Page 103 of Every Last Breath

“Your death isn’t necessary. In fact, it would work against me in many ways.” He stood and dusted off his knees. “Once I’m gone, feel free to scream until your lungs burn. There’s no one around for miles, and help will not be on the way anytime soon. Now, I must leave and prepare for tonight.”

“Why didn’t you kill me on the yacht? You could’ve snapped my neck. No problem.”

He stared at her for a long, hard moment, a haunted look in his eyes. “Death is not easy. You look at a man like me, contemplate the things I’ve done, and assume that killing is simple. You assume I’m a monster.”

His face wrinkled with such tortured emotion, if he had a heart, she would’ve sworn it was aching.

“Just as the murder of my wife and daughter shall soon become a problem for your country, killing you would’ve been a problem for me. I don’t want your scarred-face monster nipping at my heels for the rest of my life. Make no mistake, he is the kind of man who would go to the ends of the earth, through all nine circles of hell if necessary, for his vengeance. I wish you a long life with your monster, Agent Kinkade, but if I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

Her blood ran cold.

Novak pivoted, practically floating away as he strode from her sight, not making a single sound.

Chapter 29

Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia

10:33 a.m. EDT

Cole prowled behind Harper at work on her dual-monitor computer setup, watching her fingers whiz across her keyboard as she tried to hack Maddox’s smartphone. Every time she glanced over her shoulder at him, he paced and somehow ended up hovering again.

Raking a hand through his hair, he floundered for an ounce of patience.

Nothing moved fast enough. Not Harper’s flying fingers. Not Cutter sitting ten feet away, hunting for more information that might help. Not Reece, who was out searching the Goodwill van they’d found abandoned on Route 1 off I-495. Not even Janet brewed more coffee fast enough.

And for some reason, the mind-numbing palette of this underground facility—with its subdued blue partitions, lifeless beige walls, and corpse-gray carpet—reminded him of an upscale funeral home. He was suffocating in it.

Turning, he marched over to Harper and went to tap her on the shoulder.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Amanda handed him a cup of coffee. “She has this thing about being touched.” She nodded in Harper’s direction. “But don’t let her know that you know. She tries to keep it hush-hush. The three of us learned the hard way.” Amanda waved a sweeping finger at Doc and Cutter, who both chatted with Janet while she refilled their mugs. “We don’t talk about it with the others. And she’ll work better if you don’t loom. I guess you haven’t noticed, but she needs her space.”

The analyst gestured to the layout of their section. Harper sat far removed, working in a corner—actually, facing the corner with her back to everyone, wearing earbuds—while the other three had their workspaces in close proximity on the opposite side of a round conference table.

This wasn’t his day for noticing the little things. “Thanks. For the heads-up and the coffee.”

“No problem.” She gave a sympathetic smile. “I hope black is okay. I didn’t know how you take it.”

“Black and strong is perfect.” He wondered if Amanda Woodrow was in Maddox’s inner circle. Clearly, one existed. If you were on the inside, Maddox called you by your first name. If you weren’t, it was simply Harper, Cutter, Doc. “Hey, to Maddox, are you Amanda or Woodrow?”

“You’re asking if we’re friends.” She waved for him to follow her over to the section near the televisions.

Taking a gulp of coffee, he trailed along.

“I see you’ve picked up on the inner dynamics around here,” she said. “Operators form a tight bond pretty fast. They’re out in the field risking their lives together. They tend to keep a little distance from their intel analysts. Operators live or die by the intelligence they get, and having a clear line is a good thing, but we’re all pretty friendly and socialize. Except for Willow. The one exception to the name rule is Reece. He was Delta Force for so long, I think it makes him uneasy if you call him John.”

Interesting to know, but it wasn’t an answer.

She must’ve seen the question lingering on his face, because she gave a soft smile and nodded. “I’m Amanda to Maddox. She recruited me from the DEA. I was an operative until I had Jax. Staying in black ops as a single mom wasn’t realistic, even with help from my parents.”

Cole glanced over her shoulder at her desk and spotted a picture of a cute little boy with sandy curls, maybe four or five. No doubt the artist of the colorful illustrations pinned to the partition wall framing her monitor.

Off to the side of the main aisle, Janet stopped to talk to a passing man Cole hadn’t seen before. Tall, slim, wore glasses. They were barely within sight at this angle and would’ve been concealed entirely from the rest of the analysis section by the partitions. She brushed something from the front of his shirt. A split-second gesture, so fast that if Cole had blinked, he would’ve missed it. Whether friendly, motherly, or something more, he couldn’t tell. The guy looked fifteen to twenty years her junior.

“Incoming,” Amanda whispered.

Cole pivoted, following her gaze to a svelte woman, polished from her platinum-blond haircut to her body-hugging dress and daring, sky-high heels. She sashayed by like she owned the place. The cougar eyed him, long and hard, as if he were a bowl of thick cream she wanted to lap up.

He faced Amanda. “Who is that?”