up his beer once more and downed a deep, satisfying swallow. Maybe he just needed to get laid. He’d steered clear of physical entanglements since officially exiting the military, more to ensure that a sexual relationship didn’t influence his objectivity about his future than anything else. He wanted to do this right. This was a big step for him.
The Colby Agency was where he wanted to be.
He’d researched a number of prominent private agencies and not a one could hold a candle to the Colby Agency’s sterling reputation. Victoria Colby-Camp selected only the cream of the crop as members of her staff. Daniel liked the idea that he would be working with the best of the best from all walks of life. Some were former military, like him, but others came from the Bureau, from the ranks of various smaller law enforcement agencies or other, more routine occupations.
He eased back onto the mound of pillows and scanned the television channels, studying the faces that represented local media. Faces with which he would become very familiar, since the Colby Agency was a very high-profile part of this city. Whether Victoria knew it or not, he had already made up his mind. This was where he wanted to be.
And whatever it took, he intended to make it happen.
CHAPTER THREE
CHICAGO BOASTED the largest Chinatown in the Midwest. Densely populated with more than 10,000 residents, mostly Chinese, the area south of Cermak Road was chock-full of Asian grocery and herbal shops, bakeries and restaurants. Traditional Chinese architecture filled the colorful streetscape, welcoming new visitors and longtime residents alike.
Amid the terra-cotta ornaments and mosaic murals, bold, sculpted lions guarded street-level doorways. But nothing in this eclectic culture could protect against the events playing out beyond the commercialized places where tourists wandered. Here, in this less-than-desirable section, there was no glamour or glitz, certainly no goodness. There was only fear waiting around every corner, and survival of the most ruthless was the single prevailing law.
The alley was long and narrow, dark and damp from the rain that had fallen earlier that evening.
Homicide Detective Carter Hastings was barely three months from retirement. He’d turned fifty-five a few weeks ago. Most might not consider that milestone old, but it was damned ancient for a cop. He had decided that he would spend the rest of his life making up for all he’d missed or failed to accomplish these past thirty-odd years. In particular, he wanted to rectify his relationship with his only child, his daughter. He’d let the job rule his life for far too long. He wanted to know his daughter the way a father should.
But that wasn’t going to happen now.
He stared into the cruel eyes of certain death towering over him. “I won’t tell anyone,” he pleaded. “I swear I won’t.” Carter had never considered himself a coward, but tonight, knowing what he knew, he begged for mercy. He needed just one more day to set to rights all he’d failed to follow through on…to say the things he hadn’t said to the daughter he loved.
But this kind of evil knew no mercy. He should have realized years ago that this secret would come back to haunt him, that he could never trust a person who clearly had no soul to stand by any sort of promise. He had no one to blame but himself.
He prayed he would be the only one to pay for his error in judgment.
“Stand up and take it like a man, Hastings.”
The words hissed out at him as if they’d risen straight from the hottest flames of hell. Funny, Carter mused, in a way they had. Even the grave’s unyielding grip couldn’t restrain this kind of evil.
“I kept that secret,” he urged, a growl of anger roaring up into his throat, sealing his fate once and for all. He would die tonight. Nothing outside an act of God could save him, and with him would go the whole truth. “You don’t have to do this. What purpose would it serve? It’s over. Do you hear me! It’s been over for nearly twenty years. No one has to know it was you.”
Diabolical laughter echoed off the cold, damp walls of the dilapidated buildings crowding in on the place and time that now represented the rest of his life.
“You always were a softy,” his killer taunted. “I knew that when you fell for the wife of the victim. All that stopped you from being just like me was your so-called principles.” Another of those cruel sounds that couldn’t really be called a laugh split the eerie quiet. “You brought this on yourself, Hastings. You should have stayed out of it. I will not tolerate your interference. Don’t expect me to believe you’re finally willing to set aside those fine principles.”
Carter closed his eyes and said a final goodbye to the daughter he’d been less than a decent father to. Sent a quick prayer heavenward for the other woman whose life his long-ago actions would forever change. Now he would never have the chance to make up for his past sins.
The sound of the bullet exploded around him an instant before he felt the hot metal sear his brain.
Carter watched his killer walk away without a single backward glance. Then his eyes closed for the last time.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE STICK turned pink.
A surge of giddiness attacked Tasha North.
She was pregnant!
She and Jim were going to have a baby!
The idea of what a grandchild would mean to Victoria sent another thrill through Tasha. She couldn’t wait to tell everyone.
“Come on, North, you can’t expect me to believe you haven’t missed your work at the CIA.”
Tasha blinked and lugged her thoughts back to the here and now. “I’m sorry, Martin. What did you say?”
Martin, decked out in his typical uniform—an elegant designer suit—for schmoozing, stared, exasperated, at her from across the linen-draped table. “I fly all the way from D.C. to Chicago, bring you to one of the ritziest restaurants in town and I still don’t warrant your full attention.”
She smiled, tamped down her excitement and focused her attention on the man who had been her mentor in the CIA and who, as he so bluntly put it, had gone to all of this trouble in an attempt to lure her back to the Agency.
“I apologize, Martin.” She sighed. She couldn’t tell him the real reason for her distraction. “I’m just a little preoccupied.” Lord, what an understatement. As she’d gotten dressed this evening for his unexpected visit, she’d considered that a new wardrobe would be in order. Her tight little skirts, the ones Jim loved so much, and formfitting blouses would have to be traded in for something more readily expandable.
Another wave of giddiness washed over her.
Okay, she told herself, stay calm. It was all she could do not to float right up out of her chair. She couldn’t wait to tell Jim.
She glanced around the crowded restaurant. Martin was right. He’d brought her to Carmine’s, a very classy Italian restaurant filled with Chicago’s social elite. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, however wasted it was.
“The CIA misses your talent,” he went on, moving past the awkward moment and diving straight into the heart of the
