“Cash.”

“Turn around. No, I’ll get out.”

“Cash.

“Pull—”

“Cash, look at me!”

The welts on her neck hurt him. Damn, he couldn’t breathe. He needed to catch his breath.

She pulled her shirt up, unsuccessful in her attempt to cover the red marks. “I’m fine. Promise.”

Bullshit. She was hurt. Dude left marks on her. “You’re not—”

She slapped the center console. “Yes, I am. I’ve got a problem, and you killing him isn’t going to help.”

“He attacked you.”

“You don’t know that.”

He turned in his seat to glare at her. “What?”

“I’ve got a problem, and I don’t know who I can trust other than Roman, who’s seeing me as his kid sister. I want to trust you, Cash.”

“You can trust me.”

“Can I?”

Good question. He’d about murdered a man in the middle of the street for the operative equivalent of picking on an ex-girlfriend. He was a flippin’ loose bazooka. “I’m sorry about saying all that to Roman last night.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I know.”

“I’m in it, earrings deep. I need to talk this out.”

He took a breath and ran a hand around the nape of his neck. “’Kay. You keep driving, and I’ll shut my trap.” At least I’ll try.

“The man you just beat within a hair of his life was the butler at Smooth’s estate. After you bagged and tagged Antilla, he found me, said he had extraction instructions that superseded my handler’s. But he turned me over to the men I avoided with my flying window trick. My handler made arrangements for me this morning. Voila! Hello, butler.”

“So you’re thinking… ”

“He’s doing double duty.”

“He’s CIA, and he’s… on the clock for Smooth?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged.

It seemed possible. “Why not take you out long rifle style?”

“They want to know what I got first. My job was intel. Map out Antilla Smooth’s network, his high rollers and big players.”

“You debriefed yet?”

“Nope.”

“What’s your handler know?”

“Little to nothing.”

“You seriously think this dude is stupid enough to fuck with you CIA folks?”

“It’s been done before. He must’ve thought I was weak.”

“Well, you schooled him, didn’t you? I saw that left hook. Killer, woman. Killer job. For real.”

Nicola looked at him with a half-cocked smile. The most honest look he’d seen on her since she stumbled in front of their car. “I’ve got a few tricks. But truth is my right arm is too sore to use.”

How different their lives could have been. She could’ve been at home, or at least at a job that didn’t require knowing any tricks, though the woman could take a punch. Nicola, all schooled in hand to hand. Never saw that coming. Too bad it had almost killed him. This CIA bullshit was damn hard for him to understand. He needed a subject change and quick.

“You got a boyfriend or something at the Farm?” Not exactly a subject change that would lessen my urge to kill.