Glad to hear it. The last thing we need is your ass being caught on video.”

Michael glanced at the property through his monocular once more. “How sure are we that the husband isn’t going to interrupt the job?”

“Very. Intel confirms Owens is at some work conference in Miami. Checked into his hotel yesterday morning, and the reservation is for the next five days. Trust me, you’ll already be in the air by the time he gets the news.”

He wouldn’t simply be in the air; Michael would be on his way to a private beach house just outside a no-name village in Fiji. And while he laid low for a while in a place no one would think to look, Amanda’s husband and daughter would be forced to lay the women they loved to rest.

Michael’s gut tightened as the guilt he’d been fighting came rushing back to the surface. He’d gotten to know Rafe Owens pretty well over the last couple of years, and he seemed to be a standup guy.

According to Amanda—and the deep dive Michael had conducted while looking into the man’s background—the muscular man made his living selling high-end insurance policies. Michael had laughed the first time he saw the woman’s husband, convinced Amanda had been pulling his leg.

The guy looked more like he belonged in a boxing ring than behind some desk wearing a suit and tie. But Michael’s suspicions had been quickly been proven wrong when the intel he uncovered corroborated everything Amanda had shared.

Rafe Owens was simply a licensed corporate insurance broker with an extreme dedication to his presumably intense workout regime. And from what Michael had witnessed while posing as one of Amanda’s accounting co-workers, the other man loved his wife and child more than anything else in the entire fucking world.

Good thing he’ll never know it was me.

“You still there?” The voice in the phone brought Michael back from his wandering thoughts.

“I’m here.”

“Any other questions?”

“What about the little girl?”

“What about her?” The man acted as if he’d just asked about something as mundane as the weather.

“What if she wakes up?”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning, and she’s six. As long as you aren’t a dumbass, she shouldn’t hear a thing.” There was a slight pause before the cold-hearted bastard added, “That being said, if she does happen to wake up, you know what has to be done.”

Fuck.

Michael swallowed against the bile threatening to rush into his throat. He was a lot of things, but a child killer? No. That wasn’t fucking him.

“Come on, Michael,” the man spoke up again. “What’s with you tonight? It’s like I’m talking to the Jolly Green Giant of agents. This isn’t your first rodeo, so get your head on straight and get the fucking job done.”

The other man’s words struck a chord. No, he wasn’t green. Nowhere near it, in fact. He was an experienced operative who worked for the most clandestine agency in the world, and this wasn’t anywhere close to being his first assassination.

So maybe you should get your shit together and start fucking acting like it. Otherwise…

“Anything else?” he bit out harshly, clenching his teeth together and waiting.

“Nothing other than to say good luck. And…let me know when it’s done.”

“Don’t I always?” Michael ended the call, not waiting for a response to his rhetorical question. A second later, he broke the flip phone in two.

This situation sucked, and there were bound to be a few sleepless nights in his near future, but there was only one way this thing ended with him still upright and breathing. When it came down to it, Michael was a selfish fucking bastard to the core who put his own needs and wants above anyone else.

It didn’t matter that the person he’d been ordered to kill was the closest thing to a true friend he had. Nor did Amanda’s status as a wife and mother alter the path he had to follow.

The choice had been made, and the order had been given. The only thing left for him to do now was to get the job done and then get the hell out.

Michael reached a gloved hand over the leather-bound console to the weapon waiting in the passenger seat beside him. He picked up the Glock 19, and with several swift turns of his wrist, attached the long, black, metal suppressor to its barrel.

Quick. Quiet. Neat.

Those three objectives remained at the forefront of his mind as he opened the driver’s door and exited the car. Michael shut it behind him with a gentle, silent push before glancing around to make sure the coast was still clear.

As expected, the farmland around him was dark and relatively still. The only movement he noted were the whispers of the wind. The only sounds were those made by creatures he had no reason to fear.

He reached into the pocket of his black, waterproof, softshell jacket and pulled out the matching ski mask he’d brought for the occasion. Michael slipped it over his head, adjusting the stretchy material into place and ensuring it covered everything except his eyes.

It was the middle of the night, and the nearest neighbor was half a mile up the two-lane road. Michael shook his covered head with a sigh at the irony of it all. He could almost hear Amanda’s repeated words as she’d so often expressed her desire for a quieter life…

I don’t need much, Michael. Just a modest house in the country, surrounded by rolling waves of golden fields, lush, green trees, and the quiet, soothing sounds of nature. That’s the kind of life I want for my daughter. That’s the life I want for my family when I get out.

His partner had said those same wistful thoughts aloud to him more times than he could remember. And while Amanda was still planning to remain an active agent for at least two more years, she’d already started to put her long-term plans into motion, hoping to make the transition into normalcy as seamless as humanly possible.

Too bad she won’t live long enough to fully enjoy what she’d worked so hard to build.

Filling his lungs with a full, cleansing breath, he let it out slowly and began the quiet trek to the ill-fated woman’s home. With each of his silent steps through the trees near the field where he’d been parked, the knife sheathed at his belt brushed softly against his thigh as he moved.

