Page 25 of Every Last Breath

Her facade of equanimity teetered, but she mustered her iron composure. She’d been forged in the CIA, recast stronger in the Gray Box. “Please, listen. Give me a chance to explain everything.”

“A chance to spin a sticky web of lies?”

She just threw herself into this meat grinder because she didn’t want to lie to him. “No, of course not.”

He stormed to the kitchen and grabbed his jacket. “How long have you known I was alive? Have you been surveilling me in tandem with the Russians? Tag-teaming ticks.”

She wasn’t playing with fire, Cole was a nuclear warhead on the brink of detonation. “I had no idea you were alive until I saw you today.”

He hunched over the counter, clutching the granite in a white-knuckle grip, chest heaving like someone had ripped out his lungs. “You must think I’m a fucking fool.”

Her nerves stretched tight, skin turning to shrink-wrap. “The Agency hid the truth.” She pussyfooted into the kitchen, giving him space to decompress. “You’re not just an asset to me.” You’re the one man I’d sacrifice anything to be with.

Hell, she was jeopardizing a mission because of him.

Curses in Russian exploded from him. Nasty things, too fast for her to catch every word. He snatched his stuff from the counter and headed toward the door.

Reading people, using feminine guile, pushing buttons, pulling strings—those were some of her strongest talents. The five little words to stop him dead in his tracks itched on the tip of her tongue, their flavor acrid.

“You swore to help me.” Hating herself for pushing that button, she took a deep breath through the queasiness bubbling up.

His word was his bond, yesterday, today. Always.

He froze in front of the door. The sound of his harsh breaths filled the dead air between them. “What do you want?” A pained whisper.

She ignored the quick twist of guilt in her gut. “Cole—”

“You have thirty seconds,” he said, keeping his back to her.

Taking tentative steps, she needed proximity and eye contact. “Please look at me.”

“Twenty.”

This was shaky ground and she was losing her footing. She swallowed hard, straining to think of the right thing to say next.

“Fifteen seconds to spit out how you want to turn my life into a pile of steaming shit.”

“In two days, a bioterror weapon is going to be auctioned on the black market. You have to be invited to the auction. Ilya is on the short list. I need his passcode.”

Lowering his head, he pounded a fist on the door, barking a scathing laugh.

“Does Ilya know you’re alive?”

A weighted silence settled around them. The quiet felt massive, the seconds like an eternity.

“Yes,” he finally said, sounding withered. “But I haven’t seen him since…”

That bastard Ilya was in on it. She had asked him point-blank nine years ago if Cole was truly dead, and he had lied to her face. She really was the last to know. Damn, it hurt.

She eased behind him as one would a caged animal that might tear her apart. “It’s weaponized smallpox. A new strain. Thousands could die in the first wave alone. If uncontained, it’ll start an epidemic.” She dared to put a hand on his shoulder. “We need you to prevent it.”

He whirled on her with such swift rage that she stumbled back. Her heart beat harder and faster than a war drum, but she stilled, gauging what he was capable of. Then she saw in his eyes the hurt outweighing the anger. She was in no physical danger from him. Of that, she was certain, but the situation was slipping through her fingers faster than grains of sand from a busted hourglass.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Anguish slashed across his face, and her breath caught.

God, that look—that look would haunt her forever.

“You should’ve put me out of my misery and let the Russians take me. Damn you.”