Inside, the lobby is empty, save for the woman behind the desk. Silver hair swept into a perfect twist. Pearl studs. Spine straight as a ruler.
“Good morning, Mr. Evans,” she says cheerfully. She slides a small plate across the counter. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
On it sits a single chocolate chip cookie.
I eye it suspiciously. “Is it poisoned?” I ask.
Lydia’s smile never shifts. “There’s only one way to find out.”
I pause, then take it. “Thanks, Lydia.”
For an ex-CIA operative who’s neutralized more enemies than I care to count, she makes one hell of a cookie. Crispy edge. Soft center.
Possibly poisoned.
Mark’s already seated, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Zac’s on one side of him, fiddling with the video screen. Brian’s on the other side, scanning my clothes.
I take the empty chair beside him and sit. “Sorry I’m late. Something came up.”
Brian snorts. “Rough morning, or did you just commit to the look?”
I hand him the plate. “Lydia made you a cookie.”
Mark glances between Brian and me and shakes his head. “If the two of you are done…”
We nod, and I split the cookie with Brian in a truce.
“We’ve got a new client,” Mark says, clasping his hands. “And I want you to know we haven’t said anything to him.”
The pause stretches. That is when it hits me. He is looking straight at me.
“Okay,” I say slowly, having no idea where this is headed.
Mark turns to Zac.
Zac taps the tablet, and the wall screen flickers to life as the video call connects.
And then Gabe appears.
For half a second, I start to sweat. My mind spirals, cataloging sins. How much does he know about all the very wrong things I’ve done with Pix?
Then he lifts a hand, and the tired wave registers.
“Hey, guys.”
He hasn’t slept. Maybe not in days.
Gabe looks like he’s been to hell and back, which is saying something, since we’ve served multiple tours together. I’ve seen him exhausted. Bloody. Beaten. But I’ve never seen him look like this.
Defeated.
Whatever this is, it isn’t about me.
“Gabe’s our client?” I ask.
“Not exactly,” Mark says.
He slides a stack of packets across the table. One to each of us.
