“It’s the truth.”
Another pause.
“You have one chance, Longo. One. Petrov delivers actionable intelligence within the next week, or you’re off the case.”
“Understood, sir.”
“See that it is.”
The line goes dead.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and stare at the closed office door.
Be careful.
Good advice.
Too bad I’ve never been very good at taking it.
14
Wyatt
The recording ends with the soft click of Nina’s office door closing.
I sit back in my desk chair, earbuds still in, staring at the transcript on my screen. Forty-seven minutes of audio from her session with Flores and Amador. Brilliant, if I’m being honest.
Of course she nailed it.
But that’s not what has my pulse hammering against my throat.
It’s the eleven minutes of audio that came between sessions. The conversation between Nina and someone who was supposed to be a junior CIA analyst assigned to handle Tatiana Petrov.
Except it wasn’t a stranger’s voice on the recording.
It was Chris.
What the fuck.
I yank out my earbuds and flip through my notes, scanning the operational briefing from last week. Asset handler for Tatiana Petrov: Agent R. Nakamura, CIA, junior analyst, three years of field experience.
Not Chris Longo.
But there he was, clear as day, in Nina’s office. The same Chris who looked like he was coming apart during our last video conference. Having what the transcript diplomatically categorizes as “pre-session consultation regarding asset psychological profile.” Eleven minutes of conversation that started professional and got quieter. More personal. The spaces between their words grew heavy with things that couldn’t be said.
Not with us listening.
Nina sounded careful. Controlled. Like she was managing something fragile and dangerous at the same time. There was a moment, just before the recording ended, where her voice went soft in a way that made my chest tight.
She invited him to something. A family gathering. Her voice carried the weight of an olive branch being extended across a minefield.
I force myself to put the earbuds back in and finish the Petrov session. Nina’s voice returns to professional mode—calm, measured, creating space for Tatiana’s guarded responses.
The Petrov evaluation is solid work. Thorough but respectful, creating rapport without pushing too hard. Under normal circumstances, I’d be taking notes on Nina’s technique, cataloging her insights for the operational debrief.
But these aren’t normal circumstances. Because Chris fucking Longo just went off-book to put himself in Nina’s orbit, and I’m three states away pretending I don’t know exactly why he couldn’t stay away.
My phone buzzes against the desk.
