I’m so busy scouting the area that I fail to notice my attacker until they move out of the bushes to my right and tackle me to the ground.
The person is covered from head to toe in black and has one hell of a right hook. My stomach takes the brunt of the force, and I almost retch, but my training kicks in. I ignore the pain and hook one leg around their middle, rolling on top of them. Using my forearm, I crush their trachea while my other hand twists the wrist holding a knife. The person yelps and drops it.
Both of our breaths are heavy, though the exchange was over in a blink. Our chests move in sync, but since my arm is on their throat, their breathing is shallow.
“Can't breathe,” they rasp. The voice sounds feminine.
I ease up, releasing her throat but keeping her subdued.
“Who sent you?” she asks, and this time I hear the fear—and paranoia.
“I came of my own volition.” It’s not a lie. “I’m looking for information about the company you used to work for.”
Something flashes across her face, but I can’t quite tell what it is. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I sigh, easing up even more. I’ve learned two things from this brief meeting: One, she’s terrified, and two, she doesn’t know how to protect herself and relies on her tech to keep her safe. This means she’s not really athreat to me, and the only thing I can do is try to earn her trust so she will give me what I need.
I can also provide her something she wants.
Safety.
I decide to be truthful. “I work for the CIA, and I’m looking for information on your former boss. I have reason to believe he was involved in illegal activity.”
She scoffs. “Alotof illegal activity.”
I raise my brows.
She lets out a slow breath. “I have no reason to trust you, but you got past my security with ease, and there’s no chance in hell I’m taking you out physically. So, I’m inclined to believe you.”
With that declaration, I choose to trust her, too. Climbing off her, I stand, offering my hand. She eyes it warily but takes it, and I pull her to stand. She’s shorter than me, but not by much, and her brown hair tumbles from the black beanie she’s wearing. Her irises are a stunning shade of blue, and the lines on her face would indicate she’s around my age, maybe a few years older.
She eyes me as if she’s assessing me the way I am scrutinizing her.
“Come,” she finally says, waving a hand and turning her back to me.
The ultimate test of trust in my line of work.
I follow. She takes me up the old wooden steps, skipping the third one, and I find out a moment later why: The step creaks so loudly, echoing through the trees, that the crickets silence their chirps for a moment.
“That step has saved me more times than my security system.”
I chuckle. “I don’t doubt it.”
She opens the screen door, then the inner wooden one, and ushers me into the small space. The living room to the right is full of computers and tech equipment, all beeping away. To the left, the kitchen is covered in dirty dishes. It looks like weeks' worth.
She doesn’t stop in either room and instead leads me down a small hallway that ends with two identical doors. She opens the one on the left, and I find myself in a small library. There’s a couch under the window, and this room appears to be the cleanest.
She motions to the sofa, and I sit down, watching her. The slump of her shoulders gives away her exhaustion.
“Don’t sleep much?” I ask as she sits in a small chair opposite me.
She shakes her head. “Not since they tried to kill me.”
I arch a brow.
“That’s what they did to anyone who knew too much,” she continues. “I was his assistant. Though I acted dumb, I heard his conversations, and I kept track of the people who disappeared.”
“What happened to them?”
