Lucia’s expression doesn’t change. “That may be. But there’s a very real threat out there, Dr. Palmer, even if he’s not it.” She pauses, something flickering behind her professional mask. “Two of the security team at the Flores compound were found this morning. Executed. Clean shots, professional work. The family had already relocated, but whoever’s behind this is getting closer. And if they learn about your connection to Flores and Amador...”
“How long?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“Unknown. Could be days. Could be longer.”
“Adán knew something.” I push past the dismissal in her eyes. “He was about to tell me who’s behind the contract. If your people hadn’t barged in, we might actually have that information right now.”
Lucia’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “We’re looking for him too. If we locate him, I’ll keep in mind that he might have more intel.” She pauses at the door. “And we already have it on good authority who’s pulling the strings. That still doesn’t help us track the assassin. The Agency’s taking point on that. You three just need to stay put and stay quiet.”
“Like hell.” Chris straightens, the operative surfacing through the exhaustion. “I should be out there. I know Tatiana’s intel better than anyone, I know the players?—”
“You’re compromised.” Lucia’s voice is flat. “You’ve been off-grid for four days, you look like you went ten rounds with a cement mixer, and your asset is the one who had to drag you out of whatever hole you crawled into. You’re not operational right now, Longo. You’re a liability.”
Chris’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Because she’s right, and he knows it.
“Booth and I can handle security here,” he says instead. “Free up you and Darius to join the hunt.”
Lucia considers this for a moment, then nods. “Fine. You’re both armed?”
“Yes.” Wyatt speaks for the first time since I arrived, his hand moving briefly to his hip, a reflexive check of the weapon I know he carries there.
“Good. Perimeter checks every two hours. Don’t leave the property. Don’t answer the door for anyone who doesn’t use the code phrase.” She rattles off a string of words that sounds like nonsense—something about a red bicycle in Tuscany—and both men nod.
The door closes behind her. The lock engages with a heavy click.
And then it’s just us.
48
Nina
Chris moves first. He crosses the room and pulls me into his arms hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. Like he’s checking that I’m real. Solid. Here.
“I’m sorry,” he says into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have been there.”
“You’re here now.” I let myself sink into him for a moment. He smells like stale sweat and cheap motel soap, nothing like his usual clean scent, but underneath it he’s still Chris. Still the man I’ve been terrified was dead in a ditch for four days.
Wyatt keeps his distance. I don’t blame him.
I pull back from Chris, just enough to see his face. “What happened to you?”
“Doesn’t matter right now.”
“It does to me.”
His jaw works. He doesn’t answer.
“He’s not a threat,” I say, shifting gears. “Adán—whatever his real name is. He wasn’t there to hurt me.”
“Rafael Marcano,” Chris says flatly. “That’s who was in your office. We’ve been tracking him for weeks. Adán Pareto was one of his aliases.”
Rafael. The ghost. And he walked right into my office.
“I was in that room with him. Twenty minutes. He wasn’t there to hurt me or anyone else.”
“Then why the fake identity? Why approach you at the café weeks ago?” Chris’s voice is hard. “Why run when Darius came through the door?”
I blink. “Wait. How do you know about the café?”
