Page 89 of PSYCHOlogical

He shook his head emphatically. “No.”

“Who sent you to my home?”

“I took…” He exhaled a long breath. “I took an assignment to find a someone…we believed there was…someone had been planted within the DNI by the FBI’s Intelligence Branch. They used information…the President was coerced…forced to support certain causes that he was strongly opposed to. They traced the information—”

“Are you aware of the definition of the word brief?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.

He nodded.

“I’ve known you for an hour and a half, and I’ve been pissed off for that entire fucking time. I have zero patience for your bullshit right now,” I explained. “Give me the name of who sent you to my home this evening, or the next strip of skin is coming off. This time, it’ll be your face.”

“Trevino,” he blurted.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Told you.”

Val nodded.

I looked at the soon-to-be-dead hostage. “Did Trevino send the New Dawn Operators?”

“I have no idea.”

“Where’s the flash drive?”

“Trevino has it,” he responded.

While I contemplated my next question, the telltale thwack of a silenced pistol being fired caused me to flinch.

The hostage’s head exploded. Fragments of skull, brain, and flesh splattered across the floor.

“Jesus!” I spun around.

Frozen in place, she stared blankly at his body, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d done.

I took the pistol from her shaking hand. “Was that an accident?”

“I don’t think so. I think I just snapped,” she stammered. “It just kind of went off when I was thinking about it. Maybe it was my subconscious at work.”

Filled with disbelief that it could have been an accident, I gave her a look. “You’re serious?”

“Sorry.” She exhaled a long breath. “You said you were going to ask him those three questions. You asked them. I was really done listening to him.”

I glanced at the dead hostage and shook my head. A sigh of frustration escaped me. “I wasn’t done interrogating him.”

“I said I was sorry,” she snapped back. “But that asshole lied to me for three years, beat the shit out of me in your kitchen, and then tossed me into the trunk of a fucking car with a bag over my head. He was going to kill us both. He got what he deserved, it was just bad timing.”

We had only one place left where we could possibly get answers. I glanced at the dead hostage and then at her. “You’re right, it was bad timing. Really bad timing.”