Page 33 of Destroyed With You

Hell, I’m coming dangerously close to treason.

But I gave up everything so that this man could live. Maybe it’s selfish, but I think the universe owes me a pass.

“We both know people change,” he says. “It’s not always for the better.”

“I haven’t,” I promise him. “Not like that.”

His body sags, almost as if he’s exhausted. “I know what I’ve seen.”

“And what’s that?”

“Drone footage. A roof in Seattle. You. A man. And a single shot to the head.”

I can’t help it; I wince.

“And I know that the hit was authorized by Hawthorne. The same way he authorized the hit on Bartlett. Your boss is going to be pissed when he finds out you let his prey run free.”

“You really believe that?”

“I saw it. And we both know why Hawthorne wants Bartlett dead, and here you are, ready to carry out the orders.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

Shit. I draw a breath, because if I tell him the rest of it, I really will be falling down the rabbit hole. But I loved Winston Starr once, and I need him to know the truth. Vows, promises, and oaths be damned.

I’m dead, after all. And I’m pretty sure that the dead aren’t expected to keep their promises.

“So I guess I was right about you,” I say.

“About me?”

“You are in the game.”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. “Is that what we’re playing? I show you mine, you show me yours?”

I bat my eyes and flash a flirtatious smile. “Could be fun,” I say, and to my relief, he smiles. “They recruited you,” I say. “After you went renegade and did the heavy lifting for them, they recruited you into the NSC or something.”

He shakes his head. “No.” He draws a breath. “Full disclosure—I was always in.”

I lean back, processing those words. “And by in, you mean what?”

“The sheriff job was a cover. I was with the SOC. Sensitive—”

“—Operations Command,” I say, feeling queasy. “I know what it is, you goddamn hypocrite.”

His eyes go wide. “I never faked my death. If we’re keeping score, I still win.”

“Shit.” I push myself up because I want to pace, then remember that I’m strapped to the damn chair. I start to bend over so that I can undo the buckle, but his voice stops me cold.

“Sit back down.”

I glance back to find him aiming that damn Glock at me. “Seriously?”

“We are not five by five yet. Not by a long shot. I work for the SOC. My work is sanctioned. You’re taking assassination orders from Billy Hawthorne. Guess which one of us is walking the moral high ground.”

“You are in way over your head,” I tell him.