The pistol in his hand felt comfortable as he kept it lowered at his side. Its weight and grip were so familiar and commonplace, that the weapon was almost like a natural extension of his arm.

For the next few minutes, Michael continued following the non-existent path, knowing it would take him to the back of Amanda’s house. When prepping for the job, he’d carefully mapped out the safest, most efficient route. And as he approached the end of the tree line at the property’s edge, he stopped.

Shoving the monocular into his left pocket, he squatted down next to a small pile of fallen leaves. With his free hand, Michael removed the dead foliage he’d put into place the night before to conceal the device hidden underneath.

The high-powered signal jammer weighed nearly twenty pounds and was almost two feet in width, hence last night’s trip out here. He’d use it for the job and then turn it off and walk away.

It would eventually be found, either by the cops or someone else, but Michael wasn’t worried. If and when the device was found, it would merely raise more questions than answers.

He lifted each of the jammer’s six directional patch panel antennas before pressing the switch on the side of the black metal base. He watched and waited until the little red light turned green. A sign that the device was working properly.

Confident the home’s alarm system, cameras, and phones had been systematically blocked from use, he pushed himself back to his feet and initiated the second stage of the plan.

Michael broke through the tree line’s edge, his booted footfalls silent against the evenly trimmed grass. Dressed in head-to-toe black, he blended into the shadows of the night as he made his way across his target’s backyard.

He passed a swing set on his right. A wooden one with two bright blue swings, two metal rings to hang from, and one of those wavy yellow slides whose end almost touched the grass.

Thoughts of the young child it belonged to faltered his steps as he made his way past the playful structure. He could see her adorable little face so clearly in his mind. Round, dimpled cheeks. Rosy red lips. A smattering of freckles across her tiny nose. Big, blue eyes he wasn’t sure she’d ever grow into, and a quick wit that was impressive for such a young age.

He hoped like hell his handler was right, and she was fast asleep in her bed. Otherwise…

No distractions, remember? Stay focused, get your ass in, and get your ass out.

With a mental shake of his head, Michael cleared his thoughts of anything that wasn’t mission related. He scanned the area with a trained agent’s eyes, noting how the exterior cameras’ positions hadn’t moved.

Previous surveillance of the property had confirmed the home’s cameras and porch lights were all motioned censored. Not a single one was activated by his presence, confirmation that the signal jammer was doing its job.

The sole of his boot landed on the first step leading to the modest back deck. One by one, his legs carried him silently to the slatted platform.

To his left was an outdoor table and chair set with padded seats, their upholstery a deep red with several big yellow and white flowers. A few feet from that, near the deck’s northern, wooden railing, was a smoker he wouldn’t mind having for himself, and a grill that would make lovers of barbeque drool.

Michael refused to acknowledge the familiarity of the scene. He didn’t think about the few times he’d spent with Amanda and Rafe on their deck, nor would he allow himself to remember watching their little girl slide down the yellow slide.

Instead, he remained on task, his attention laser focused. His only objective that of saving his own ass.

He approached the set of white French doors, double-checking that their locks were secure. With silent movements, Michael reached into the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and retrieved the special tools he’d brought with him for this reason.

A carbide tungsten alloy handled glass cutter the size of a No. 2 pencil, and a five-inch diameter black alloy glass suction cup complete with rubber handles for a steady grip.

He brought the sharp, durable blade to the glass square nearest the door’s locks. Using the skills he’d learned in his first few weeks at The Farm—as they called their clandestine training facility—Michael created a circle just big enough to accommodate one of his fists.

The soft sound of the blade cutting into the glass reminded him of when he’d gone ice skating as a kid. Back when life was easy. Simple. Before he fell into the mess that had eventually brought him here.

When the circle was complete, he positioned the rounded cup in the center and squeezed its twin handles together. The move created the suction needed to secure the device’s rubbered bottom to the slick surface, and with a careful but firm pull back toward him, Michael removed that portion of the glass from the door.

He bent down, placing the separated piece onto the wooden slat next to where he stood. With the push of the tiny button on the cup’s base, the pressure was released, and he returned the cup and the cutting tool back to their rightful pocket.

Rising back to his full height, he slipped a gloved hand through the newly formed hole. The backs of his leather-clad knuckles cleared the sharp, rounded edge. A few short seconds later, the door was unlocked, and he was inside the house.

Phase two complete.

Slivers of moonlight led the way, their softened beams illuminating the home’s quaint interior. Michael stood in the kitchen, taking precious seconds to recall the schematics of the one-level house.

Kitchen. Opened dining and living room. Hallway with three bedroom doors, one full bath, and a closet for linens.

His first steps moved slower than the racing beats of his heart. Several slow, deep breaths coupled with matching exhales brought his pulse back to a steady pace.

He could do this. He was doing it. And in a few short minutes, it would all be over. The threat to his future would no longer exist, and he’d be free to continue building the life he deserved.

Michael made his way through the living room and down the nearly blackened hallway. From his previous visits here, he knew the first door he passed was the guest room. After that was a small linen closet on his left, followed by the door leading to the bathroom.

