Page 12 of Finding Fate

Fate

Before

I try, and fail, tosuppress a grimace as their loud voices carry through the small conference room. This past year of secluding myself, shutting society out, has made me hypersensitive to noises other than Dobby and the clicking of my keyboard, I guess.

To my right, some guy argues with someone across the table, who then turns, face flushed, and blames the person beside him. It's kind of entertaining to watch. In my opinion they’re all overreacting, but I could be numb to it all at this point. Either way, I might as well let them bicker amongst themselves for a little longer. Not like I have anything else to do. All I have is time these days. Plus, when they're done fighting with each other, their attention will turn back to me.

At least they didn’t leave the second I walked through the door. Didn’t think they would, but with the CIA, you never know. The arrogant bastards are conniving and cutthroat—this much I’ve learned the past few months of picking up random contract work for them. It’s been fun seeing this side of government and country relations, but it still leaves me feeling slimy at the end of an assignment.

A few minutes later, their voices quiet. I clear my throat and attempt to make eye contact with a few of the men to gain their attention.

"When you're ready," I say in a low but firm voice that's taken hours of practice in the mirror to command a crowd like this, "we can finish the conversation."

Someone starts but the conference room door swings open, making him pause. A once-familiar face strides into the room. With the ease of knowing he belongs, Mac slides into the open chair directly across the dark wood conference table from me. Only once he's situated does he look up, locking his light brown eyes with mine.

My breath catches at the mixture of longing and hurt in his eyes. And for the first time since I found that damn note in Destiny's room, an emotion other than hate fills my heart, making it ache.

In this moment, the realization hits me smack in the face, and heart.

I miss my friend.

It's been over a year since I found the note, and he tried his hardest to find her. I don't blame him for us not finding Destiny in time to bring her home. No, I blame myself for that. He was simply a casualty of who I turned into after my life fell apart. A life fueled by revenge and loathing isn't one anyone wants to be around. There’s only so much time and energy a friend can give another before they back away.

So no, I don't blame him at all. But I am sad that the man sitting across from me, looking a little older and a lot more stressed, is almost a stranger when at one time I would've considered him the father figure I never had.

One of the CIA guys at the other end of the table speaks up. "Please continue, Miss Haley."

Again I clear my throat, mostly to make sure it doesn't shake through this next part. "As I was saying, I'm putting an end to this. To him. You’ve allowed General Hammar to lure, torture, and kill women unchecked for too long. It's been over six months since I brought this to your attention, and still you’ve done nothing. I'm done waiting on this agency to act. I can't sit back and watch it happen again to someone else’s daughter, sister, friend. This ends now. General Hammar and his cyber lackey are done taking innocent women from this country and wooing them with their lies. I've found his recruiter, and now I'm the one playing the players. But I need your help. I've done the first—"

"What you're thinking of asking isn't going to happen," a large-bellied man down the table says with a raised hand. "We’re not ready to risk agents’ lives to arrest General Hammar and extradite him to the US. That particular part of Africa is in utter turmoil, deemed unsafe by our superiors for our agency to send anyone in, especially someone with government approval, as relations between our two governments are strained. General Hammar has done some grizzly things and he will be held accountable for his crimes, but that will not be any time soon. As we've told you many times before, General Hammar is not at the top of our priority list at this point."

"He's at the top of mine."

An analyst to my right sucks in a quick breath. No doubt he heard my hiss, can feel the hate now pouring out of me, strengthening my resolve to do this with or without them.

"I know he’s not at the top of your list,” I reply. “If he were, the meetings I've requested before would’ve been accepted. I also know you don't have anyone expendable, and quite frankly I don't want anyone to get hurt because of my obsession. Which is why you won't, or really can't, send an agent in. I’m going."

A pen across the table clatters against its shiny surface.

The only other woman in the room speaks up, her features set in a grim line and arms crossed over her chest. "Miss Haley, we appreciate and understand your resolve, but we will not send someone like you, not even an agent of any kind, into Africa with the hopes that General Hammar will be there. Plus, there isn't enough time for us to build an online fake profile for you to appear on his recruiter’s radar, much less have enough time to build a strong enough relationship for him to request you to visit him. Hell, we’re only having this meeting because it somehow popped up on all our calendars as required attendance. The answer is no."

To keep them from seeing my smirk, I turn my face down and focus on a faint water spot on the table. Of course they don't understand how it appeared on their calendars.

Peeking up through my lashes, I find Mac silently beaming with pride. At least he sees it for what it's worth. Hacking into the CIA and manipulating the various calendars wasn't easy. But they’re here and not leaving, which I’d expected. They want to know what I know, especially after my revelation of knowing where General Hammar’s recruiter is located. As much as they want to leave, they’re too curious now to actually walk out. Plus, I’ve assisted most of the people in this office in some way or another over the past few months. Their dirty secrets are my blackmail if I need to take it that far to get what I want.

The woman leans back in her chair, eyes roaming from my pink hair to my nose ring. "Listen, you want him out of the picture and so do we—when the timing is right. Hand over the information you've gathered on the general, and the other players you alluded to at the beginning of this meeting, and we’ll see it through from here. Help us catch him this way, with our resources—"

"No."

My curt response makes her bristle. "I'm sure you're aware, Miss Haley, that anything you've collected, all the data you're betting your life on, is property of the US government since you obtained it while contracted with the FBI—"

"And CIA," I add.

The woman’s face reddens. "And us. The data was gathered on government property."

"My own property, actually."

"What?" she practically yells.

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