Chapter Seventeen
My angerand frustration often came with a side of shouting, but those who knew me best recognized that when I'd climbed every level of outrage and tripped over into blind rage, the yelling transformed into near silence.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
It was little more than a whisper but I was certain April heard every word.
She squeezed my upper arms and stared at me, steady and unyielding. Those espresso eyes, they took me right back to every time she'd ordered me onto her table or vibrated beneath me or shared—fuck.No. It was bullshit, all of it, and I couldn't fall prey to rose gold memories.
"If you have something to tell me, this is your moment, April," I said, shaking out of her hold. "You're long past the right to my patience."
Nodding, she started pacing the length of my bedroom. I hated that seeing her here stirred up emotions that didn't match the circumstances. I didn't want to relax into the cadence of her voice or admire the way her braid swung between her shoulder blades. I didn't want any of her, and I was furious enough to swallow that lie.
"The CIA has been keeping an eye on Renner," she started. "They noticed he'd hired me, and one of my old handlers paid me a visit. It seems Renner's out of money, and on the verge of folding."
I chuckled at that.Good fucking riddance to him."Maybe he should cut back on the swag spending," I said. "All those polo shirts must add up."
April stopped pacing and glowered at me, as if she recognized my comment as low and petty. It was, and she probably understood that. She wasn't a stranger to the intelligence community.
"She didn't tell me much, but my handler shared that Renner is losing clients," she continued. "He's doing everything to undercut his competitors, which is why he ordered surveillance on you. Based on everything I've seen, he can't keep up with your shop, Jordan. He's desperate."
"This isn't the time to tell me what a bang-up job I'm doing," I snapped. "Get to the point, or get the fuck out."
April watched me for a beat, and a sigh slipped from her lips. I knew that reaction. She wanted a different response from me, and she was disappointed that she didn't get it.
You're not getting anything. Not tonight.
"The CIA has reason to believe—but no actionable proof—he's resorted to illegal arms dealing to cover his expenses," she continued. "That's what caught most of their interest, and they were tracking him in Venezuela. He slipped through their fingers before they could draw him out in the weapons exchange. They don't know what went wrong, but I don't think they had the right assets in place and they're—"
"You want to know what went wrong?" I roared. Only the federal government could fuck things up forty ways to Friday. "I can tell you what went wrong. There's a three-hundred-page briefing book on my desk with a detailed analysis ofwhat went wrong."
I reached for my phone to wake up everyone at the Agency. They needed to hear how my rescue mission went sour because they were courting a cum-guzzling bastard into selling them weapons, only for that same bastard to turn around and resell those weapons to a militant group with a taste for human trafficking.
I would've succeeded, but April climbed across the bed and snatched it away. "Did you know Renner was in Venezuela all along?" she asked.
"Of course not. We don't engage when we can't control the entire operation," I said. "But after debriefing the team that was on the ground, we determined the last-minute arms deal set off the chain of events that closed every window we had for executing the rescue." I pointed to the device she was holding. "I'd like to inform my partner that he's now allowed to hunt Renner, and bring me his head on a spear. You don't need to be here for that."
April chucked a pillow at me. "I came here because I care about you, but youmustknow how dangerous it is for me to reveal classified information," she said. "If you're certain you don't want this—or me—I'll leave."
Don't go.
It was the first thought in my head, and she must've been able to see it all over my expression.
She reached into her pocket and produced a phone—not mine, not the one I'd seen in her apartment last weekend either—and tossed it to the middle of the bed. "There's more. Take a look," she said. "By the way, no one knows where Renner is right now. His passport was flagged in Dubai, but he's been off the radar for the past two days."
"I have a decent idea where he's headed," I murmured. Curious, I picked up the device from where it landed on the duvet and swiped it to life. Images of overdue invoices, bank statements, and client work orders confirmed April's comments, but then I came upon a hand-scrawled list of names. I turned the screen toward her. "Where did you get this?"
"I broke into his office last night." She shrugged like it was no big deal, and I still couldn't believe I'd surrendered my soul to a spy. "If you thought my apartment had a loosey-goosey approach to security, you should've seen the Stillhouse facility."
"Too soon, April. Too fucking soon," I muttered. "Why does Renner have these names?"
She shook her head. "My handler tracked them all back to a small outfit specializing in security services for fancy gated communities along the Delmarva Peninsula. Coastal Elite Securities." Another head shake. "It's not clear what Renner wants with that information, or its relevance."
I laughed out loud. "I must be doing something right," I said, surveying the list of my most effective covert operatives again.
Protecting their identities was essential to the safety of our work as well as their private lives and families, and building several layers of shell corporations between the organization's public face and their paychecks was the primary firewall. The vast, unregulated expanse of foreign surveillance programming meant that anyone could access personal information, and use that information to target and expose the men and women I employed.
Not on my watch.
