Page 2 of Redeeming Meg

“He requested you, and you’re not on search and rescue. At least, not for our friend. Your mission is more critical.”

Meg’s pulse stuttered. “What is it?”

“Special circumstances that can’t be discussed over an open line, but you might turn on the news. The Bucharest embassy is under attack, and we have a black swan. Mosai Hagar is involved. Thousands of innocent people could be harmed.”

Her mouth went dry. Her group had been formed to handle what their name suggested—an unpredictable event with potentially severe consequences. Such events were characterized by their extreme rarity, severe impact, and the widespread insistence they were obvious in hindsight. Nine-eleven was considered a black swan, but such events were never obvious, even in hindsight.

Since then, such occurrences had been increasing. The world grew ever more chaotic. No matter how much the analysts tried to predict situations and outcomes, the outliers and challenges grew unhindered, thus the need for a team that could move quickly, quietly, and counter whatever was taking place.

“Playing the innocent card is a low blow, and you have others who can protect them.”

Flynn agreed. “You’ll want in on this when you find out who the MIA is, trust me.”

“Not…”Declan. She couldn’t even say his name. “My…second?”

Dec Reid had been her right-hand man in more ways than Flynn or anyone else outside her team knew. “Not that bastard—hell, if it was him, I wouldn’t even be worried. He’d fight his way out, no matter what. I can’t give you anything else at this point. You’re going to have to have faith. You will want to be in on this.”

Faith. Trust. Did she even know what those terms meant anymore? “I can’t.”

Once again, she hung up.

In his time in the field, Conrad Flynn hadn’t just climbed through Dante’s nine circles of hell, he’d created them. He’d even gone under the deepest cover possible—faking his own death—to root out a mole in the CIA. Since coming in from the cold and being reinstated by the Agency—and receiving more commendations than she could count—he’d surprisingly thrived behind a desk. Not that he always stayed there.

Her phone rang again. She ground her teeth and punched the button. “You are a dog on a bone, you know that?”

“There’s a key under the plant in your bedroom that goes to a locker in the Bucharest train station.” Flynn was done with small talk. “You’ll find a survival kit waiting. I’m sending the rest of the swans to assist. I know I gave you my word I’d leave you alone, but I have to break that promise, and yes, you can kill me later. Right now, I need you to get off that pink lounge chair and get yourself to Romania. You’ve been reactivated, Meg.”

Click. The line went dead.

Tit for tat.

Bastard.

…get off that pink lounge chair…

Her eyes slid to the left, then right. Was he here?

Doubtful, but he loved nothing better than to jump into an op himself, and someone had to be tailing her. Either that or Flynn’s favorite techie, Del, had a satellite pointed at this very beach so her ex-boss could harass her while he sent someone to sneak a key into her room at the villa.

Not beyond reason. She held up her middle finger and waved it around, hoping he was across the ocean watching from his cushy leather office chair inside Langley.

I’m sending the rest of the swans…

She should call him back and tell him, “Hard pass.” How could she face them? The other swans…

Wait, what am I thinking?How could she even consider complying, with or without the rest of her team?

For a long moment, her focus returned to watching the boats bob on the water. Listening to the kids’ delighted cries as they played. She couldn’t go back to the CIA. Wouldn’t. Being the leader of her team had been the best—and worst—experience of her life, but her heart couldn’t take it. Losing a friend was terrible, but Jessie’s death had been…

A horror Meg wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

The look on her friend’s bruised and bloody face right before Mosai Hagar swung the machete hadn’t been accusing. There’d been no fear or judgment. As the man holding Meg had sunk his hand in her hair and forced her to watch, Jessie had stared at her with sad but trusting eyes. “It’s okay,” she’d whispered through her cracked, swollen lips. “You couldn’t save?—”

Me. The word was lost forever on a swing of that damn machete. Jessie would never speak again.

Meg blinked hard against the onslaught of tears. If she let even one slip out, the dam would break.

She stood and slowly walked to the edge of the lapping water. One of the kids waved at her.

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