Page 3 of The Truths that Deceive

Enver’s a man as dark and emotionless as Mercer. Meticulous. Equally deadly. But their methods are different. Enver sells and buys secrets. Yes, he kills like all of us, but this Knight’s been out in the field for a long time.

He pulls an iPad from a black leather satchel and hands it to me.

I flip it open. “Doing so well you want to farm out jobs?”

“This is up your alley.”

“Yours, too.”

He ignores me. “It’s a simple job. An assisted trip back to the States, with all the hacker’s equipment.”

“What’s her story?”

“Calista Hendrix is CIA. She’s not in the field,” he says in a hushed voice. “The girl sits behind a desk and has apparently gone AWOL after her field agent did the same. Big Daddy wants to find out who’s selling what to who.”

“Could be anything.” I swipe the screen, continuing to read the brief.

“Big Daddy,” as he refers to the CIA, is reluctant to put anything even close to worthwhile in the file so I need to rely on Enver for hidden details.

“Yeah, I know. There’s more fucking black on that screen than a goth party in a blackout. But the point is… she’s wanted. For questioning in Big Daddy’s campgrounds.”

Or in one of their prisons and holding places where, like Gitmo, people can disappear and be scrubbed from existence. Whatever this is… they think she’s selling information.

“So why don’t they just pick her up?”

“Not your business or mine,” Enver says. “You’re interested.”

He doesn’t ask. Just states the obvious because he knows me.

“I’m on vacation.”

“You just went on a killing spree with Reaper in Scotland, blowing apart a Bolivian dirty little porn and slave ring. I know you, Smith. You’re not in any hurry to go back.”

“I let off some steam.”

“You’re hiding out here.”

“Don’t try to fucking psychoanalyze me. This job was handed to you, not me.”

“I’m giving you a reason to stay here. Doing you a favor to keep you here.”

I bite my tongue and tap my foot as I stare at the city outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The leather armchair’s surprisingly comfortable, which is good. Because Enver takes his time with the next request.

He takes a sip of his drink. “And I’m asking you for one at the same time.”

“So you’re offering me a chance to get out of the wedding by saving your ass from whatever it needs saving from?”

“We served in the CIA together,” Enver says, ignoring my question. “Got out and went into private intelligence work. We’re also Knights.”

“And?”

He sighs heavily and takes a swallow of his rum. “This kind of job puts me in the crosshairs of people I need to stay away from. Plus, I’m in the middle of something, and heading back stateside isn’t on my agenda right now.”

“You really think they’re going to lock up one of their own? Fuck me, she’s only twenty-four,” I scoff.

Her age sits uncomfortably close to that of my own kid, Dakota. A little older, but…

It doesn’t matter I became a parent before I hit eighteen, akid’s a kid and fucking babysitting in a soft kidnap job isn’t high on my list.

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