Page 6 of Mine

To say it’s unsettling is an understatement. There is no pattern in her movement, no intention in her step. She simply meanders through the property for hours at a time.

As I stand there watching her, an eerie feeling comes over me. I see myself in her. Wandering aimlessly with a heart as heavy as a brick.

Day after day, my estranged wife cries as she walks, wiping away her tears with a wad of tissues she keeps in her pocket.

All alone.

Day. After. Day.

Guilt grabs my throat like a vise. The goddamn guilt I feel daily for sending her away like I did, for orchestrating a life of solitude. Even though I was only doing what I thought was best for her, the decision still plagues me.

“Fast-forward faster,” I grumble, forcing myself not to look away from the woman I once got down on one knee for.

Suddenly, the screens go blank.

“What the hell?”

After clicking, checking, going back, and clicking again, Cillian looks over his shoulder, his brow cocked. “The cameras were cut.”

“The cameras were cut?” I vehemently shake my head. “No. That’s impossible. They’re programmed to alert me if they ever turn off. Why the hell didn’t it trigger the alert system here? Why didn’t we get a text? Cillian, what the f?—”

“I don’t know, man. Stop. Breathe. I’m seeing this for the first time, just like you are. I’ll look into it. I’ll figure it all out. When was the last time the security system was serviced?”

I blink. My non-answer is answer enough.

He nods, then squints at the screen, hovering the pointer over the time and date. “The cameras went black at 2:16 in the morning, two days ago.”

Two days. Someone kidnapped my wife two days ago.

Cillian leans back in his chair and scratches his chin. “The email isn’t asking for money, so it’s not a ransom kidnapping. They’re simply asking for you to meet them ... What if it’s a trap?”

“To kill me?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in the will.”

“Whew.” Cillian mocks wiping sweat from his brow, then falls serious again. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

The list of men who want me dead—or at the very least, want revenge—is endless. Cillian knows this.

My company, Astor Stone, Inc., is a private investigation firm that operates in countries all over the world. Except it doesn’t. The private-eye angle is a ruse to conceal that, in reality, my company is secretly contracted by the US government to conduct paramilitary missions domestically and abroad.

I oversee a team of mercenaries, hand-picked by me, who are ordered to do what our government can’t—or is unable to, thanks to all the ridiculous red tape. In the simplest terms, we are hitmen, paid outrageous sums of money to run black ops for the government, with the understanding that they will deny all knowledge of us should one of us be exposed.

I’ve lost count of the missions I’ve overseen, of the men I’ve ordered to be killed, and killed myself. Of the enemies, their friends and family, who would want revenge. Like I said, the list truly is endless.

I crack my knuckles. “Well, there’s only one way to find out who it is, isn’t there? Las Vegas, here we come. Call Allan, have him ready the jet. We leave in the morning.”

“Don’t you mean we ride at dawn?” Cillian wags finger pistols in my face.

“Why does everything have to be a joke with you?”

“Because you are so damn uptight, Astor. I’d throw myself out the window if not for occasional comedic relief.”

I bite back a dozen smart-ass responses because he’s right. I am terrible company; I know this. I have one emotion—morose. Hell, I don’t even want to be around myself half the time.

“By the way, what’s the Dungeon?” he asks. “The email said to meet there.”

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