LITMIR.BIZ

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the Kent Steele side of him—the secret agent, the renegade, the thrill-seeker—it was much louder, shouting, knowing from experience that every second counted desperately.

      That side won out. Reid tensed, ready for a fight.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      For what felt like a long moment, no one moved—not Reid, not Noles, not the two cops behind the detective. Reid clung to his bag in a white-knuckled grip. If he tried to get in the car and leave, he had no doubt the officers would advance on him. And he knew he would react accordingly.

      Suddenly there was the screech of tires and all eyes turned toward a black SUV as it came to an abrupt halt at the end of the driveway, perpendicular to Reid’s own vehicle, blocking him in. A figure stepped out and strode quickly over to defuse the situation.

      Watson? Reid nearly blurted it out.

      John Watson was a fellow field agent, a tall African-American man whose features were perpetually passive. His right arm was suspended in a dark blue sling; he had caught a stray bullet to the shoulder only the day prior, assisting on the op to stop Islamic radicals from releasing their virus.

      “Detective.” Watson nodded to Noles. “My name is Agent Hopkins, Department of Homeland Security.” With his good hand he flashed a convincing badge. “This man needs to come with me.”

      Noles frowned; the tension of the moment before had evaporated, replaced by confusion. “Say what now? Homeland Security?”

      Watson nodded gravely. “We believe the abduction has something to do with an open investigation. I’m going to need Mr. Lawson to come with me, right now.”

      “Now hang on.” Noles shook his head, still thrown by the sudden intrusion and rapid explanation. “You can’t just barge in here and take over—”

      “This man is a department asset,” Watson interrupted. He kept his voice low, as if sharing a conspiratorial secret, though Reid knew it was CIA subterfuge. “He’s WITSEC.”

      Noles’s eyes widened to the point it looked like they might fall out of his head. WITSEC, Reid knew, was an acronym for the witness protection program of the US Department of Justice. But Reid said nothing; he simply folded his arms over his chest and shot the detective a pointed glare.

      “Still…” Noles said hesitantly, “I’m going to need more to go on here than a flashy badge…” The detective’s cell suddenly blared a ringtone.

      “I assume that will be your confirmation from my department,” said Watson as Noles reached for his phone. “You’re going to want to take that. Mr. Lawson, this way, please.”

      Watson strode away, leaving a befuddled Detective Noles stammering into his cell. Reid hefted his bag and followed, but he paused at the SUV.

      “Wait,” he said before Watson could climb into the driver’s seat. “What is this? Where are we going?”

      “We can talk while we drive, or we can talk now and waste time.”

      The only reason Reid could conceive of for Watson being there was if the agency sent him, with the intent of picking up Agent Zero so they could keep an eye on him.

      He shook his head. “I’m not going to Langley.”

      “Neither am I,” Watson replied. “I’m here to help. Get in the car.” He slid into the driver’s seat.

      Reid hesitated for a brief moment. He needed to be on the road, but he had no destination. He needed a lead. And he had no reason to believe he was being lied to; Watson was one of the most honest and by-the-books agents he’d ever met.

      Reid climbed into the passenger’s seat beside him. With his right arm in a sling, Watson had to reach over his body to shift and he steered with one hand. They pulled away in seconds, doing about fifteen over the speed limit, moving quickly but avoiding scrutiny.

      He glanced over at the black bag in Reid’s lap. “Where were you planning on going?”

      “I have to find them, John.” His vision blurred at the thought of them out there, alone, in the hands of that murderous madman.

      “On your own? Unarmed, with a civilian cell phone?” Agent Watson shook his head. “You should know better.”

      “I already talked to Cartwright,” Reid said bitterly.

      Watson scoffed. “You think Cartwright was standing alone in the room when he spoke with you? You think he was on a secure line, in an office at Langley?”

      Reid frowned. “I’m not sure I follow. It sounds like you’re suggesting that Cartwright wants me to do the thing he just told me not to do.”

      Watson shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road. “It’s more that he knows you’re going to do the thing he just told you not to do, whether he wants you to or not. He knows you better than most. The way he sees it, the best way to avoid another problem is to make sure you have some support this time around.”

      “He sent you,” Reid murmured. Watson neither confirmed nor denied it, but he didn’t have to. Cartwright knew that Zero was going after his girls; their conversation had been for the benefit of other ears at Langley. Still, knowing Watson’s penchant for adherence to protocol, it didn’t make sense to Reid why he would help. “What about you? Why are you doing this?”

      Watson merely shrugged. “There are a couple of kids out there. Scared, alone, in bad hands. I don’t like that much.”

      It wasn’t really an answer, and it might not have even been the truth, but Reid knew it was the best he was going to get out of the stoic agent.

      He couldn’t help but think that part of Cartwright’s acquiescence to help him was some measure of guilt. Twice while he was away Reid had asked the deputy director to put his girls in a safe house. But instead the deputy director made excuses about manpower, about a lack of resources… And now they’re gone.

      Cartwright could have avoided this. He could have helped. Again Reid felt his face grow hot as a surge of anger rose up within him, and again he stifled it down. Now wasn’t the time for that. Now was the time to go after them. Nothing else mattered.

      I’m going to find them. I’m going to get them back. And I am going to kill Rais.

      Reid took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. “So what do we know so far?”

      Watson shook his head. “Not much. We just found out right after you did, when you called the cops. But the agency is on it. We should have a lead shortly.”

      “Who’s on it? Anyone I know?”

      “Director Mullen gave it to Spec Ops, so Riker is taking lead…”

      Reid found himself scoffing aloud again. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, a memory had returned to Reid, one from his former life as Agent Kent Steele. It was still foggy and fragmented, but it was about a conspiracy, some sort of government cover-up. A pending war. Two years ago, he had known about it—had at least known some part of it—and had been working to build a case. Regardless of how little he knew, he was certain that at least a few members of the CIA were involved.

      At the top of his list was newly appointed Deputy Director Ashleigh Riker, head of Special Operations Group. And his lack of trust in her notwithstanding, he definitely didn’t expect she would put her best foot forward in finding his children.

      “She assigned a new guy, young, but capable,” Watson continued. “Name’s Strickland. He’s a former Army Ranger, excellent tracker. If anyone could find who did this, it’d be him. Other than you, that is.”

      “I know who did this, John.” Reid shook his head bitterly. He immediately thought of Maria; she was a fellow agent, a friend, maybe more—and definitively one of the only people Reid could trust. Last he’d heard, Maria Johansson was on an op tracking Rais into Russia. “I need to contact Johansson. She should know what’s happened.” He knew that until he could prove it was Rais, the CIA wouldn’t pull her back.

      “You

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