Page 34 of Destroyed With You

He sits up straight, his shoulders rolling back. “You’re the one who said I was in the game. And I agreed with you. Even told you what agency I’m associated with. Showing our cards, remember?”

“And now that I’ve seen your cards, I have to tell you that this isn’t Amateur Hour.” I lick my lips. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Or worse.”

“I’m no amateur, sugar, and meeting you here was no coincidence. My assignment is to recover Bartlett’s laptop and stop his assassination. Looks like I managed that. And I’ll reacquire the accountant soon enough.”

“Assignment,” I repeat, so softly I’m not even sure he hears me. “Oh, fuck me. Of course. Winston, you have to listen to me. I know you think I’m bluffing, but if you ever loved me at all, you need to believe me, or you will end up well and truly fucked.”

His eyes narrow, and though I’m sure he thinks I’m only playing games, he says, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Seagrave’s dirty,” I tell him, my pulse pounding hard. “And the information on that laptop proves it.”

Chapter Twelve

Winston rocked back as if her words had been a slap. “Are you insane?”

“He’s the reason I’m here. In this hotel. Tracking down Bartlett.”

His head was spinning, and he wanted to kick himself. She’d drawn him in. Spun a nice tale of a girl trapped in a bad circumstance. A woman who’d fallen in love while working a deep cover op. And, dammit, he’d believed her.

But now this?

She was yanking his chain, and it was bullshit.

“Where’s your proof?”

“Proof? I just laid it at your feet. Actually, you laid it at mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

She tried to get up, remembered the belt around her leg, and sat back down in a huff. “You’re here to take me out. To get the laptop. To bring Bartlett safely in.”

“Yes.”

“To Seagrave. Your boss.”

“Well, he’s not actually my boss, but yes,” he said again, twirling his hand so that she’d get to the point.

Instead, she asked, “What do you mean he’s not your boss?”

He almost didn’t answer, but he was the one who said they were putting their cards on the table. “I’m not actually with the SOC anymore. I quit after you—well, after I thought you died. These days I work out of a private security agency based in Los Angeles.”

“What agency?”

“Stark Security.”

She nodded, looking genuinely impressed. “They’ve got a good rep.”

“Deservedly so. And I don’t think Anderson Seagrave is duping Damien Stark or Ryan Hunter any more than he’s duping me.”

“Don’t be naive,” she said, her tone suggesting that she was rolling her eyes even though her face remained entirely passive. “You can’t assess someone that way. You like the guy? So what? Traitors, serial killers, psychopaths. Some of the most notorious ones in history were very, very likable.”

He didn’t argue, because he couldn’t. She was right.

But he still couldn’t believe it was true.

“Come on, Winston,” she said gently. “Think about it. There are at least a dozen operational commanders at the SOC. You never told me which one you work with. And yet I knew. How? Because he’s the crux of my mission.”

The words slammed against him with the force of an elephant’s kick, knocking him back. “No,” he said, even as he remembered the terror in Bartlett’s eyes as Winston had said Seagrave’s name. As if he was looking at the Angel of Death.