Page 7 of Destroyed With You

Behind him, Seagrave sighed. “That isn’t my intent. If you truly want to walk away, I won’t pressure you. But I don’t think that you do.”

Winston closed his eyes, working to keep his whole body from sagging with the truth of that statement. He told himself he wanted nothing more than to go home and forget he heard any of this. To let some other agent go in and learn why Linda had killed that man. Why she’d killed others, too, assuming what Seagrave said was true. He should use this meeting as a fulcrum. A lever to send his past life with Linda tumbling down into a pile of so much rubble, and a springboard to move on with his life.

Not gonna happen.

He turned back. “Whatever she’s involved in, it’s not what you think. She’s innocent.”

Seagrave’s expression didn’t change. “I hope you’re right. I don’t think you are. But I like that you’re playing Devil’s advocate.”

“And what exactly is the assignment? If you want me to take her out, I won’t do it.” For that matter, he’d actively foil anyone who tried. He wanted—needed—answers. And no one was touching her until he had them.

“I want you to apprehend her before she eliminates her target. Then I want you to bring her and the target in safely. Along with the laptop the target will have with him.”

“The target’s in Austin?” Winston asked, shifting into professional mode. Tamping down the emotions that could keep him from doing his job. And, dammit, he was going to do it. No way was someone else going into the field to confront her. “When is she supposed to make the hit? For that matter, how do you know any of this?”

Seagrave didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted the remote and started the video running again. “Since receiving the footage you saw, we’ve been able to confirm that Linda Starr—who now goes by Michelle Moon—is responsible for at least two other assassinations of high level agents that we know of. And we suspect she’s behind several others.”

“Michelle Moon,” he repeated, his voice like sandpaper.

“Does that mean something to you?”

“No,” Winston lied. “Not a damn thing.”

Seagrave studied him, but didn’t pursue the comment. “This man,” he said, pausing on the image on the face of a clean-shaven man with thinning brown hair. “Our intel suggests that he’s her next target. He arrived in Austin yesterday and is scheduled to stay for a week. Tommy Bartlett.”

Winston frowned. “What’s the goal here? Apprehending Linda? Bartlett? Or is this about whatever’s on that computer?”

Seagrave smiled at Winston as if he’d just aced his final exam. “I’d say that just about covers it.”

Winston frowned, but didn’t push. Seagrave would reveal what he wanted to reveal. Need to know. The buzzwords of their profession.

“I will say this—we want that computer. But even so, all sides of the triangle are equal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Winston said. “But can’t you just hack the machine? I’ve seen the brainpower employed by the SOC, not to mention the resources Stark has, and we both know you utilize Stark International’s tech departments.”

“Would that we could. It’s completely old school. The only way to access the information is to sit in front of that machine—then get past all the protections, which are apparently rigged with self-destruct traps. That machine gets the biometric information or the wrong password or gets broken or lost, and we lose a lot of valuable information. Which is why we want the man, too. What’s in his head is valuable as well.”

Winston took a moment to process everything. “Tell me this—why me? You’ve got solid intel. Send in a team and bring her in. The accountant, too. How hard can that be? And then here I am to help with the interrogation.”

“Too risky. If we pull Bartlett, she goes into the wind. This is the first time we’ve had a solid lead on her location ahead of a hit. We want her, Starr. Surely you can understand that.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. I get it.”

“If we put a tail on her target, we have to assume she’ll get wind of it and go under.”

Winston leaned back, studying Seagrave’s face. He had to hand it to the man—there were no clues. Still, Winston thought he understood the situation. “Bartlett’s one of ours, too, isn’t he? A deep cover operative. You think whoever she’s working for has managed to get his hands on a list of undercover agents. You call in a team—hell, you call in anyone who officially works at the SOC—and you risk tipping them off. I’m not the best man for the job because my wife’s picking your boys off. I’m the best man because I don’t belong to you anymore.”

“And because you’re so damn smart,” Seagrave said, with just the slightest hint of a smile. “Although you’re wrong about Bartlett being an agent. He’s not. He’s a civilian in the employee of a man named Billy Hawthorne. Do you know the name?”

“Should I?”

“McNally’s heir apparent,” Seagrave said, his voice grave.

Winston’s mouth went dry. “What are you saying? We took down the Consortium.”

“We did. Hell, you did. Billy surfaced about a year ago. He’s McNally’s nephew, and apparently he’s decided to resurrect the family business. Or some version of it, anyway.”

“Fuck.”