His gut tightened as he passed the last room on the right, praying the little girl behind it didn’t wake up. He stopped at the end of the hall, just before entering the master bedroom. Its door was ajar just enough he was able to squeeze his body through with ease.

In the back of his mind, in a place he didn’t dare acknowledge, was the fleeting thought that his target had intentionally left the door open in case her child hollered for her in the night.

Speaking of his target…

Amanda Owens lay curled up beneath the covers of her bed. Eyes closed, she was on her side, facing away from where he stood. With her pale skin and light blonde hair, the woman reminded him a lot of a porcelain doll.

She’d always been kind to him, even when she’d been handing down that fucking ultimatum. He could still hear her demanding he promise to think about the choices he’d made, and those he planned to make in the future.

Michael had fulfilled his promise, having spent that entire night thinking everything through. By morning, he’d realized Amanda was right. About him, the job…what his next steps should be.

But knowing that still wasn’t enough to make him walk away. He’d gained a lot in the past several months, but he wanted more. He needed more. And there was only one way that would happen.

Michael approached the bed with caution, never one to underestimate the lethal government agent. He drew in a breath, lifted the gun in his hand, and pointed it at the back of Amanda’s head.

The pad of his gloved trigger finger slid into the metal curve of the weapon’s trigger. He squeezed, the subtle move releasing a single round of untraceable ammunition.

A soft zip of the suppressed gunshot reached his ears at the same time the bullet struck its target with perfect aim. A tuft of blonde flew up and out before falling limply around the small, circular wound.

Michael lowered the weapon back down to his side, grateful that Amanda had been asleep at the time of her unexpected death. Not only because he’d avoided confrontation, but because he could walk away knowing she hadn’t suffered.

As far as deaths went, Amanda’s had been peaceful and without pain. He’d known a hell of a lot of people who weren’t that lucky.

Quit trying to justify this shit and get the hell out!

Michael spared his deceased partner one final look before turning to leave. But the little girl standing just inside the doorway stopped him mid-stride.

No. No, no, no, no, no!

“Mommy?” Amanda’s daughter looked at her mother’s still form.

The girl’s eyes were full of sleep and confusion as they slid from the bed back up to him, and all he could think about were the words he was told earlier when he was still on the phone.

If she does happen to wake up, you know what has to be done.

The man who’d helped put this plan into motion had been referring to the child Michael was staring at now. But just like when he’d heard those words the first time, everything inside him rejected the horrific notion.

I can’t kill a kid. Not a fucking kid!

Not one who was innocent in every sense of the word.

He did, however, need to get the fuck out of that house. And since he was covered in head-to-toe black, and the room was mostly dark…

Michael walked toward the little girl, one slow step after another. She remained in place, the only thing moving were those big, blue eyes.

They followed him as he passed between her and the door’s wooden frame. As he left the room, he was tempted to tell her he was sorry for what he had done. But he didn’t dare for fear she’d recognize his voice.

A tall man dressed in black wasn’t much for the police to go on. A voice, however, was another story altogether. The last thing he needed was to provide the cops with their first good lead.

Michael continued walking, refusing to look back at the little girl as he left. On his way out, he shut the kitchen door softly, and though it was silly, he reached back through the hole he’d created and reengaged the locks.

His boots hit the grass, and he took off running. He stopped long enough to cut power to the signal jammer and then resumed his hurried escape through the trees. He didn’t stop until he reached his awaiting car.

Once there, he rushed to remove the stocking cap, gloves, and black jacket he’d been wearing before tossing them into a paper bag that was waiting inside his trunk. With plans to burn it the first chance he got, Michael got back into his car, started the ignition, and was back on the two-lane highway in record time.

Using one hand to steady the steering wheel, he retrieved a second burner cell from the vehicle’s center console. This one was equipped with a mobile voice-distorting machine. Something he’d purposely been sure to have on hand solely for the sake of the child.

He dialed nine-one-one and listened as it rang. The operator answered, and Michael quickly gave the woman on the other end of the line Amanda’s home address. His voice sounded like someone else’s entirely as he relayed the pertinent information.

“The woman who lives there is dead, and her young daughter is in the house alone.”

“Sir, I’m sorry. Did you say someone is dead?”

Rather than answer the question, he ended the call. They had what they needed, and the girl would be safe. As for him…

Michael used his knee to drive as he pulled the distorting device free from the phone. Once he’d tossed that back into the console’s interior, he did like before and broke the cell in two halves.

He rolled down his window, tossing one half out into the night. Four miles later, he did the same with the rest. The cool, evening breeze blew through his hair, and he gave himself a few calming minutes before making the call.

“It’s done,” he told the man from the third and final burner phone he’d brought with him before giving it the same treatment as the others.

Final phase complete.

With his eyes on the road and his gut threatening to churn with guilt, Michael used the drive home to remind himself of the benefits Amanda Owens’ death would bring. And when he laid his head on his pillow to the rising of the sun, he fell asleep with a smile spread wide across his face.