Page 92 of The Devoted Game

But, God, she wished there had been.

McBride stormed out, a Marlboro landing between his lips as he hit the door.

She should go after him. She could only imagine how he was feeling. He would see this as his failure.

But it wasn’t ... it was hers.

“Grace, we need to talk.”

She turned to Pierce. She was too exhausted physically and emotionally to deal with him right now. “Later,” she said wearily.

“Now. We’ve put this off long enough.”

Before she could put up a fuss, he ushered her to one of the offices on that floor. The light was already on from where she and McBride had searched the place. Pierce closed the door.

“We have to get McBride off this case,” he warned. “We’re going to get this guy my way now. The line has been crossed. Randall Worth should not have had to die.”

She shook her head, held up her hands in a back-off gesture. “McBride did everything he could. I’m the one who couldn’t hold on.” Frustration bolted through her. “Besides, why are we even having this conversation? You don’t think I have what it takes to do the job. What just happened only confirms what you already thought. Why would what I think matter to you?” He just wanted her to take his side against McBride. She got it.

“You’re wrong.”

What the hell did that mean? She searched his eyes, tried to read that pained look on his face.

“I didn’t ask you to be assigned here because I didn’t think you could hack the pressure. That was an excuse,” he confessed. “I did it”—he exhaled a mighty breath—“because I needed you off the East Coast. Away from me.”

That couldn’t be right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He nodded, closed his eyes for a beat. “I know you don’t. To you, I was your mentor, your friend.”

She started to inform him that that was before he had butted in to her assignment, but he went on before she could string the words together with the necessary oomph.

“That wasn’t the case for me. I wanted more. I was wrong to feel that way. Not only was I your teacher, but I was married. Still am.”

He couldn’t be saying ... Impossible. Surely she would have noticed. “You wanted me away from you ... because you wereattractedto me?”

“I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t want you to ever know the truth, but I couldn’t let you keep believing that this was about your ability to be a damned good agent. I’m proud of the agent you are.”

She couldn’t deal with this right now.

“I have to go.”

McBride would need her.

She would need him.

It was going to take the very best of both of them to get this son of a bitch Martin Fincher.

Twenty-Five

9:15 a.m.

McBride had failed.

Martin sat in the generic Chevy belonging to one of his neighbors who never bothered locking the old heap.

He couldn’t go home.

The police were there.