Page 42 of Final Sins

His blood ran cold as images filled the screen. Alex—unmistakably Alex—shaking hands with a man he recognized as a high-ranking Seven-Five operative. Another photo: Alex accepting an envelope, her expression grim and businesslike. The timestamp made his stomach lurch. Just days before he and Gravy met up with her in the desert.

He scrolled quickly, accessing file after damning file. Financial records showed large deposits into offshore accounts linked to Alex. Transcripts of intercepted communications discussed “the asset” and “maintaining cover.”

Jason set the phone down, his mind reeling. He paced the small room, trying to process what he’d seen. Every instinct screamed that this had to be a setup, a clever ploy to drive a wedge between them. Alex had risked her life for their mission multiple times. She’d saved him in that shootout. How could she be a double agent?

But doubt gnawed at him. In his line of work, he’d seen the unthinkable happen too many times. Good agents turned. Loyalties shifted like sand. The evidence was compelling—professional-grade, not some amateur photoshop job.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. He needed more information, but how to get it without tipping his hand? If Alex was compromised, alerting her to his suspicions could be disastrous.

The sound of movement from Alex’s room snapped him back to the present.

Showtime.

He schooled his features into a mask of normalcy. Whatever the truth was, he’d get to the bottom of it. Too much was at stake to take anything at face value.

He headed back to the kitchen, prepared to face her. He couldn’t help watching her every move as she poured them both coffee. She looked tense. Guarded, even.

“Sleep okay?” he asked.

“Absolutely. You?” She gulped her coffee.

“Middling.” He stared into his cup while he watched her with his peripheral vision. If she was tense when he walked in, she vibrated now.

Something was definitely up.

She sucked down the last of her coffee. “I need to head into town,” she announced abruptly, not quite meeting his gaze. “We’re low on supplies.”

“Give me a sec and I’ll come with you.”

“No,” she protested, too quickly. “I mean, it’s a simple run. No need for both of us to go.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his instincts screaming that something was off. Alex’s body language, her rushed words, the way she avoided eye contact—it all pointed to deception.

Keeping his voice casual, he said, “Great. I want to do some more research anyway.”

He tossed her the car keys. That tracker he’d installed after he drove off the used car lot had seemed like a prudent precaution at the time, not a tool to spy on his partner.

Good thing the Unit had pounded paranoia into him early.

As Alex caught the keys, their eyes met for a brief moment. Jason searched her gaze, looking for any sign of the woman he’d come to trust. Was there a flicker of remorse there? Or was he just seeing what he wanted to see?

“Thanks,” she murmured, grabbing her jacket. “I’ll ... I’ll be back soon.”

As the door closed behind her, Jason let out a long breath. He moved to the window, watching as Alex drove the car down the driveway. His hand reached for his phone, pulling up the tracking app that would let him follow her every move.

The guilt hit him like a physical blow. He’d just betrayed her trust, all based on evidence that could be fabricated. But if she was innocent, why was she acting so strangely?

Jason stared at the blinking dot on his screen, representing Alex’s location. He’d crossed a line, and he knew it. But as he settled in to monitor her movements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that in this dangerous game they were playing, trust might be a luxury he couldn’t afford.

23

The beefy carroared down the long drive, its engine a throaty growl that matched Alex’s turbulent emotions. She pulled onto the highway, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The morning fog was burning off in fluffy clumps, revealing stunning seascapes and sheer cliffs that spoke of both beauty and danger.

She reached for the stereo, then remembered with a groan that this relic had an 8-track player. No Bluetooth here. Once she was sure the safe house was out of sight, she pulled off onto a scenic overlook, the tires crunching on gravel.

Her fingers hovered over her phone. Normally, she shared everything with Liv and Gabe and Mac, but this…. For some reason, the thought of sharing this foul information––of having to admit out loud that she might even believe it––kicked her straight in the gut. It would be yet another horrific example of her broken judgement-meter when it came to handsome men.

Maybe she was actually wrong this time. Maybe this was nothing. Better to keep it to herself until she was certain.

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