The weather was clear and the wind cold, but winter hadn’t turned truly bitter yet and people were still wishing for an idyllic white Christmas.
Holt could only wish he would still be alive come Christmas.
He stopped where the text message had told him to stop, feeling like a damned puppet on a string. Even knowing at the beginning that it would come down to this didn’t make it easier to stomach the reality of doing so. He was used to giving orders, not taking them.
Handing over this tiny piece of technology and the huge intelligence it stored marked the beginning of the end.
It might have been a few years since his last field op, but the skills didn’t go away. They were far too deeply engrained. He checked his phone, made the drop and didn’t die or get arrested as he walked back to the metro station.
“Did my warning help?”
Holt didn’t miss a step as Isely joined him on the escalator. “Sure.”
After receiving a picture of Director Casey’s sister, Cecelia Manning, and the single warning of “Beware,” Holt had dug into the woman’s recent history to see what threat or purpose she might pose for Isely. Or for him.
He’d learned all kinds of details he didn’t want to know, from her favorite perfume to her tight circle of wealthy friends who toddled about doing charitable works.
Then he’d found the big splashy occasion he knew Isely had been looking for: the charity gala the widow had organized to benefit cancer research in memory of her late husband. The event offered the perfect opportunity.
“And?” Isely prompted.
Holt wasn’t inclined to answer truthfully. He’d exhausted himself planting bugs in the woman’s house, a GPS tracker on her car, opening a profile that matched hers on an online dating site and monitoring her general safety while maintaining his own responsibilities at Mission Recovery.
“And her family will join her at tomorrow’s event,” Holt replied, giving the man what he wanted.
“You will take the appropriate action?”
Holt nodded, letting his hand shake just a touch. He didn’t want to oversell it, but a traitor would have reservations and a few jangling nerves at this point. He had a wild hope that a specialist would come charging in—now—before this got messy.
“I will send the address when it is time.”
Holt nodded again as the train came into the station.
“Don’t worry, my friend.” Isely’s hand landed heavy on Holt’s shoulder. “You have a new team now. You are not alone.”
Friend?
Isely couldn’t know it, but that was Holt’s worst fear.
Chapter Two
Alexandria, Virginia, 2:15 p.m.
“I know you’re disappointed, Mom.”
Cecelia Manning filled two mugs of coffee and handed one to her daughter, Casey. She watched Casey add a scant teaspoon of sugar and a hefty dollop of milk.
When the risk of milk ending up on her counter was minimized, she said, “My application was accepted.”
“What?” Casey’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am completely serious,” Cecelia replied. She decided hiding the pain her daughter’s reaction had caused was best for now. Neither her daughter nor her brother approved of her desire to go into fieldwork for the CIA, but Cecelia had had more than she could take of the boredom and routine of pushing paper around the agency office.
Her husband had worked in the CIA for the entirety of their married life, until he’d passed away just over a year ago.
Her brother was the director of an elite team of covert agents known only as “Specialists.” Her daughter had gone into CIA fieldwork, as well. Yet they all expected her to...what? Continue in her predictable, safe role, making Sunday dinners and birthday cakes and learning to knit while she waited for Casey and her new husband, Levi, to provide the grandchildren she wanted to spoil.
She sipped her coffee and saved the scream of frustration for when she was alone again.
“Mom, you can’t.”
“Can’t?”
Casey’s eyes flared as she obviously caught the warning Cecelia had packed into that one word.
“I didn’t mean can’t like that.”
Cecelia sipped her coffee, waiting. More than a little curious how her daughter intended to wrench her foot out of her mouth.
“It’s just...” She shrugged. “You’re my mom.”
Cecelia traced the handle of her bright stoneware cup.
“Fieldwork is crazy,” she added.
Holding her daughter’s gaze, she waited for an intelligent argument to arise. Not that she’d let anything deter her from her plans. Since her husband’s passing, she’d merely gone through the motions of day-to-day life and now she was ready for something new. She needed something new... Like a life where she felt needed and...wanted.
She’d survived the shock and grief of losing the man she’d loved and expected to grow old with. She’d learned to cope with a quiet house and the sympathetic looks of her friends and neighbors.
Her work had been an anchor, steadying her as she moved from one stage to the next. Now it felt like a stone dragging her to the bottom of the Potomac when she thought of sitting behind a desk for the rest of her working days.
With William buried and their daughter a happy newlywed, Cecelia’s life, unexpectedly, was her own, and she was determined to see just what she could do with it.
“Mom? You’re not even listening.”
“No,” Cecelia admitted. “I’m not. Whether you approve or not, I’m making this move.”
“Mom.”
“Casey.” She mimicked her daughter’s exasperated tone. “I appreciate your concern, but I didn’t leap into this blindly. This decision isn’t a whim or even a midlife crisis.” She saw Casey blush and knew her daughter had indeed suggested those unflattering theories. She and her uncle, Cecelia’s brother, had discussed this move at length. “The agency wouldn’t have accepted my request if I didn’t have the physical or mental fortitude to succeed.”
She held up a finger. “If you dare mention the Equal Opportunity Act, I’ll throttle you. Don’t think I haven’t learned a thing or two about minimizing risk already. I am not as naive or helpless as you seem to think.”
Casey held up her hands in surrender. “You’re a self-defense ninja.”
“Don’t you forget it, either.” Cecelia smiled.
