“So you said.”
“Hell yes, I said it! And I’m going tokeepsaying it, because it’s the damntruth!”
Jagger watched the cuffed man closely, hating that he couldn’t tell if the asshole was lying.
“What do you know about Arlo Sanchez?” Talia continued with the interrogation.
Sinclair sat back in his chair and sighed. The sound of metal moving against metal echoed from the movement of his cuffs. “I keep telling you, I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Give me a little credit, Keith.” The gorgeous woman scoffed. “I mean, do you honestly expect me to believe you just happened to be working with a group of known men from Sanchez’s crew?”
“Believe whatever the hell you want. I’m telling you, that was the first time I ever met those guys.”
“You’re telling me that your very first night working that section of the Illinois International Port District was with seven other men we know were on Sanchez’s payroll?” Her head tilted slightly to the left. “And low and behold, that very same night, the bastard’s boat shows up hauling crates filled to the rim with a shit ton of illegal guns. Come on, Keith. Is that really how you want to play this?”
“Play it however you want, Foster,” Sinclair snarled back. “After all, thatisyour M.O.”
Talia’s spine stiffened again, the prick’s comment clearly hitting one of the woman’s many buttons. Jagger inched closer to the glass as he prepared for her response, watching them both carefully for the slightest sign of deceit.
There was a definite history between them. Something that went way beyond having been fellow spooks for the CIA. It was there, in the way Sinclair looked at Talia. A hostility stemming from what, Jagger didn’t know. And as he watched the interaction between the former colleagues, he planned to find out as much about Keith Sinclair as he could.
Who is this man?
Natalia willed the pounding in her chest to ease as she stared back at a man she’d once trusted to have her back. Keith’s tall form was still as muscular as ever, and his dark hair was stillkept short and tight. Several strands of gray were now mixed throughout. Deep crevices lined the length of his forehead.
But it was the bags beneath the man’s eyes that spoke volumes about the kind of life he’d led since she’d last seen him. It had only been a few years since the two had last parted ways. The same day Natalia was walked out of Langley. To look at Keith now, however, she could’ve easily believed a decade had passed.
Working for an asshole criminal like Sanchez can do that to a person.
“Typical Sinclair,” she taunted back in retaliation to the personal remark he’d just made. “Still can’t take the heat, so you turn it around on someone else.”
“I can take the heat just fine, you snobby bitch. And I’m not turning anything around on anyone. Just calling it like it is.”
He’s trying to make it personal. Don’t fall into his trap.
Natalia pulled in a slow, deep breath before releasing it silently into the room’s stale air. He was purposefully goading her. Trying his best to make her snap back, or worse, lose it completely. Anything to discredit her standing with Homeland.
Just as he’d done with the CIA.
“Why were you in Chicago?”
“I live there?”
“Since when?”
“I don’t know…” He shrugged. “A little over a year.”
“How long have you worked for Sanchez?” Natalia decided to ask him point-blank.
“Already told you, I don’t know who that is.”
“Then explain to me how you came to work the port with a group of his men.”
“I was filling in for a guy I know.”
“This guy got a name?”
“Michael Hernandez.” Keith’s frustration was becoming more obvious by the second. “We used to work construction together. He called me up; said he had a gig open up last-minute if I was looking to make some extra cash.”
