Page 2 of Hero Worship

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion coiling in my gut. "What's that supposed to mean? You got another 'legitimate' contract like the Laskin job? Because we both know how that turned out. Or maybe you've got more family members to kidnap?"

"Ancient history." Algerone waved off the accusation with the same dismissive ease he'd shown when I'd confronted him about locking up his own sons. "And as I recall, that situation resolved itself quite... efficiently. The Laskins proved quite capable at hunting down Kevin Calcin."

"Yeah, they did. Funny how treating people like people instead of property tends to work out better."

"I have an offer for you, Valentine."

I scoffed. "An offer. Right. Because you're just the type to do someone a favor out of the goodness of your heart." I shook my head, reaching for the ignition. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've seen how your 'offers' work out for people. Just ask your sons."

Algerone's hand shot out, lightning quick, and caught my wrist with an iron grip before I could push the button. "I assure you, Agent Valentine, my offer is quite legitimate. And I think you'll want to hear me out before you dismiss it outright."

I glared at him, every muscle in my body tense and ready for a fight. The last time we'd been this close, there had been a gun between us and justified cause. "You've got about thirty seconds to explain what the fuck you're talking about before I introduce your face to my fist. Just because your son thinks I'm daddy material doesn't mean I won't knock you on your ass."

Something dark flickered across Algerone's face at the mention of Xander. Possessive. Controlling. The same look he'd worn when he'd discovered his sons had built lives without him. "Lucky Losers Inc. is launching a new program," he said, voice clipped. "Our goal is to bring in talented people like yourself to train potential recruits one-on-one to carry out international covert operations."

"You want me to train your incoming assassins?" The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, about to lose my badge, being offered a job by the same man I'd nearly arrested twice. The same man whose son had...

"I want you to be a handler," he said flatly. "You've got a gift for seeing potential in people, Valentine. The kind of insight that can't be taught. We need someone who can identify and shape raw talent." His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The pay is good, and you'll have the opportunity to keep working without all the red tape of the Bureau and a nearly unlimited budget."

The offer dangled in front of me like bait in a trap. I knew Algerone was manipulating me—hell, I'd made a career out of recognizing manipulation. But knowing the trap was there didn't make it any less tempting. Not when the alternative was watching the world burn from behind a desk.

"Sounds like vigilante bullshit to me," I said, but the words lacked their earlier bite. "I spent over two decades upholding the law, not finding ways around it. Just because I'm out of the game doesn't mean I'm gonna throw my principles out the window and start running with mercs."

"You misunderstand me, Agent Valentine." Algerone's tone held that same patronizing patience he'd used when explaining why kidnapping his own sons had been for 'their own good.' "We are not mere mercenaries. We operate within the bounds of the law... for the most part. Our clients are strictly vetted—governments, major corporations, high-net-worth individuals with legitimate security concerns." He paused, green eyes boring into mine. "I assure you that what we do aligns well with your moral principles. As the Calcin contract proved."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, considering your reputation. You're not exactly known for coloring inside the lines." Or respecting basic human rights when it came to family.

Algerone's smile took on a sharp edge. "My reputation is carefully cultivated to serve my interests. But I assure you, I have lines I will not cross. Lines that align with your own moral compass."

I leaned back in my seat, considering his words. I couldn't deny that the idea of getting back in the game held a certain appeal, even if it meant working for this manipulative bastard. I'd dedicated my life to protecting the innocent and bringing criminals to justice. The thought of being sidelined, forced to watch from the bench while the world went to shit... it galled me.

And if taking this job meant crossing paths with Xander again... No. That was exactly the kind of thinking that would get me in trouble.

"But I wouldn't dream of pressuring you," Algerone said, pulling out a black card and offering it like a peace treaty. "Ido hope you'll at least consider my offer. When you're tired of playing desk jockey and filling out paperwork, give me a call."

I stared at his outstretched hand, at the sleek black business card pinched between his manicured fingers. A part of me wanted to tell him to shove it up his ass, that I wasn't some washed-up ex-fed he could manipulate into doing his dirty work. But another part of me, the part that had spent twenty years watching criminals slip through legal loopholes while good people died, was intrigued despite my better judgment. Maybe there was more than one way to serve justice. Maybe I'd been playing by the wrong rules all along.

"I'll think about it," I said gruffly and snatched up the card. "No promises."

Algerone inclined his head, that faint smile still playing about his lips. "Of course. Take all the time you need." He straightened up, adjusting his cufflinks with the same precise control he applied to everything in his life. "But I would advise against waiting too long. A man with your talents won't be content warming a desk for long. Sooner or later, you'll be itching to get back in the game. And when that itch gets too strong to ignore, bring that card to Echelon downtown."

"The restaurant?" Images of Xander in that briefing room flashed through my mind. The way he'd prowled like his father, but with heat instead of ice. The way he'd...

"You know the place." Algerone's voice cut through my thoughts. "I'll be seeing you soon, Agent Valentine."

With that, he turned and strolled away, his expensive shoes barely making a sound on the cracking asphalt. Through my windshield, I watched his figure shimmer in the heat haze like some kind of mirage, disappearing between the cars. A hot wind gusted across the lot, sending a crushed paper cup skittering across the concrete. The clinic's shadow had crept closer whilewe talked, the afternoon sun sliding west, but the heat hadn't let up an inch.

I stared down at the sleek black card resting in my palm. It wasn't a business card, per se. It was the size of a playing card on heavier cardstock, black on both sides except for the ace of spades embossed in gold on one side. Just like the ones I'd seen in that briefing room, spread across the table while Xander's eyes had burned into mine.

Algerone Caisse-Etremont was no better than half the criminals I'd put away, except he wore a thousand-dollar suit and could talk his way into anyone's good graces. A psychopath who treated his own children like assets to be acquired.

I could toss the card out the window, pretend this conversation never happened. Go home, pour a drink, and start figuring out what the hell to do with the rest of my life. But that thought alone was enough to make my knee throb, a sharp reminder that I was stuck with no way forward. A washed-up agent with more scars than years left, watching the world move on without me.

No.

As much as I wanted to hate the guy, Algerone wasn't wrong. Sooner or later, I'd reach a breaking point. That itch to be back in the thick of it—to feel the adrenaline pumping, to have a purpose again—would eat away at me until there was nothing left. And when that time came, would I really be willing to spend my life filling out forms and waiting for the clock to run down?

I tucked the card into my pocket and stared out the windshield, my thoughts racing. Taking Algerone's offer meant crossing a line I'd sworn never to cross. Meant becoming the kind of person I'd been hunting. What would be left of me if I took that step? Would I even recognize myself in the mirror?

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