That took her back to the intel in Jack’s dossier.

Chatter and intercepted diplomatic cables and information from several assets in Moscow that had all pointed in his direction, but the most accurate detail had come as leaks from an ideological defector within the Kremlin.

She understood then what Jack had meant when he’d said Hayes would do what was in his own best interest.

The Speaker of the House had been assassinated.

Hayes, intentionally or not, had let it happen, and his line to the Moscow leaker also connected directly to the guy who’d arranged the hits.

It looked a lot like treason.

Jack knew, and Hayes knew Jack knew.

To the phone, Jack said, “Not Steven Hayes. Jonathan Smith.”

And then, “I want Dmitry. That was our arrangement.”

And then, “Have it your way. I’ll find you in Moscow.”

He hit END and tossed the phone to Jen, and she caught it and smiled.

There was a kind of crazy in that smile, like danger had just been let off leash and turned loose. Kara imagined that had something to do with why Jen had been the Russian’s primary assassin and not Jack.

Jen and Chris stepped out of the car, hauled two suitcases from the trunk, and headed off. It felt strange seeing them go just like that.

Her job had been to kill them—maybe still was to kill them.

They’d abducted her and held her captive. And yet off they went with a smile and a wave, like old friends parting after a vacation.

Better was watching the miles go by on the long way home, and that’s where she was now, home. Jack stopped where the tarmac stopped. From here the roof peeked out between the trees, but the house was still a quarter mile up the dirt road.

He said, “This is as far as I go.”

She sat for a beat, unsure if she should thank him for the ride or, now that she was finally free, tell him to go to hell. She opted for silence and stepped out, shut the door, and started walking. But that wasn’t right.

Even for people as reticent as they, this required some form of exchange.

But there wasn’t exactly an etiquette guide on what to say to a target-slash-abductor, no matter how badly you’d failed to kill him, or how well he’d treated you, or how great you got along.

She made it about ten feet and stopped. She looked back.

He was watching her, window rolled down, elbow on the sill.

She said, “You know this isn’t over, right? Just because headquarters doesn’t want you dead right now doesn’t mean they’ll stop hunting.”

The corners of his eyes turned up ever so slightly.

“Good,” he said. “It means I’ll see you again.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

AUTHOR’S NOTE