LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Three

      Mission Recovery Training Center, 3:24 p.m.

      Emmett Holt braced his elbows on his knees and caught his breath while he unwound the hand wraps protecting his knuckles from the heavy bag. The sweat dripped from his brow, trickled down his arms. Most days a hard workout cleared his head, but he’d been balanced on the edge for too long.

      He recognized the signs, knew the inherent danger, but there was no going back.

      Not now. He glanced up at the news ticker scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. No inexplicable illness outbreaks. No one closing in on him here at the gym with weapons drawn and handcuffs ready.

      Every hour that passed without incident only amped up his tension.

      This game had very real, life-altering consequences. Life ending was more accurate. For the inevitable innocent victims, as well as Isely and his team of instigators who’d launched this frustrating drama.

      He crossed the gym and locked his ankles into the inversion table, then eased back. For a long moment, he just let himself hang there, upside down, daring anyone to take a shot.

      Neither side would make a move here, not in public. It was the shadows he had to worry about. And those were all around him...every move he made.

      Hands fisted, he crossed them over his chest and started the first set of fifty crunches.

      He focused on the count, only letting his mind wander once he was relaxed and stretching out the burn.

      Isely still had the one thing Holt needed to secure: the last vial of a deadly new virus. And Holt had more of what Isely wanted: damaging information on Director Thomas Casey.

      Years ago, Casey had gone undercover in Germany, disrupting an exchange that would have set the Isely crime family at the pinnacle of the black-market weapons business forever.

      It was one of those rare, landscape-changing deals, and Mission Recovery had successfully stopped it.

      That’s what they did, the whole reason the team existed. God, he was going to miss having that kind of clear purpose in his life.

      Holt did a slow-burn second set, then paused to think some more.

      He glanced around the gym, and though there were only a few other Specialists around, he felt like they were watching him too closely and with too much wariness lurking behind those neutral expressions. Did they expect him to just lose it with a violent outburst or remorseful confession? Which one of them had been on his tail when he made the drop for Isely?

      Months ago he’d have chalked up the wide berth they gave him to being the deputy director. He wasn’t popular with the team. That hadn’t bothered him much before. His management style was simply different from Casey’s, more aloof.

      It wasn’t his job to make friends.

      But since he’d chosen to take this mission on his own, with no one else read into the situation, he felt the unavoidable onset of mild paranoia. Holt told himself to relax. Even if Casey had started to piece it together, he wouldn’t have shared such a damning theory with the entire team.

      Not yet, anyway.

      Holt took a deep breath, reminding himself he’d been trained to succeed at all costs. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that his current efforts made him a potential target. That’s how he’d planned it.

      He came back to an upright position slowly to avoid the disorienting head rush, then unlocked the ankle bar and moved to an empty weight bench to work on his back.

      Everyone thought he was just a suit, sitting in the successor’s chair. Days like this were a clear reminder to the team that his strengths went well beyond pushing paper and signing off on personnel evaluations.

      “Sir?”

      He recognized his assistant’s voice, as well as her polished black pumps when Nadine stopped in front of him.

      He sat upright and pushed a towel across his face. “What is it?”

      “Two of the messages you’ve been expecting.”

      Holt tossed the towel over his shoulder and accepted the cell phone she handed him. One number was blocked, but the terse text message left no doubt the sender was Isely.