Lark rubbed her leg. “Her knowledge of the country, as well as her language skills, was something I couldn’t deny. She proved to be an asset.”
“Our biggest assets can also be our greatest liabilities.” He took her hand and squeezed. “We have three people from your team presumed dead. Then there’s Bretton, Torin, and Bradford, all missing.”
“I asked Ry to hack into Bradford’s CIA records.”
“Jesus, that’s ballsy. Is she doing it?”
“She said she’d get back to me,” Lark said. “It takes a lot to go undercover for three years. It can fuck with a person.”
“Thing is, Bradford is exactly the kind of man who could do it.” Kawan couldn’t believe he just let that come out of his mouth. “I’ve never liked him. Thought he was dangerous and arrogant. I know I’ve always had issues with rules, but at least I know they exist for a reason. But Bradford took the rule book and tossed it out the damn window. If you wanted a special ops guy undercover for any length of time, he’d be the man for the job.” Kawan lowered his chin. “As long as he had loyalty to the job and country.”
“Does he?”
“Only thing I’ve ever seen him do is be an asshole.” Kawan shrugged. “But everyone has a blind spot. Whether it be money. Or something else. We can all be pushed to do the unthinkable.”
“I don’t believe that. I’d never betray this country or my team.”
“Yes, you would.” He took her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “You’d do it if it meant saving someone. Just like I would if it meant your life.”
“I wouldn’t flip. I’d work with it, searching and circling the angles.”
“Perhaps. But you wouldn’t let me die unless you had to.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over her mouth.
She pressed her hand against his chest. “It’s too fucking quiet out here. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“You want to call it?” he asked.
She looked out the window. “No. We came for answers. Let’s see what they left us.”
Kawan stepped out first, letting the door creak closed behind him. The heat clung like a second skin. Thor and Lief’s vehicle had blown past them and had pulled off about a half a mile up the road at a vantage point just shy of a major tree line.
The bell over the diner’s front door jangled as they stepped inside. The air reeked of fryer oil and scorched coffee. A waitressbehind the counter—mid-fifties, teased hair, tired eyes—gave them a once-over. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled.
Kawan looked around. Not a flipping soul. That didn’t sit well.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit anywhere. I’ll bring over some menus in a jiffy. But I must tell you about our pralines and cream pie. We make it fresh every day. It’s so sweet and delicious. People stop here just to grab a slice.”
“That’s for the recommendation,” Kawan said.
“We’re meeting someone,” Lark added. “We’ll take the booth by the door.
The woman hesitated. “Are you Stratton?”
“That depends on who’s asking,” Kawan said.
She reached under the counter and handed them an envelope. “Guy said to give this to a woman who looked like she hadn’t slept in a week and a man who looked like he could break my grill in half if he frowned too hard.”
Kawan didn’t smile. “And who was this man?”
“He didn’t leave a name,” the waitress said, watching them carefully now. “Just said you’d know what to do with it.”
Lark took the envelope with a nod, fingers tight. “What’d he look like?”
“Like he’d been through some shit,” the waitress said, obviously annoyed.
“Can you be more specific?” Lark asked. “Like, how old was he? What was he wearing?”
“He appeared grizzled. He hadn’t shaved in a while. He wore a hoodie that he never lowered from his head, jeans, and boots. Walked with a heavy limp. Didn’t stay more than two minutes. Didn’t order a thing.”
