“You will be taught what you need to know.”
Ryden stared blankly at the view of the skyline for what seemed like hours. She’d lived all her life in Philadelphia and would miss the city. “When would I have to start?” she finally asked.
“I need an answer before I can disclose that.” He got up and walked to the door.
Clearly Swartz wanted her decision right now, but did she really have any choice to make? Right now, she could see only one answer, and she was pretty certain it would be the same even if she had a month to sleep on it. She finally got up. “I’ll do it.”
“Very well,” he said, and locked the door. He pulled out his phone and dialed. “She’ll do it,” he said, and hung up.
“Now will you tell me when I start?”
“You already have,” he replied. “Someone will pick you up very shortly.”
Chapter Five
New York, New York
Two months later, February 22
Jack Harding left the Colorado home she shared with Cassady Monroe very early in the morning, on a quick excursion to her New York apartment. She was booked on a flight back in just a few hours. She’d put off going to her old place to pick up some clothes and personal items because she was afraid she’d return to find Cass gone again. Part of her knew her lover was alive and safe, but the other dark part of her feared she’d wake up one morning to find it was a lie. Jack awoke every night to reach for Cass, just to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.
Cass had been through so much the last couple of years Jack couldn’t understand how she was still so keen on working for the Elite Operatives Organization as Agent Lynx. On her first solo assignment, she’d nearly died at the hands of serial killer Walter Owens, and the previous October Andor Rózsa, the madman who’d killed millions with his deadly Charon virus, had held her captive. For three weeks, Jack believed Cass had been killed in the explosion at Rózsa’s lab, and in her terrible grief, she’d contemplated suicide.
Ever since Cassady’s resurrection, Jack had vowed never to let her out of her sight again. This was one of the few times they’d been separated longer than a few hours, and she was doing her best to conceal her worry. Jack hated to acknowledge she needed or even missed anyone, but when it came to Cass, she not only admitted her feelings, but she reveled in the fact that Cass knew how dependent Jack was on her.
They both knew Cass would eventually get called back into action, but so far, Montgomery Pierce had left her alone and they had taken full advantage of their undisturbed reunion. Jack had also used every opportunity to get Cass to leave the EOO, but so far, no argument had worked. Cassady continued to believe in the organization’s cause and that she was fulfilling her destiny. Every time she said that, Jack despised Pierce even more. She hated him for what he’d done to her and how thoroughly the organization brainwashed the EOO ops.
When Jack’s cell phone rang a couple of blocks from her apartment, she checked the caller ID and smiled. “Miss me already, baby?”
“That, too,” Cassady replied.
“What else?” Jack stopped walking and her heartbeat accelerated. “You’re okay, right?”
“Of course, baby. Are you at the apartment yet?”
Jack relaxed and continued down the street. “Almost. I have to get through the polyester nightmare coming my way.” She sidestepped the group of elderly tourists in track suits. “So, what’s up?”
“I was wondering if you want to go out for dinner tonight.”
“Why?”
Cassady laughed. “Because I want a break from cooking, and you can’t keep coming up with excuses to keep me indoors.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Jack, it’s time we left the house. And you know I’m going away next week, anyway. You can’t keep me cooped up forever.”
Jack had been trying to forget the fact that Cass had a violin solo scheduled with the Boston Symphony, her first musical engagement in months. “Yeah, about that.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t see why I can’t be there. You know, watch you rehearse and all that.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the rehearsals are only for a week and you’ll be at the concert anyway. And that aside, you’ll scare everyone if you’re there the whole time.”
“Huh?”
“You keep standing guard over me like I’m a flight risk. People notice, you know? And besides that, honey, I know you love me and I adore you, too, but I need my old life back. Your overprotectiveness is a reminder.”
She knew Cass was right but wasn’t sure she was ready to take any risks.
As if reading her mind, Cass added, “Stop being paranoid, baby. No one’s out to get me.”
“About dinner…what if I cook tonight?”
Cassady chuckled. “Honey, the last time you cooked, the oven went up in flames.”
“I’m almost sure it wasn’t my fault and I said I was sorry.”
Cassady laughed. “You really are a beautiful kinda different.”
“I prefer it when you call me Special Edition.” Jack laughed, too. “So, what can I cook for you tonight?”
“We’re going out.”
“I’ll cook naked,” Jack offered.
Cass replied after apparently mulling over the offer for several seconds. “I guess you deserve one more chance.”
Jack laughed again. “Good thing you didn’t accept the bet,” she said, satisfied.
“Naked, with nothing but my floral apron.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Those are my conditions.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Her eyes bled from the image in her mind. “You can’t possibly expect me—”
“I’ll make reservations at that little Italian—”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Jack mumbled.
“Excuse me, what?” Cassady asked mirthfully.
“I said, fine.” She must really love this woman.
“And I get to take one picture.”
“No way. No way, Cass.”
“Maybe we can go for a drink after dinner.”
“One picture. And no one ever sees it,” Jack hurriedly added.
“We have a deal.”
“Boy, am I whipped or what?” Jack said to herself after they’d disconnected.
She was almost at her apartment when she heard someone call out, “Ms. Jack!” She turned to find the owner of the dry cleaners she’d always done business with, a short Turkish man named Mustafa. He not only cleaned her clothes, but he also passed along messages when one of her underworld clients wanted to contact her. “I have a message for you,” he said.
Jack hadn’t received any notes from him in well over a year. Ever since she’d stopped taking hit jobs and changed her life, she’d stayed away from any previous connections to the mob bosses and other criminals she’d worked for. She had no idea if any of them had tried to reach her because she’d abandoned the landline Mustafa used to contact her and deliberately avoided the dry cleaners.
She had always been very careful about how she was contacted. The cell phones she used on the job were disposables. Clients could find her only via a three-step process of intermediaries. They would first contact a man Jack never associated with, who in turn would pass along the message to a second intermediary she simply called Pigeon, a skinny black guy who was gayer than the whole of 1920s Paris. Pigeon would go to the dry cleaners and write the number of whoever was looking for her on her laundry ticket. Mustafa would then reattach it to her clothes and call her to pick up her laundry. If the Turk knew what the messages were about, he never let on to her or said anything to anyone else, as far as she knew.
“I haven’t dropped anything off,” she said.